Dickinson College Humanities Program in Norwich

When Henry VIII split from the Roman Catholic Church in 1534 after he instated the Act of Supremacy he had no real intention of actually repudiating Catholic ideals (for more information go here).  He maintained the highly ornamented and ritualized structure of mass and design of churches and chapels.  However, after he died and Anglicanism came into its own under his son, Edward VI, churches were stripped of their decorations and a strict and Spartan design was adopted.  While throughout Anglican history the form of worship and the tenets evolved with the monarch, Protestantism has maintained a more austere stance on the level of decoration within a church.  Catholicism, on the other hand, is famous (or in some schools of thought, infamous) for its lavish decorations, rich priestly garbs, and overall sumptuous appearance.  The pinnacle of this over-the-top wealth is the site of the Holy See – the Vatican is a treasure trove literally overflowing with priceless paintings, sculptures, and breathtaking frescoes.  Just like the Vatican – the center of Catholicism – St. Paul’s Cathedral (a central symbol of Anglicanism) is overrun with artwork, statues, and mosaics dedicated to celebrating the life of Christ.

When I first walked into St. Paul’s I was struck with the irony that this great cathedral presented.  I had expected Westminster to be decorated past the usual point of Protestant sobriety, after all it did start out as a Catholic church, and the same went for the Abby at Bath; I did not expect this from St. Paul’s.  The current St. Paul’s Cathedral, built by Christopher Wren, was never a Catholic church and so does not have this excuse to pardon its grandeur.  Instead of adhering to the typical ideals of a Protestant church (a lack of idolatry and an overall more simple and modest atmosphere), St. Paul’s rivaled any Catholic church (with the exception of the Vatican).  I was surprised by the overall un-Protestant nature of the Cathedral.  Everywhere I looked, in every spare niche, nook, and cranny, was ornamentation of some sort.   This highly structured aesthetic was not contained in just the architecture – evensong was a series of highly ritualized acts.  From the initial procession in (scepters and all) through the singing to the end with the parade out, the structure of the ceremony was both beautiful and archaic.  While I was sitting there I reflected upon the fact that the service I was listening to was sung in the same manner it was 400 years ago (with the exception on the presence of female deaconesses).  It was both a humbling and confusing experience.

On the opposite side of the expectations spectrum, the Catholic mass I attended was performed in a modern and simplistic manner.  The chapel was just a little side room in the Newman House – a building that would have been easy to miss just walking down the street save for the flags put up to celebrate the upcoming arrival of the pope – and the actual chapel itself was noticeably bare.  There were small figures marking the Stations of the Cross, a small and ugly bust of Cardinal Newman, an alter, and one painting of the Madonna and Child.  This was a far cry from the reputation of ornamentation that the Catholic Church is saddled with as well as a telling foil for the overwhelming décor of St. Paul’s.

This comparison and its ironic implications got me thinking about what exactly the difference is between the Cathedrals and Abbeys of the Church of England I’ve visited and the Catholic service I attended mean.  It seems to me that Christopher Wren was not focusing on designing a building that was a place to worship God and to adhere to a particular brand of faith – he was more creating a symbol of England at its most lavish time (we learned all about the excesses of Restoration England on yesterday’s walking tour) that would call out to all who saw it how great, mighty, and powerful England was and still is today.  It is less a place of worship for God than a hall of worship for England.  I have not visited any Anglican churches that are used as community places of worship instead of as monuments and I am curious to see if the local churches in Norwich have the same level of ornamentation or whether they adhere to a simpler, more Protestant appearance.

So far we’ve visited several cathedrals and chapels of the Church of England, a Hindu temple, a Sunni mosque, and a synagogue, and as far as I can tell, Christianity seems to be the only dying religion in England. To be fair, I’ve only visited really famous cathedrals and they’re bound to be turned into museums because of their history, but regardless, church attendance in England, belief in a God: way down. I’ve been racking my brain to figure out why, and I think the best I can do is work through a few of the commonalities among all the holy places I’ve seen.

The temple, the mosque, and the synagogue all emphasized their connections to the community and the multi-functionality of their buildings when we visited. In fact, at the mosque, the man we spoke to said “children come to play and then to pray,” suggesting that a multi-purpose building keeps the religion thriving. But at St. Paul’s our tour guide said that prior to the Great Fire, church had become “run down” because it was being used for multiple purposes (markets, dentist, etc), so the argument works in both directions and doesn’t really get us anywhere.

