XVII - Turned away from Church

Cave temple at Badami

We have a beloved parishioner who tells me from time to time that he isn’t ‘into religion’. He means, I think mostly, that he doesn’t like formality – processions and vestments – he would prefer it to be more authentic – unscripted sermons, emotive worship. I found myself thinking of this when I was turned away from a church in Goa. I was wearing a shirt but I hate trousers in hot weather and was in respectable chino-style knee length shorts. The guard wagged his finger at me entering the churchyard and wordlessly waggled his finger at a sign saying “dress appropriately” and marched back to his office. I thought uncharitable thoughts. 

I aim always to be respectful – I once chased after Apollo into a French church to remove his cap. Some sort of verger chased after me which probably looked quite comical. I hardly think God cares any more about 3-year-olds wearing hats as he does about men revealing their knees, but, in my reading of Scripture, God cares a lot about hospitality and welcoming strangers. Having said that, to an earlier generation entering a church in shorts would have been unthinkable, just as for a time, a gentleman in shirt-sleeves was unbecoming (and still is in officers’ messes and other formal settings). 

Apollo under the sacred Banyan Tree

Formality for those leading worship makes sense to me as part of the impersonal representation of worship. Here – and we may disagree – I don’t feel that a congregation needs to see Brutus or Sarah. They should simply see a priest: a priest representing Christ in pronouncing absolution and benediction, and representing the people in our prayers and worship. For those who come to worship, I’m happy for them to come as themselves, whether that’s in their gym kit, or a child dressed as Harry Potter (which is Oberon’s de facto state and got a little girl in a pinch under previous management of St Margaret’s). 

My year in theological college had a challenging moment on this subject. One ordinand got hauled in front of the principal for attending morning prayer in her running kit (which did involve some quite short shorts). Women remain more affected by conservative rules on dress. We should probably have challenged her treatment as a feminist issue, but the truth is most people are just trying to get through theological college, which remains a bastion of insecurity and fear as a place where your hard fought-for vision of yourself can be torn away by a misjudgement or the critical eye of a member of staff. Appearance in ministry matters. Perception and reputation can rightly or wrongly make ministry impossible. And it’s all the more difficult as everyone has a different idea of what a priest should be and what they should look like. A parish priest who is a great friend performs as the pantomime dame every year on Christmas Day. He is adored by his congregation, but I’m sure there are some who don’t like it, just as a few familiar faces get a bit twitchy when incense makes its rare appearance at our church, or I see a frown at alcohol served after the service.

Elephant giving blessings in a temple in Hampi. We avoided as Rhiannon had doubts about the happiness of the Elephant.

When travelling in a strange land, familiar forms of worship become unavailable. The form of worship and its attendant expectations in a new church may be quite unfamiliar. I’m sure many, including priests, just switch it all off while they’re away. Some I know will find a church wherever they are and attend services even if they don’t understand a word. Others will fall back on their own private devotions, whether this involves prayers, meditation, reading, music or some combination. I’ve not been inside a church in 2025 yet – the longest period that I can remember, certainly in the last twenty years. I don’t miss it. Perhaps having come from the magical marathon that is Christmas with the knowledge of Holy Week approaching on our return, I’m sustained with communal celebrations of worship. Or it may be that India, which does not obviously have weekends, has few churches, and is generally unfamiliar, has fewer signposts to arrive at that sense of ‘Sunday’. Certainly, though its old and new temples are impressive in their sculpture, their naturalness, their edifices, the colour and drama, in the friendliness of people and the enthusiasm of their music, they do not speak to my soul. But it may also be the nature of my faith which is, first of all, interior, theological and prayerful and less bound to the interpersonal, social and liturgical. It will strike most people as odd that I can find a natural expression of faith in reading Sarah Coakley’s book on kenosis as others might have in a period of silent prayer, evensong, or at a worship band session. I find, as I did on a 37 day spiritual retreat many years ago, that spiritually I am at ease within myself – at least for a set-time such as this. 

Procession at Badami, not dissimilar to some Corpus Christi Processions in the UK.