Rogationtide, St. Ewold's, and the ordinary joys of Anglicanism

Last Rogationtide, I turned to Mole in The Wind in the Willows to explore the ordinary joys of the Anglican tradition. This Rogationtide, days which reflect a joy in the ordinary, I turn to another fictional account, this time rather more ecclesiastical: Trollope's description of St. Ewold's in Barchester Towers. 

We are introduced to St. Ewold's during Archdeacon Grantly's campaign against Mr. Slope, chaplain to the newly-appointed low church, Whig Bishop. The Archdeacon's resistance to the Whiggery and 'Sabbath schools' of the Bishop, his wife, and Mr. Slope are not my concern on this Rogation Monday (though regular readers of laudable Practice will, no doubt, be aware of my allegiances in this particular controversy). 

So let our attention turn to St. Ewold's, "the pretty church and parsonage". 'Pretty' is an appropriately modest phrase. It does not suggest a loud, overpowering beauty but, rather, a pleasant, gentle attraction. Yes, it does make me think of the simple, clear beauty of Georgian churches, not overwhelming us but gently, pleasantly inviting us into gracious light and comfortable truth, where - as years go by, "among all the changes and chances of this mortal life" - we, quietly, soberly, grow in love divine.

It may also evoke in the mind's eye a little country church, although St. Ewold's, Trollope tells us, is in the "suburbs" of Barchester, "not much above a mile distant from the city gate".  Then again, many an Anglican church in the suburbs can possess a rustic charm, with quiet garden-like grounds, trees deep green in Summer and bare in Winter. This is not merely quaint charm but an icon of our roots in Eden and our destiny in a heavenly city in which the fruit-bearing tree of life is on either side of the river flowing through that city. Our natural yearnings for both Eden and the heavenly city are echoed in and confirmed by our quiet, ordinary joy in the greenery and trees of a churchyard.

The mention of the parsonage brings us to consider another aspect of the Anglican tradition.  'Parson' and 'parsonage' are words difficult to reconcile with exalted sacerdotal claims. The root of 'parson', after all, is 'person'. A parson is the person with the cure (care) of souls in the community. No less, yes, but also no more. The parsonage speaks of domestic cares and duties, a study with a decent book collection (divinity, of course, but surely not only divinity), bottles of wine for modest consumption, and a pair of well-used walking boots by the door. Some call at the parsonage for spiritual counsel and comfort; some to complain about a parish matter; some to share chat (should we call it gossip?) about all sorts and conditions; and other callers are the parson's friends, clerical and lay, sharing in conversation and a meal. 'Parson' and 'parsonage' - much like Trollope's Barchester stories - are a reminder to us that the one with the cure of souls is, happily, thankfully, one of us: sharing in ordinary obligations and joys.

This "pretty church" on the edge of Barchester, we are told, has a "modest economy". This is quite fitting for the ordinary parish church.  Significant ecclesiastical wealth would unbecoming for such a parish, a distraction at best. 'Modest economy', by contrast, is suggestive of a quiet frugality, a decent provision, and worthy stewardship, all wise and prudent characteristics in parish and communal life.

Such "modest economy" also leads us to consider another aspect of life in St. Ewold's:

St. Ewold is not a rich piece of preferment—it is worth some three or four hundred a year at most, and has generally been held by a clergyman attached to the cathedral choir.

And so our eyes turn to the cathedral in Barchester, its chapter, and its services. In doing so, we are reminded of the very ordinary nature of St. Ewold's. The physical size of the cathedral, its chapter, its profile in civic life, and its liturgy all contrast with the - to give the phrase a wider meaning - "modest economy" of the parish. Consider the choral services of the cathedral:

The service was certainly very well performed. Such was always the case at Barchester, as the musical education of the choir had been good, and the voices had been carefully selected. The psalms were beautifully chanted; the Te Deum was magnificently sung; and the litany was given in a manner which is still to be found at Barchester ...