The temple, the mosque, and the synagogue speakers also took extreme pains to emphasize the bridging of religions, especially to Christianity. All three mentioned their interfaith programs between different religions, including the cathedrals (even though none of the chapels or cathedrals made any mention of the other faiths they were connected to and working with). The non-Christian religions also made special efforts to explain their religions in relation to Christianity, in some cases understating differences in favor of finding common ground. I know some people felt this was a defensive move and a watering down, but I understood it as an emphasis on bridging differences. The speakers expected a Christian audience, and each one mentioned Jesus as an important figure, even from Hinduism, which is a non-Abrahamic religion (it doesn’t come from the same branch as the other three). The best explanation I can think of for this is that Christianity, as the official dominant religion, even if it’s unofficially dying, can take itself for granted because of its connection to imperialism. All other faiths must places themselves in coordination with the colonizer, but the Church of England, as an official religion does not have a stake in getting along. It belongs here and need not please anyone else. (I’m speaking in terms of practicality. There are plenty of other more altruistic reasons for getting along.)

All four faiths also emphasize the importance of their religious history, the history of their specific holy building, and their place in it. Weirdly, this seemed to strengthen identity for some, and weaken it for others. Jewish history, as a group in diaspora, is such a uniting force that it allows for an entire Jewish culture and identity that complements the religion. Christian history seems to obscure it. Instead of learning about Christianity at the chapels and cathedrals, we treated it like a museum, viewing artifacts. I again want to attribute this to imperialism. Groups who live under the threat of obliteration hold their roots tighter. Even though the Protestants and Catholics have been intermittently persecuted, Christianity has been associated with England for quite a while, and England is not in danger of going anywhere.

I also noticed that all the non-Christian faiths emphasized the fact that they were not evangelical. While they aim to teach others about their faith, they do not actively convert, while active evangelism is an important part of Christianity (most orthodox sects). It seems like an interesting coincidence that England, an imperial nation that converts other nations to Englishness, would be attracted to a religion that converts followers (Ironically, the opposite seems to be happening). Christianity can easily be transformed into a tool for imperialism. Maybe that perversion coupled with the expectation that it will just always be there is what has caused its downfall.

The other day I went with a few others to the Newman House up the road from Arran House to attend Catholic mass. On the whole I think we all enjoyed the experience and actually gained a lot from it. For me, it was a relief to finally hear a native Englishman discuss the role of Catholicism in England, a topic I’ve been curious about even before coming to London.

Briefly looking around at the number of university students congregated in the small chapel, the priest quickly recognized that most were foreign to England. I could not tell whether or not his decision to touch on prominent hot button religious issues was planned. Regardless, the priest took advantage of preaching to the variety of students about contraceptives, abortion, homosexuality, and the global fear of Catholicism. Obviously they’re quite heavy, controversial issues to discuss in just a twenty-minute sermon.

Although the priest’s explanation of the Catholic Church’s view regarding homosexuality was particularly intriguing—and positive—, I was most interested in his discussion regarding the presence of Catholicism in England. He described the underlying sense of fear of Catholicism and the Papacy among the English. The priest made comments alluding to the English people’s standoffishness toward practicing Catholics and the Church on the whole. The discord among Anglicans and English Catholics apparent today may be incomparable to the country’s history but the unease among the English is still faintly visible. The priest at one point joked that the English fear the Papacy in Rome and devout Spanish Catholics will some day return to England to convert everyone back to Catholicism.

