Since the church referred to in this article sits in the beautiful country beneath the Cats Back, the ridge which is the location of our part of the Offa's Dyke Path, and is in sight of Black Hill, we thought this was a more than fitting place to reproduce this article which was originally written for the Hereford Diocesan Newspaper.
A 'sense of place' is a phrase which I suspect does not feature in many people's vocabulary in this ever changing world. The only constant seems to be our ancient buildings and the continuous spawning of new supermarkets at the expense of old fashioned things like local shops. I think this article captures what I understand to be 'a sense of place' which many of us experience when visiting 'special places'. In all honesty however I must confess to knowing the author very well so I am not an objective critic in this matter.
Dacier
A 'sense of place' is a phrase which I suspect does not feature in many people's vocabulary in this ever changing world. The only constant seems to be our ancient buildings and the continuous spawning of new supermarkets at the expense of old fashioned things like local shops. I think this article captures what I understand to be 'a sense of place' which many of us experience when visiting 'special places'. In all honesty however I must confess to knowing the author very well so I am not an objective critic in this matter.
Dacier
I love our parish church of St.Margarets. It sits in the landscape as it has always done surrounded by trees and fields. I am surprised when visitors say how beautiful it is. Every interested visitor makes me look anew at the ancient building.
With so many medieval churches, the temptation is to speak of the glories of the architecture. In our case the Rood Screen, Texts and the East Window are our main treasures. Wonderful though these features are, it is the people, past and present who have given meaning to the wood and stone which form the building.
Others will say, ‘My village church is always there, it’s my constant in life through all my ups and downs. It is somewhere to go home to’. Particularly important to those who can no longer live and work in one place, the ‘journeymen Christians’, who become members of successive congregations, but who always have the constant affection for their spiritual home. Like the belief that sustains them, having a constant in their life means so much.
When I sit in the church on Sunday I look around at the people with me and remember those who used to be there. The green man on the rood screen still leers at the vicar in the same old way, and the light still shines through the coloured glass window with Saint Margaret holding our church in her arms, but I am also picturing my parents sitting in a pew on an old bit of carpet. The carpet has gone now but it was noticeable that if we were late someone else would be sitting there grateful for the warmth this unsightly article provided. I remember the largest family in the parish with all the boys dressed in their red jumpers at Christmas, teenagers then, but grey-haired now.
But to the present. Happily, although most of our congregation are of pensionable age, we still have a toddler who mostly dozes through the service but occasionally wails when deserted by a parent who has gone to read a lesson.
There is a groove worn in the grass from our organist’s house to the church where she walks to unlock the medieval door every morning and to lock it again at dusk. You would think it was a cat’s path but I know better. She says the church is a life-line and a refuge for her. And of course that is what many people need in their lives.
When entering a church you are suddenly no longer alone. One visitor described our church as being soaked in the prayers of centuries. No fooling that visitor with the wrapping. It is a special place and I am pleased to say that it is not just me who has that feeling.
Jane
With so many medieval churches, the temptation is to speak of the glories of the architecture. In our case the Rood Screen, Texts and the East Window are our main treasures. Wonderful though these features are, it is the people, past and present who have given meaning to the wood and stone which form the building.
Others will say, ‘My village church is always there, it’s my constant in life through all my ups and downs. It is somewhere to go home to’. Particularly important to those who can no longer live and work in one place, the ‘journeymen Christians’, who become members of successive congregations, but who always have the constant affection for their spiritual home. Like the belief that sustains them, having a constant in their life means so much.
When I sit in the church on Sunday I look around at the people with me and remember those who used to be there. The green man on the rood screen still leers at the vicar in the same old way, and the light still shines through the coloured glass window with Saint Margaret holding our church in her arms, but I am also picturing my parents sitting in a pew on an old bit of carpet. The carpet has gone now but it was noticeable that if we were late someone else would be sitting there grateful for the warmth this unsightly article provided. I remember the largest family in the parish with all the boys dressed in their red jumpers at Christmas, teenagers then, but grey-haired now.
But to the present. Happily, although most of our congregation are of pensionable age, we still have a toddler who mostly dozes through the service but occasionally wails when deserted by a parent who has gone to read a lesson.
There is a groove worn in the grass from our organist’s house to the church where she walks to unlock the medieval door every morning and to lock it again at dusk. You would think it was a cat’s path but I know better. She says the church is a life-line and a refuge for her. And of course that is what many people need in their lives.
When entering a church you are suddenly no longer alone. One visitor described our church as being soaked in the prayers of centuries. No fooling that visitor with the wrapping. It is a special place and I am pleased to say that it is not just me who has that feeling.
Jane
