A sermon preached by a former rector of the successor church at the two hundredth anniversary of the erection of the Old Church quite beautifully evokes both these aspects of the building:
For ten scores of years has it braved the storms, which have beaten upon it from the Atlantic, and stood as a landmark in southern Rhode Island. In all New England, there remains no other church structure of our Faith, so ancient. Well worthy of our honour and affection is the sturdy old edifice, with which are involved many of the choicest memories of our lives. St. Paul's Church, in Narragansett, we hail thee, today, Clarum et venerabile nomen.
But it is not the sight of the wood and the stone of the structure which stirs our emotions. It is not the size of the building: for it is small. It is not its architectural merits: for it has none worthy of mention. What moves us, is the faith that in this old edifice, so modest and simple and plain, there has been offered for two centuries the sacrifice of prayer and thanksgiving. Whatever is best and worthiest in this community, to-day, is bound up with the structure. A long line of prophets of the Lord have here set forth, in deep humility, but with a mighty faith, what has been put into their mouths as the good news of Salvation. Ten generations of men, within its homely walls, have drunk in the message, and bowed themselves low in confession, and raised their hearts in prayer to the Mercy-Seat, and praised the Lord, their Redeemer, in sacred song, and been washed with the Water of Regeneration, and fed with Christ's Blessed Body and Blood.
It is, perhaps, the very modesty of Old Narragansett Church, in the style of the New England meeting house, which draws attention to the Prayer Book piety, sacramental life, and faithful preaching of a reasonable faith. Too ornate a frame can be a distraction, drawing our gaze to itself rather the beauty, goodness, and truth it holds. The New England modesty of Old Narragansett, by contrast, allows us to dwell on the beauty, goodness, and truth which it held, over the generations, as the prayers, offices, and sacraments of the Prayer Book were read and administered: "Whatever is best and worthiest in this community, to-day, is bound up with the structure".
The preacher's reference to the "homely walls" of Old Narragansett not only captures a significant characteristic of 18th century Anglican churches, it also is suggestive of Anglican piety itself, what Martin Thornton describes as the "domesticity" fundamental to Anglican spirituality. The fact that Old Narragansett looks like a New England home rather beautifully points to this domesticity of Anglican piety: "sturdily incarnated in land, parish and work" (to use a phrase from John Milbank), with prayer, word, and sacrament integrated into communal life.
With Thanksgiving, Winter days arrive and the festive seasons draws close. Appropriately, the sermon refers to the memories older parishioners had of Christmas at Old Narragansett, shared with the preacher when he was rector in the 1860s:
Sometimes, when fond recollection called up pictures of the joyous days of youth, they would describe, with kindling eye, the splendours, never to be again equalled, of the Christmas Eve Festival in the Old Church, when the snow lay deep and sparkled in the moonlight in Church Lane, and the insistent bell rang out its merry peal, "Come one, come all," and the gleaming of a hundred candles streamed out through the tiny windowpanes, with a glory such as no thousand modern electric lights could evolve; and, within, the whole place was embowered in hemlock and pine and laurel, - you can see the marks, to-day, where their boughs were nailed densely over the columns, - and
'When shepherds watched their flocks by night,'
and
'Hark! the herald angels sing,'
and
'Shout the glad tidings,'
exultingly sing, rent the air, and the minister prayed, devoutly, "O God, who by the leading of a star".
Snow, candlelight, seasonal greenery, carols. Some dismiss all this as mere nostalgia (and they do so with tedious predictability every Christmas). However, as Andrew Rumsey (and do give his wonderful 'Going to Ground' a follow on YouTube) has indicated, such a casual dismissal of nostalgia ignores how it can function as a means of suggesting "what is missed or lost" in our contemporary culture:
It is not ridiculous, nor is it bound to become morbid and dysfunctional: indeed, at times of accelerated change, a little "living in the past" can be a vital means of regaining one's bearings, as well as consoling and creative.
Careful readers will have noted the apparent mistake in the preacher's words: at "the Christmas Eve Festival in the Old Church", the minister is very unlikely to have prayed "O God, who by the leading of a star", for this is the Epiphany collect. Perhaps, however, this was not a mistake but poetic license. After all, the preacher has described how "the snow lay deep and sparkled in the moonlight in Church Lane". The words of Lancelot Andrewes in his sermon for Christmas Day 1622, invoked by Eliot in his famous poem for the Magi, must surely come to mind:
"A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter".
Looking at Old Narragansett in mid-Winter snow at the festive season, and knowing how Andrewes and Eliot evoked Winter snow when describing the Christmas journey of the Magi, how could we not - with the preacher - think of the Prayer Book's glorious Epiphany collect, and the joyful domesticity which should characterise Anglican celebration of the Incarnation?
When I first came across online pictures of Old Narragansett Church a few months ago and tweeted them, I was pleasantly surprised with the very positive response, including from friends in TEC. By no means a scientific survey, it was nevertheless a gentle reminder - in a dislocated, confused, rootless time - that there can be a space for an Episcopalianism which cherishes and celebrates its cultural hinterland, memories, and place, not (obviously) as ends in themselves, but as signs of the good life, shaped by prayer and commandments, scripture and sacraments.
Churches should not only be unembarrassed about celebrating evocative cultural hinterlands: we should do so intentionally and meaningfully, recognising that sentiment, emotion, and affections are natural and inherent to both flourishing ecclesial and communal life.
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