Why St. Mark's? Howard Talks About Bows and Bells
Posted on by Howard - a 60+ member
This past Ash Wednesday Tommy and I were in London. We were heading to church when we received word that our beloved priest associate, Edgar Adams, had died. As the dust motes from the rich incense danced about me, I thought about Edgar, who had been friend and mentor; I thought about this church, which he loved; and I thought about the church in which I sat, St. Mary-le-bow. The two churches seemed to have little in common, except the Anglican Communion. Yet, as I reflected on their histories, I realized both churches were founded after great wars; both congregations occupied four successive structures; both churches were flourishing in the middle of the 20th century, but both churches faced closure in the early 1990s. I believe that both churches, at that critical juncture in their respective histories, re-envisioned the Kingdom of God.
St. Mark’s was founded after the Civil War as a mission church out of St. James’s. The original wooden structure was quickly outgrown; a larger, unused church was bought. It, too, was outgrown. A new, even larger church was built, which served the congregation for the next fifty years. In 1921 the vestry boldly decided to move St. Mark’s from downtown Richmond. They bought property in the far West End--on the Boulevard, hired a gifted architect, borrowed a staggering amount of money, and built what remains one of the finest Georgian Revival structures in Richmond. A beautiful church, in a trendy location: St. Mark’s prospered. The governor of Virginia worshipped here. The Sunday school grew so large a classroom wing had to be added, then another. By mid-century three Sunday services were required to accommodate the seven hundred active members.
St. Mary-le-Bow was founded after an earlier war—the Norman Conquest. It also had distinguished parishioners in the early period, not least Thomas Becket, later St. Thomas Becket. The church was gutted by fire at the end of the 12th Century and rebuilt. In the 13th Century the great tower collapsed into the street in front of the church (which is the ongoing nightmare of our Property Committee). The Fire of London of 1666 reduced the building to rubble. Profound loss allowed the church to take advantage of an extraordinary opportunity. If the man who built St. Mark’s was gifted, the man who rebuilt St. Mary’s was a genius, Christopher Wren. St. Mary’s is a small church; the entire structure (minus the tower) would fit easily in our sanctuary. Wren created an exquisite jewel box, which the German air force destroyed in 1941. The church was rebuilt after the war, relying on Wren’s plans.
The 1960s in London brought a building frenzy. Sadly, there were many holes to fill. St. Mary’s was built in the 11th Century in the middle of what had once been a Roman camp. The context of the church evolved: it later found itself in the middle of a walled medieval city, and is now in the middle of the financial district, England’s Wall Street. As steel and glass rose around the church, so did the cost of real estate, which could no longer support residential use. By the early 90s there were simply no parishioners living within the bounds of the parish of St. Mary-le-Bow. The church that had stood on the same street corner for a thousand years was to be repurposed--as a visitors’ center.
The 60s in Richmond brought integration. What had been westward expansion became breathless white flight. Real estate in central Richmond slid; stately homes along the Boulevard were sub-divided into rental units; and the membership at St. Mark’s began a long, slow, painful decline. Then the church lost the revenue from a trust that had sustained the institution for years. Finally, in January 1991, the church received a letter from the Bishop: it’s time, time to think about locking up St. Mark’s. And send me the remainder of the endowment for use elsewhere.
I said in the fall newsletter that I see Jesus as an indignant reformer. He had reason to be. His homeland was occupied by foreigners; the leaders of his faith were colluding with the Romans and battening upon the labor class, reducing them to grinding poverty; those most in need were deemed most dispensable. Jesus, overturning the tables of the money changers in the Temple, envisioned a reversal of fortune: the greed-driven wealthy brought low; the poor, the dispossessed raised up. His Kingdom agenda—social and economic justice—was revolutionary.
And so we ask: if these things were so important to Jesus, why hasn’t he come back, to rule in majesty over the nations of the earth and impose justice? We’ve been waiting a long time, haven’t we? Several millennia. The problem is this. While we have waiting for God, God has been waiting for us. We have been waiting for intervention, while God has been waiting for collaboration. The Kingdom of God will come only to the extent we take it upon ourselves to enter into it. The Kingdom is bilateral, participatory, collaborative, and covenantal. It is a theology brilliantly summarized by Archbishop Desmond Tutu: “God, without us, will not; we, without God, cannot.” How, then, are churches with no, or few, parishioners to help build the Kingdom?
The vestry of St. Mary’s saw that the church was empty, but that the surrounding buildings were full—of office workers. The vestry emptied the crypt, placed small wooden tables between the massive Norman piers, and served good soup and honest bread at a fair price. The office workers come, and stayed for the midday service. Then the vestry realized that, at the end of the work day, not everyone left the financial district: homeless teens wandered the streets. St. Mary-le-Bow once again has a congregation, and a mission—albeit a very difficult one, and they are building the Kingdom.
The small congregation at St. Mark’s pondered and prayed. The faithful remnant: the white parishioners who had not left; the African American parishioners who had been invited to join St. Mark’s long before any other Episcopal church in the region was integrated; and a little band of then young, but still quite feisty, gay folk who had been welcomed long, long before that was politically correct. Collectively we asked: may we be a church that does not function as a private club? May we be a church that does not have implied membership criteria? May we be a church that loves…whom god loves? May that be our tradition? Instead of locking up, we banged the doors wide open. We took on outreach projects seemly beyond the reach of a small church with meager resources. And we grew. And grew. And by God…by God’s Grace, we are still here. One hundred fifty years, and we are still here.
So, yes, I can and I do ask for your financial support to advance the mission of this church and sustain its programming. I welcome your plate offering—cash is always agreeable, but what I really want in this sesquicentennial year is your written commitment to our common work and weal. I want a pledge card from everyone. Financial commitments in 2015 have ranged from two dollars a month to a thousand a month. Surely, all of us can make a commitment somewhere along that continuum. We have not only the work of the church to support but also a remarkable anniversary to celebrate, and, in the spring, an outreach initiative to children to fund. This year, especially this year, please give generously, gratefully.
St. Mary-le-Bow has a famous peel of bells, the Bells of Bow. We do not. But we do ring out, and we are heard in this city. It is the sound of the building of the Kingdom.