England's Dying Churches

I would rather sleep in the southern corner of a little country churchyard than in the tomb of the Capulets.

--Edmund Burke

So would Alfred Enderby, although he is not a statesman but only a farm hand in the tiny (pop. 150) Lincolnshire village of South Ormsby. As long as he can remember, Enderby, 65, has been worshiping at St. Leonard's Church, a weathered, three-century-old stone building. Enderby has also been the parish's diligent churchwarden for more than two decades. Rising at dawn, he arrives at St. Leonard's shortly before 8 o'clock holy communion, tolls the ancient bell, carefully lights the altar candles, and then drops his usual small offering into the collection envelope. Commendable though it is, Enderby's simple act of devotion is an anachronism. On most days, he is St. Leonard's only worshiper.

Redundancy. The unhappy state of St. Leonard's is an all too typical story. Throughout the English countryside, the small country parishes that were once the bulwark of the Anglican faith are empty and neglected, even though a few indomitable souls like Enderby try to keep them alive. Their exteriors crumbling like the yellowing pages of an old Psalter, England's 10,000 or so picturesque country churches are sad reminders of a vanishing way of life. Except for occasional tourists, few people ever visit them; each year their congregations grow ever smaller. "There hasn't been a wedding here in twelve years," laments one venerable priest who stubbornly refuses to abandon his diminishing flock in the village of Ox-combe. "We only have funerals."

His dirge reflects not only the declining impact of religion generally but some hard demographic facts. Largely because of farm mechanization, England's rural population has dwindled by 75% in the past half-century; in some isolated pockets of Sussex and East Anglia, it has fallen to 2% of the pre-World War I level. But while the people have gone, their churches remain. Near the village of Tetford, for example, there are seven miniature churches, most of them nearly 200 years old, that were built by the old town gentry in a kind of keeping-up-with-Squire-Jones competition. In their heyday, they were jammed at Sunday services by their proud patrons and loyal retainers. Today, not one of them serves more than three families.

Although the crisis in England's country churches has long been in the making, Anglican leaders are becoming increasingly concerned about it. Lacking the money or the manpower to maintain them, the bishops of some rural dioceses have been pronouncing certain parishes "redundant"--that is, they withdraw recognition of the church, order its old doors locked, and if no other use can be found, declare the building ready for demolition. "The church is for people; it is not a society for the preservation of ancient monuments," said a recent diocesan report in Lincolnshire, where 57 rural parishes have already been declared redundant and 100 others are on the brink of that fate.

The shutdown of these ancient churches--some of which date back to Norman times--disturbs many people, including nonbelievers who are worried about the random destruction of England's architectural heritage. Until now, however, very little official action has been taken to salvage these reliquaries. One promising new method is the reorganization of autonomous parish clerics into "group ministries," which enable several priests to band together and serve a number of depopulated parishes.

Typical of the 60 group ministries formed so far is one conducted by two energetic young priests in the South Ormsby area. Rotating services among 15 parishes, they transport the faithful to and from worship in a secondhand minibus (which they bought from the proceeds of a rummage sale). They have organized a group choir and Sunday school, and publish a magazine called The Tennyson Chronicle (after the poet laureate, who was born in their district). Such activities would be impossible if the priests had only two or three active parishioners, instead of the 30 or more who now attend services.

Off into Retirement. Recently, Parliament passed a measure that actively encourages the formation of more such ministries. Previously, an elderly vicar could hang on to his parish even if no one ever attended his services. Now he can be compelled to join a group ministry or be packed off into retirement. The pastoral measure also establishes a ten-man advisory board to determine what churches should be demolished, preserved or put to some other use. Even this new concern, however, has not entirely erased the melancholy over the decay of England's country churches. "An empty country church," says the Rev. Philip Goodrich, vicar of a commuter-belt church near London, reflecting the sentiments of many Britons, "is somehow a much sadder phenomenon than an empty urban church. Nostalgia dogs us."

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