From my experience touring Westminster Abbey, St. Paul’s Cathedral, a Hindu mandir, Jewish synagogue, and Islamic mosque, and attending Catholic mass in a small university chapel, I have realized a subtle controversial religious dialogue materializing in London. England has an established church but their reaction to religious diversity is much different from America’s where no church is established. There is a fear of Catholics worldwide, but where I live the religion is thriving and accepted (again, that could easily be just because of my location in the northeast). I think religion is part of an American’s cultural identity but also one’s spiritual faith is more strongly expressed, whereas in England, Anglicanism easily becomes just a label. As Kate Fox described: a child once asked their parent what their religious background was, and the parent told the child to mark Anglican. When the child questioned this decision, the parent stated that that’s just what one was supposed to put. Furthermore, as the gentleman at the synagogue explained today, it would be unwise for a candidate for Prime Minister to publically share their religious beliefs, whereas in the United States, a politician’s religious devotion is widely broadcast. Although both nations continue to struggle with religious tolerance and freedom, I would say I feel more comfortable as Catholic in America than in England. I receive opposition in America, but I also feel free to defend my beliefs. Here in England, even people’s spiritual devotion to the established church is diminishing; completely ignoring the fact that Catholicism’s presence is seemingly minimal. Although my experience at the Newman House was most definitely positive, I look forward to finding a larger community of Catholic students at UEA in Norwich (hopefully).

     Today I visited the Great Hospital for the last time, for their monthly Coffee Morning, held on the first Saturday of the month. The event took place in the Mackintosh Room, a multi-purpose hall at the heart of the Hospital’s grounds. Having baked a batch of double chocolate biscuits the night before, I presented my offering to the woman manning the bake sale. She immediately recognized me from St. Helen’s and asked if I was “the young woman doing the project on the Hospital.” I told her I was, and she called over a few of her friends to meet me. Edna eagerly asked if she could get me a cup of coffee.
– Yes, that’d be lovely, thank you.
– Do you take sugar?
– No, just black. Thank you. [I thought the English were supposed to be tea drinkers.]
     I shook hands with a few women who remarked how kind it was of me to bring biscuits, and how nice it was to have “a young person” around. I was invited to sit down at a large, rectangular table towards the back of the room, next to the ‘Bring & Buy’ table, a mini tag tale-type affair with donated goods. A woman, seated at the table, who had bought a gold-colored picture frame asked me:
– Are you American or Canadian?
– American. I smiled, nodding.
– Oh, I was just wondering because I’ve just bought this picture frame and it has ‘Canada’ stamped on the back.
– Ah, small world! I wonder how it ended up here. [Cargo ship, probably,] I thought. I wondered how many things on the table had ‘China’ stamped on the bottom.
I sidled up next to Ernie, a spectacle-wearing widower who looked to be in his late seventies. I introduced myself but he was reluctant to shake my outstretched hand, and, in fact, I didn’t get his name until half-way through our conversation. He warmed up enough to grill me on my Hospital knowledge, however.
– My project is on the history of the Hospital: the foundation, the functions it had and the services it provided, what it meant to the community and those types of things.
– So when was the Hospital founded?
– 1249, I reply, feeling absolved. Ernie nodded in quiet approval.
I explain to Ernie that another element of my project includes a modern look at the Hospital. The interrogation continued:
– So what have you found in your research so far?
– Hm, well, one thing in particular that I think is neat is the sense of community here. Since it’s so much larger than most other facilities, it almost feels like a small village, especially with having the parish community, here, too.
– And how do you account for those who don’t take part in the parish?
Thankfully, we are interrupted by Mary, who is struggling to return to her seat, now blocked by my chair. I scoot to allow her passage, thinking that Ernie must be an agnostic, and grateful for an excuse to evade his question. Ernie leans over me, introducing me to Mary. I shake her limp hand. She is disinterested in my presence.
