Setting the Scene
I had a church upbringing, attended a church school, was the student-sacristan for a year and we had a church wedding. But I shouted at God in a carpark in 1981 (and that issue is unresolved – on my part, anyway!) So I won't pretend that my interest in ecclesiastical places is now about religion and being God-fearing.
Instead, churches act like green therapy for me – although, obviously, without being green!
St. Cuthbert's Window,
Durham Cathedral
They're about fleeting moments – transient like butterflies – when sudden spots of light burst onto the walls of the northern aisle or onto the stone-flagged floors; and the times when those spots are coloured like sweet wrappers because the light passed through stained-glass. And about those very rare glimpses of motes in a sunbeam – dust-light I’ve heard it called (although nowadays churches are too clean for dust, too dry for mould spores and usually it’s a trail of incense). And the way the light seems to tell the same story in every building (because they all have the same east/west orientation); and being able to anticipate that story with child-like delight, each time we enter though the heavy west-end door, or the south porch – so maybe it’s about light therapy.
And there’s the other-worldly acoustic resonance – so maybe it’s sound therapy too.
And it’s about wall paintings in Pickering and Paston; and respect for our ancestors, long-dead masons and worshippers, and for my photographic forebears (Frederick Evans amongst them) and their sepia prints.
It’s about the confidence and expectation of tranquillity; it’s a sanctuary on turbulent days, soothing dis-ease; it’s about slowing down, taking stock, seeing, breathing, being at ease.
And there are other attachments too – which connect back to my childhood …
Ripley Church,
North Yorkshire
As a postscript, I can add that the magic works remotely too. As I was writing this morning, recalling visits we’ve made and images I’ve taken, a moment’s Covid-anxiety was quelled as if we were there in the cool, tranquillity of a favourite church – a small one – Ripley maybe, or St. Olave’s in York.