Church Building Magazine

In every edition, Church Building editor, Joseph Kelly, gives his views and comments on the latest topics of ecclesiastical and architectural interest.

Issue 114 November/December 2008
Tackling change in a church

As part of the perfectly natural and organic process of architectural development and innovation, most buildings will evolve over time as they respond to the needs of the day.

In the case of secular structures people readily accept the virtue – and at times necessity – of these often significant transitions. When we look at our own homes, for instance, even relatively recent properties will have been adapted, with living spaces and flows changed to reflect the changing nature of the family occupying the dwelling.

Commercial buildings too, rarely remain static in their form and function. One only has to look at the internals of a high street shop or bank behind its historic facade to see that the concept of timeless and unchanging heritage has been swept away, as these buildings have been brought up to contemporary standards for accessibility and customer demands.

As readers of this publication will know and understand, the attitude towards our historic church buildings is very much the opposite, with all emphasis on preserving the unique historical, social and cultural record that any well-established church presents to us.

In this instance, even when alterations to insure accessibility may be more widely accepted, changing the arrangement of the interior of a local church can often be contentious and uncomfortably divisive.

At the heart of the dilemma in any such project is, of course, the fear of change, which can take many forms: for some the rubric of the liturgy demands that a church not unravel itself in the face of current ritual practice and theology; others will worry that beauty and character may be lost and that the changes being proposed are shortsighted.

Most concerns will be unpinned by strong memories associated with the existing structure, and the important family rituals that have taken place within its walls – this despite the fact that the building may have been changing constantly with time and tradition.

With this in mind, one of the most enlightening exercises that church builders, architects and otter specialists can engage is getting the parish to document the changes made over the years to their building.

Such an exercise often reveals that significant changes have been made over time to the furnishings, artwork and arrangements.

You’ll often find a pretty mixed collection of innovators; some will undoubtedly have added to the building, whilst others will be clearly inferior to the original plans.

One thing that I’ve often noticed when helping with this sort of parish exercise: the congregation is invariably content with its present structure, and the arrangement of things within it. Looked at from an impartial perspective, however, it’s astonishing how churches over time become cluttered with an accumulation of things that effectively obscure that which is central to a parish’s liturgical and devotional life.

That said, I’ve also come across some truly horrific barren church landscapes created by over-enthusiastic minimalist theologies.

Sometimes parishes are unaware of the treasures they have (or have had) in their buildings, and it can be painful to see unnecessary destruction or unwillingness to maintain the character and beauty that has been handed down to this generation.

Only last month I was called to a church where a curious member of the parish had opened the long-forgotten undercroft access door, and had found the church’s original, intricately carved altar – wantonly smashed into hundreds of pieces so it could be thrown more easily down through the small undercroft door.

Not all history is this significant and, at the other end of the scale, I’ve also seen parishes where the uncritical retention of anything that is old has impeded contemporary worship, and has even hindered the development of the parish community.

In my experience, creating a new sanctuary area for altar, ambo and chair in the midst of the assembly works extremely well in this context, as the clear focus on the central acts of worship allows for much of the historic fabric of the shell of the building to be more readily retained without obscuring the central role of the liturgy.

Documenting the changes and evaluating the quality and appropriateness of the current worship space is thus for me a critical first step in balancing heritage and innovation.

Issue 113 September/October 2008
The great lead crisis

Well, I guess it was only a matter of time; the virtual epidemic of lead snatching that has been sweeping the UK has finally reached my own neck of the woods, with a spate of historic local churches stripped over the past few weeks.

A trail of destruction was left at the 13th-century St. Oswald’s in Malpas, near Chester, as thieves made off with roofing and downspouts.

Over in Acton, near Crewe, tens of thousands of pounds of damage was done to the 11th century St. Mary’s, where thieves even took the manhole covers from the adjacent road junction.

Just a few days later the rector of St. John the Baptist Church, Chester (the city’s oldest church) walked in to find rain gushing through gaping holes in the roof of the Grade I listed building. With the church already in danger of closure, the rector’s only hope for this important ecclesiastical building now rests with English Heritage.

Meanwhile, just a few miles from Chester, across the border into North Wales, the beautiful seafarers’ church at Queensferry also lost its roof protection during a particularly wet and stormy night, a crime that has inflicted tens of thousands of pounds of damage on the building, with the small congregation having no immediate means of meeting the £14,000 cost of repairs.

The past few years has seen a significant increase in such acts of wanton vandalism, driven by the high values of metals in Far Eastern markets – rising resource demand from China and India, for instance, coupled with supply disruptions from Australia, has caused lead prices to jump sevenfold in the past six years.

There were around 2,000 recorded lead thefts in the UK in 2007, resulting in more than
£6 million paid out by insurers, and the figures for just the first half of this year already suggest the level of thefts has more than doubled.

The problem has even made the pages of the New York Times (Lead crisis raises the roof off British churches, 4th August). I’m not sure I’d agree that it’s “the most concerted assault on churches since the Reformation,” but rising thefts could undoubtedly result in the total loss of some churches, especially those already on the dreaded “rationalisation and amalgamation” lists of already financially hard-pressed dioceses.

Solutions abound, from permanent dyes to sophisticated micro-electronics, down to
low-tech responses such as barbed wire, roof lights and even slippery drain pipe paint, but none of this is going to thwart the raging forces of supply and demand from the developing world.