Later, Ernie asks what I think of the male/female ratio at the Great Hospital, explaining that the population is comprised of 90% women.
– Hm, that’s a good question. You know, I hadn’t really thought about it too much. I didn’t think to look at it from a gender aspect. I turn the tables. What do you think, being a man?
Ernie argues it is more difficult for men to find social outlets at the Hospital. His neighbor jumps into the conversation, arguing in opposition.
– You all can go to pubs together and that sort of thing and it would be difficult for a woman to do that alone.
I ask Ernie if he finds social events like this to be helpful.
– Yes and no. He responds. When you talk to people at things like this it all ends being up very chatty. By this point, Ernie has warmed to me, leaning into me when he talks. He has even smiled and laughed a few times, revealing ivory-slick dentures, trying desperately not to display the loneliness he eludes to. I can see that he longs for deep connections, real and intimate conversation.
Mary gets up, brings her chair with her, and relocates to the other side of the table. She leaves behind her coffee and raffle tickets, so I get up to bring them to her. On the other side of the table, a woman seated near Mary grabs my hand.
– Are you the girl doing the project on the Hospital?
– Yes, that’s me. I sit down in an empty chair beside Ruby, putting my right hand atop hers that has already met my left. I explain the project to her and as she listens, I can see her glancing at the tattoos on my forearms. When I’ve finished explaining, and after she remarks at what a nice project it sounds like, she asks me about the tattoo on my right arm.
– It’s a Christian symbol.
– Yes, I know that. What is it?
– It’s called the Cross of Jerusalem.
– Oo.
– These four smaller crosses represent the four Gospels, and this, the Gospel of Luke, is highlighted in red because that’s where the Parable of the Good Samaritan lies within the Bible.
– Right.
– Which is a parable I try to live my life by. And this one is a Judeo-Christian term: Shalom. Peace. I point to my left forearm.
– Well, those are lovely. What kind of church to you attend at home, then?
I tell her Methodist, explain that I was baptized Catholic, refused to be confirmed and ended up at my current church after a bit of “church shopping.”
– Are you Anglican, then? I ask Ruby.
– Oh, no. Salvationist. I only go to St. Helen’s because it is convenient. But, you know, I find the Anglican Church a bit too solid.
– Yes, I’ve found that, too. The services seem more formal, a bit rigid.
– Yes! Ruby retorts and makes me smile at her vivaciousness. Everyone’s sitting there like concrete. I’m not concrete. If, Jesus is alive, then we should be full of life, too!
I smile and tell her that I agree. I notice that her hands are trembling slightly, feel the nerves in her hands firing between mine, see that in her other hand, she clutches a cane. She reminds me of my grandmother, a devout Catholic with a rock-solid faith, despite being crippled by Polio at sixteen, blind, and, at one point, temporarily deaf.
The woman manning the bake sale returns:
– I’ve washed up your plate and put it in the bag for you.
– Oh, thank you!
– Just be careful because it might be a bit wet still.
– Okay, I’ll just leave it in the bag, then, thanks.
I get up, leaving Ruby, to return my plate to my bag. I see a man rising from my previous seat next to Ernie, and he pulls it out for me to sit once more. Feeling obligated to sit, I do, and introduce myself. I find out that he is Chris, Ruby’s husband, and that he and Ernie were once sailors, and had just been reminiscing about old times.
Suddenly, the room becomes quiet, and I become confused. Then, Charlotte, who I later will come to learn is 93 (and doesn’t look it) say:
– 997. Pink. Pink 997. [Ah, the raffle has started,] I realize, and in my absence, Ernie has bought me five raffle tickets.
A woman who wins a bag of chocolates sends the treat around the table to share, and two other ladies who win twice give their tickets to their neighbors who haven’t yet won anything.
– Isn’t this exciting? Ernie jokes with me.
I end up winning an enormous Cadbury bar, and Ernie a bottle of Chardonnay. Chris and Ruby win, too, but I can’t make out their prize from across the table.
After the raffle, at almost exactly 11:15, the room begins to empty and the residents shuffle out. I say my goodbyes to Ernie:
– Best of luck to you.
– Thank you. It was great meeting you, Ernie, take care.
– You, too, dear.
And to Ruby and Chris:
– Enjoy the rest of your stay.
– Will do. Lovely meeting you both. Take care.
– Take care.
– Take good care.