This choral tradition is, indeed, a rich joy. But alongside such rich fare, there also needs to be more ordinary, routine sustenance. Before introducing us to St. Ewold's, Trollope has told us of how divine service is conducted in the parishes:

Hitherto Barchester had escaped the taint of any extreme rigour of church doctrine. The clergymen of the city and neighbourhood, though very well inclined to promote High Church principles, privileges, and prerogatives, had never committed themselves to tendencies which are somewhat too loosely called Puseyite practices. They all preached in their black gowns, as their fathers had done before them; they wore ordinary black cloth waistcoats; they had no candles on their altars, either lighted or unlighted; they made no private genuflexions, and were contented to confine themselves to such ceremonial observances as had been in vogue for the last hundred years. The services were decently and demurely read in their parish churches, chanting was confined to the cathedral, and the science of intoning was unknown. 

In St. Ewold's, then, the fare is, yes, much more modest. And rightly so: simpler fare, befitting the ordinary parish church, a smaller community, and its norms and customs. So, alongside the richness of cathedral Choral Evensong, St. Ewold's reminds us that there should be the ordinary, quieter joy of parish Mattins, "decently and demurely read", perhaps with a few good congregational hymns and a decent sermon: nothing dramatic, all quite conventional, offered in the small parish, pleasantly bare beside the glories of a cathedral. This may be plain, everyday fare, but it is solid and hearty, sustaining us over the years.

Talk of Mattins in St. Ewold's bring us to a final consideration. When Mr. Arabin, the Archdeacon's appointment as the new incumbent of the parish, turned his thoughts to his first service, he focused on "St. Ewold's reading-desk". It is a humble piece of church furniture, receiving little attention in comparison to font, pulpit, and Holy Table.  The 1604 Canons required "a convenient Seat be made for the Minister to read Service in": nothing grand, merely a "convenient Seat". 

This is echoed in the description of what occurs in that seat. Trollope entitles this chapter, in which St. Ewold's is introduced to its new incumbent at Mattins, "Mr. Arabin Reads Himself in at St. Ewold's". Later in the afternoon there was Evensong, this time with the Archdeacon preaching, and "Mr. Arabin read the service". It is a description used, as above, in the Canons and is well-known to those who have enjoyed Parson Woodforde's diaries: "I read Prayers and preached this morning at Weston". The minister reads the service. The term is rooted in the rubric at Mattins:

Then these five Prayers following are to be read here: Except when the Litany is read; and then only the two last are to be read, as they are there placed.

Read. It sounds so very ordinary. 

This, however, is the point.  Common prayer, reading, desk and book, ordinary stuff as means of grace. Here, in and through the ordinary, is exhortation, confession, absolution, prayer, praise, drawing together "this world" and "the life of the world to come". Ordinary and common, yet Sunday by Sunday touched with grace, what Hooker describes as "all of the heavenly benefit of publique assemblies" (LEP V.24.2): "He pardoneth and absolveth ... Thou sittest at the right hand of God: in the glory of the Father ... that all our doings may be ordered by thy governance ... with us all evermore. Amen". 

We bring our journey to St. Ewold's to a close with words from Squire Thorne:

I am afraid as the evenings get shorter, Mr. Arabin, you'll find the reading-desk too dark.

The reading desk too dark in St. Ewold's "as the evenings get shorter" brings us from Rogationtide to Autumn days, on those October Sundays when Evensong is said as the shades lengthen and twilight falls. Such thoughts, however, are for another season. On this Rogation Monday, we take our leave of St. Ewold's, noting that Mr. Arabin, as is appropriate for Rogationtide, "declared that the morning light at any rate was perfect, and deprecated any interference with the lime-trees". Light within and trees around the parish church, reading desk and common prayer, parson and parishioners sharing in communal and domestic life, reading Mattins and Evensong: such are the ordinary joys of Anglicanism, "heaven in ordinarie".

(The pictures are of St. Katherine's, Chiselhampton, Oxfordshire. Whiffen in Stuart and Georgian Churches (1947) describes this as "one of the pleasantest" country churches built during the Georgian era.)