Ironically, the natural insistence of the likes of English Heritage and others that listed buildings use ‘like for like’ has unwittingly created a steady supply of vulnerable roofs, and the increasing number of repeat thefts suggests that some kind of highly-organised and meticulously co-ordinated scheme of stripping and destruction is fast-emerging across the UK.

Advising a church on how to prevent lead theft is a tricky one, though, as I found out recently when I called in to a small parish community in Wales concerned that it’s church could become the victim of a repeat attack after an expensive lead (and other religious objects) theft, and the subsequent restoration success, had attracted wide coverage in their local media.

Whilst I was able to assure them that it wasn’t particularly the media coverage that would put them at risk, they were less happy to hear that it’s often the initial theft that gets the church ‘logged’ by the criminals themselves for a revisit, on the assumption that a ‘like for like’ insurance restoration would follow their first raid.

In response, many in the parish group enquired about the possibility of de-listing the building entirely and covering the roof with uPVC, understandably concerned far more about preserving the building for the parish community than any historical and architectural context.

There’s no denying that perfectly functional and affordable alternatives to lead do exist, and most would ensure the long-term survival of church buildings for future generations, without destroying the beauty, function and integrity of the building in any significant or permanent way.

Admittedly, the thought of a nation of bright white plastic churches glinting in the summer sunshine sends a shudder down my spine, but it does raise the critically urgent issue of our churches increasingly paralysed in a particular, corporate vision of architectural integrity, whilst their declining parish communities try to cope with the spiralling costs of theft, vandalism, repair and crippling insurance premiums.

Issue 112 July/August 2008
St. Martin-in-the-Fields

Although I visit London at least once a week on business, and even worked in the city for a number of years, I’ve never really taken time out to enjoy the capital’s architecture.

So it was a fortunate moment when, last week, whilst dashing down the Charing Cross Road towards Westminster, my contact called and postponed our meeting for several hours.

The delay left me at the doorstep of St. Martin in-the-Fields, and a chance to see for myself the church’s extensive renewal and restoration works, which were completed in April.

The goal of the work carried out at St. Martin’s was, in the words of the brief: “to enable St. Martin’s better to serve those in greatest need and to enrich people’s lives through worship, social care and internationally renowned musical performances in spaces fit for the purpose.”

The results are breathtaking, yet entirely functional and sympathetically consistent.

This has been one of London’s most complex building projects, masterminded by Eric Parry Architects. The brief called for the team to completely restore James Gibbs’s 18th century London landmark inside and out, and to create iconic new buildings and public spaces.

A stunning new glass pavilion now provides an entranceway into the new underground spaces, which have replaced a series of Victorian burial vaults which inadequately housed many of St. Martin’s services. Natural light now floods into the church, bringing it much closer to Gibbs’s original, and much-imitated, Baroque design.

I was really delighted by the glorious decorative plasterwork of the ceiling, which has been carefully and accurately restored. It was good also to see that the pulpit has been relocated close to its original place, to improve the sightlines for congregation and audiences, that that and the chancel has been reordered to allow greater flexibility for worship and concerts.

The real talking point, though, is that really magnificent new East Window, designed by artist Shirazeh Houshiary and architect Pip Horne, which they created to replace the window that had been hastily installed following World War II bomb damage.

Commissioned by the Parochial Church Council with advice from St. Martin’s Arts Advisory Panel, the work comprises a stainless-steel framework with beautifully etched glass panels, in a simple but powerful design that has strong spiritual and architectural resonances, forming a calm, still motif for contemplation and prayer.
Perhaps the greatest transformation has been in those underground vaults, which I remember visiting many years ago, when they were a very depressing, dark jumble of cluttered spaces.

The new glass pavilion leads down to what is now a sequence of beautiful, fully-accessible and inspirational spaces that house the activities vital to the life of St. Martin’s: The Bishop Ho Ming Wah Chinese Community Centre, the new purpose-built music rehearsal room, named after the founder of the Academy of St. Martin in the Fields, Sir Neville Marriner, the Dick Sheppard Chapel and community meeting rooms.

An award-winning cafe and a shop, and a complete clean and repair of the exterior surfaces, including that iconic spire, has transformed St. Martin’s from a disorganised and stressed meeting place, into undoubtedly one of the finest sacred spaces in the world.

As I sat in the light well that brings daylight and ventilation to this revived subterranean world, and looked up to the towering spire, it struck me as oddly ironic that, when it was built in the 1720s, the St. Martin’s project was criticised heavily for its great expense. Almost three centuries later and here we are having spent more than £36 Million more on restoration works.

Was it money well spent? Well, St. Martin’s now stands as an absolute textbook model of the very best that church architecture can offer, and will undoubtedly condition the theology and rationale of many subsequent church projects.

Far more, this exciting, inspiring and calming building now stands at a genuine global crossroads, reaching out to the bustle and chaos of London, proclaiming one of the most important messages of Christianity – that the spirit of Christ is present and waiting, both in the quiet places of the spirit, and the heady, confused places of common humanity.

I never made Westminster in the end, but called my friend across to St. Martin’s for our meeting, where he too found an unexpected yet welcome place of peace and renewal.