On the 25 back to UEA, I see a man seated two rows in front of me. He has propped his head up against the window and is sleeping. His jacket is dusty and he is wearing checkered chef’s pants and a baseball cap. The cap is ill-fitting, and reveals that his head is scabbed, the hair caked with dried blood and sticking to his flaking scalp. The woman sitting in front of him glances back at him several times, looking him over, sneering.
[Is he only pretending to sleep? Is he homeless? How did his head end up like that?] I think to myself. I wonder if he needs money. I can see that his right hand is open through a gap between the seats. I imagine myself slipping a five pound note into his hand while he is still asleep. [I wonder if I even have a five pound note.] I don’t even bother to look in my wallet. I don’t want him to be offended by my assumption that he needs the money. But I keep staring at his open hand. When the bus reaches my stop, I walk past him, see his closed eyes in my peripheral vision, and go home.

– These four smaller crosses represent the four Gospels, and this, the Gospel of Luke, is highlighted in red because that’s where the Parable of the Good Samaritan lies within the Bible, which is a parable I try to live my life by.

Today, 25 April, I visited the Great Hospital for the third time. I attended the weekly 10:30am church service at St. Helen’s church, which I discussed in my previous post.
This week’s service was again from the Book of Common Prayer, and was therefore nearly identical to the last one I attended, with the exception of new hymns, so I will forgo another discussion of the service. However, one detail of the service which I hadn’t noticed the first time I attended (I must have zoned out; it’s easy to do) I do feel bears sharing. One of the lengthier prayers includes a paragraph which specifically asks God to bless the Queen, her magistrates and other political figures, and to guide them in their civic duties. Perhaps England is not so secular, after all (Divine Right, anyone?).
After the service had ended and the parishioners began to slowly shuffle (literally) out, I stayed behind to speak to the priest, Judith Wilson, as did a dozen or so others. They exchanged “hello”s and “how was your holiday?”s and “how are you feeling?”s, etc, and when it was finally my turn to speak with the priest, I shook her hand, told her how much I enjoyed the sermon (surprisingly, I wasn’t lying, either) and asked if she had a few minutes to sit and chat. She obliged, asked me to wait while she finished her goodbyes and changed out of her formal garb.
I waited in the now empty church as a woman locked up and shut off all the lights. Several minutes later, Judith came from a room at the front of the church dressed in mostly (save for a white clerical collar) casual clothing. She invited me to her home for tea or coffee, and lead me through the hospital grounds to a wooden, gated fence. The gate led to Judith’s garden (which is maintained by the Hospital’s groundskeeper) and the garden led to Judith’s back door. Judith put on the kettle as we discussed pets (cats, specifically), holidays, and how convenient electric kettles really are (very).
After getting settled in the living room, I began our conversation by asking Judith how long she had been preaching, and how long she had been at St. Helen’s. Judith, originally from Tottenham, London, came to the Great Hospital in December of last year, and had previously worked as a chaplain in a nearby prison. She was ordained as an Anglican priest in 1995, but had been preaching in the Free Church since the 1980’s.
She enjoys working at the Great Hospital because it is unique and “forward-thinking”, and offers services that similar care facilities do not. She cited, in particular, the fact that the Hospital will follow its residents to the end: an eldery person can move into general housing for the independent residents, then to Prior Court when s/he becomes older and more frail, and finally to the Elaine Herbert house, which is a nursing house for those nearing the end of their life. This is unique because most other care facilities only offer one of the previously mentioned types of care.
She also mentioned that the Great Hospital is much larger than most other facilities, and because there is a larger population of residents, the Hospital feels more like a small village than an assisted living facility. It is also unique in that it has a spiritual community within St. Helen’s, and about one quarter of the population is a member there.
Having a spiritual element, Judith believes, is essential when caring for others. “Without Christianity, or any other faith, the world is in black and white rather than in color,” she said. She cited St. Augustine, who had said that those without God in their lives have a “God-shaped hole in their hearts.” Judith went on to tell me a story of a friend of hers who is paralyzed, and finds it difficult to maintain her faith in God now that she is “trapped do in a body that won’t do what she wants it to.” The woman was a schoolteacher for many years, who loved reading. “Words were her life, and now she can’t read because she has gone blind and can’t hold a book.” This story contrasts starkly with another one she told me, of a woman who was confined to a chair, and later her bed, but maintained a steadfast faith throughout her life. She was a matriarch of the community who consistently kept a positive attitude and relied on her faith. “That’s the difference,” she said. “Without faith, life is lacking a vital element.”
The conversation shifted, as I asked Judith a question about something she mentioned in her sermon: Judith had shared that her cousin once told her that she had wasted her life and all her opportunities by becoming a priest, and Judith claimed that his values were much more secular than her own. This idea of the shift from a spiritual England to a secular England has always interested me, especially for a country whose monarchical tradition is so deeply rooted in the principle of “Divine Right.” I asked Judith if she believed that England was, indeed, shifting towards the secular, and if she could mark a transition point.
“Yes.” She said. “Absolutely.” The time period which Judith identified as being the transition point was the 1960’s, when there was a “shift in values, outlook.” She also believes that Margaret Thatcher’s term in office exacerbated the effects, and “put the nail in the coffin.” According to Judith, she “bred selfishness and materialism” in the English culture, and led society away from God.
We ended our conversation with a discussion of Christianity’s role in present-day society. “Christianity is being put to the side. We aren’t persecuted, but we are ridiculed or ignored,” she said; an interesting observation.
My time with Judith was informative and interesting. She is a very warm person, and extremely welcoming and easy to talk to, and I look forward to further interactions with her and other parishioners at a Coffee Morning/Bake Sale next weekend.

10:15am – 12:30pm
Time: 2.25 hours

Total Time: 6.25 hours

     This past Sunday, Alli and I attended a service at the Church of St. Helen, which was originally founded as a part of The Great Hospital, and remains closely linked to the Hospital to this day. The Anglican service was from The Book of Common Prayer, and is, I was told by Reverend Judith Wilson, a very similar service to what would have been conducted in the Church over the past few centuries.
     The Book of Common Prayer Communion, as the service is known, is a regular service, and is offered on the second and fourth Sundays of each month, beginning at 10:30 am. Holy Communion is offered on the first and third Sundays of each month, also at 10:30 am, and when a fifth Sunday of the month occurs, a Morning Prayer is offered at 10:30 am. A Holy Communion is offered regularly – 11:00 am each Wednesday – in the Elaine Herbert House or Prior Court, both of which are located on the Hospital grounds. The Church also offers social events and programs, such as bible studies and a Coffee Morning which is held on the first Saturday of each month, from 10:00-11:30 am in the Mackintosh Room. A complete list of these services, events and programs can be found on the Church of St. Helen’s official website.
     It might seem that, when looking at the impressive calendar of events and programs offered, the Church of St. Helen is still very much alive, but a very different story is told by the congregation itself: the body of the Church is made up primarily of the elderly residents of The Great Hospital. Aside from Alli and myself, none of the attendees looked to be much younger than sixty years of age, save for a young mother and her three small children who left halfway through the service. There couldn’t have been more than thirty parishioners total, and the overall emptiness of the Church was noticeable. Despite an impressive calendar of events which might suggest that the Church is thriving, it is obvious upon visiting that the truth is rather the opposite.
     Regardless, those who were in attendance were a cheerful and friendly bunch. One gentleman who walked in, supported by a wooden cane, smiled at Alli and me and said warmly, “Good morning, young ones!” Several minutes later, the Reverend Judith Wilson greeted us personally and welcomed us to the Church. This welcoming atmosphere continues even after the service had ended. A woman who was seated a few ahead of us turned around and struck up conversation, asking us where we were from and what we were studying, etc. Several other women approached us, handed us fliers and leaflets, encouraged us to take a look around the Church and offered information about the building at certain artifacts and relics within it.
     The friendly and personal tone was carried through the service itself, as well, as Reverend Judith Wilson delivered a pleasant, rather colloquial – and even humorous – sermon. This surprised me, as I was expecting – however ignorantly – to bear witness to a more puritanical and lofty oration. My expectations were met, however, by the choice in hymns and the language used in the spoken prayers. Some of the hymns were written as early at the eighteenth century – a far cry from the twentieth century “Don’t Stop Believin’” by Journey which the band at my Church in New York once performed. The songs were dated and joyless to my ears. The prayers, too, were dated. They were written in Early Modern rather than Modern English. Here, I got my fill of the ‘thee’s, ‘thou’s and ‘thine’s that I was fully expecting to hear.
     Another aspect of the service which I found surprising was Holy Communion. Rather than receiving Communion at the front of the Church where the Reverend preached, Communion was received in the Lady Chapel at the right-hand-side of the Church, in front of a Georgian-style board which listed the Ten Commandments. Additionally, in lieu of forming a queue which advances toward the stationary clergyman, the parishioners lined up and kneeled before the board, and the Reverend moved down the line, offering Communion to each person. When that group had all received Communion, they stood and left, and a second group came, kneeled, and the process repeated.
     A few moments of sheer boredom aside, I did enjoy the service at the Church of St. Helen. It was interesting to observe and participate in the service of a denomination of Christianity which is different from the one in which I normally participate, and it was truly amazing to meditate on the fact that generations upon generations had sought nourishment – spiritual or corporal – within the walls of the Church of St. Helen.

Hours Logged: 1.5

Total Hours Logged: 4