Mystery Worshipper: Cool Dude
Church:
St Mary’s Dore Abbey, Abbeydore
Location: Herefordshire, England
Date of visit: Sunday, 15 September 2024, 10:30am
The building
French monks founded an abbey here in 1147 and their church was probably completed around 1190. As Cistercians, their church would have been lime-washed, and completely white inside, possibly on the outside too. It was originally surrounded by all the usual monastic buildings, including a spacious cloister, but what survives today above ground of these is just a few fragments. Ruination followed the Reformation until the local landowner converted the choir and crossing of the abbey church into a parish church for the village, a conversion completed in 1634. The long nave has completely disappeared, so what stands today is about one-third of the volume of monks’ church.
The church
The church community in Abbey Dore makes the most of its lofty, ancient building and its great acoustics by putting on a range of music events. A ‘Hedgerow Communion’ was advertised for the evening of the summer solstice. Other worship and community events have included a gathering of the Quiet Garden Movement in the abbey grounds, surrounded by apple trees for collective meditation and quiet. Their ‘Good News’ newsletter is ecumenical, with listings of other church services locally. In spite of small numbers and the daunting challenge of the upkeep of so many magnificent historic churches, they give the impression of being very lively.
The neighborhood
Abbeydore is a small Herefordshire village, close to the Welsh border. The worshipping community here is part of Wye Dore Benefice – 10 rural parishes (and 10 parish churches, many of them medieval) joined together, with just one shared full time clergyman to serve them all. They are part of the Abbeydore deanery of 35 parishes, serving an equally beautiful but also very rural area.
The cast
The rector took the service and preached, and an organist accompanied the singing.
What was the name of the service?
The Eucharist.How full was the building?
There were 38 of us. I was part of a group on an art retreat, visiting the temporary artwork installed in the Abbey by Art+Christianity, a national, non-profit organisation which had placed a trail in churches here and nearby. We doubled the local attendance. Together we filled the pews, except those facing sideways at the front, which I (and presumably others) thought were reserved for the choir. As there was no choir they remained empty, which made for a bit of a gulf between us and our clergy. He didn’t seem too lonesome, so is perhaps used to this gap. And, hey, this is Britain, where nobody likes to sit at the front and we fill the pews from the back row first!
Did anyone welcome you personally?
There were people in the very spacious transept preparing post-service refreshments, handing out hymn books and service booklets. The atmosphere was friendly.
Was your pew comfortable?
A historic, solid pew, just as I like ’em.
How would you describe the pre-service atmosphere?
Quietly chatty, but we settled well as the start approached.
What were the exact opening words of the service?
‘Good morning and welcome...’
What books did the congregation use during the service?
Just the hymn book and service booklet, which contained everything we needed.
What musical instruments were played?
An electric organ, the speakers of which are concealed in a redundant pipe organ. Chatting to the organist after the service, he explained that each note was a ‘sample’ digitally recorded from a real pipe organ, rather than the old Hammond-type of electronic instrument which creates sounds generated by electronics alone. The difference is quite remarkable, though it cannot be good news for pipe organ builders as this splendid English instrument was greatly cheaper.
Did anything distract you?
I did find myself comparing the traditional Lord’s Prayer (also printed in our booklets) with the revised one and thinking that in this case tradition won out.
Was the worship stiff-upper-lip, happy clappy, or what?
A sung eucharist that used modern words from Common Worship, but with extensive amendments. The small print on the back of the service booklet stated these were ‘authorised under Canon B5 of the Church of England’, so nothing rogue here! The amendments were patched in from the Iona Community’s published liturgy, and from Prayers for an Inclusive Church. They made a refreshing change from the usual, though I think I still prefer Common Worship as my regular text. The modernised Lord’s Prayer was difficult to recognise as such, and I did feel that should be kept in as near a traditional format as possible. Changing ‘Our Father’ to ‘Creator God’ meets the gendered language objection, so why tinker with the rest? At one point the clergyman apologised for the gendered line in a hymn he announced, which included the word ‘mankind’. I liked the way they set (updated) words of the parts of the mass to really good, well-known hymn tunes. So we sung the Gloria to Hyfrydol (which is more often heard with the words ‘Alleluia, sing to Jesus’); the Sanctus to Slane (which usually gets paired with ‘Lord of all hopefulness’), and the Angus Dei to Repton (the mighty tune for ‘Dear Lord and Father of mankind’). This was so much easier to join in than the meandering folk masses or semi-plainchant sometime served up. We made quite a respectable noise in these and in the four hymns.
Exactly how long was the sermon?
11 minutes.
On a scale of 1-10, how good was the preacher?
6 — He was clear and lucid and though he was possibly referring to notes, was properly preaching. Without a microphone, we heard every word.
In a nutshell, what was the sermon about?
He preached mostly on two phrases from the Gospel of the day (Mark 8:27-38). ‘Jesus said to them, “Who do people say I am?... and who do you say I am?”’ To which he evolved, ‘Who do we say we are?’ There was a long disquisition about the 2004 American movie The Notebook, which deals with dementia; but that eventually led back to the theme, ‘Who do we say we are?’ though in a way which struck me as humanist as much as it was theological.
Which part of the service was like being in heaven?
Singing a version of the Angus Dei to the beautiful tune ‘Repton’.
And which part was like being in... er... the other place?
No part was hellish, but there was a reminder of ‘the other place’ when 20 minutes after the service we gathered at the beautiful eastern ambulatory of the monks’ church to look at the temporary art installation (above): a forest of red knitted strands tied to columns and anchored by blocks of ancient stonework from the demolished parts of the abbey. The artist herself came to talk to us about it and members of the congregation joined us for that. These limestone fragments speak eloquently of the violence and destruction of the Reformation, and the blood red strands criss-crossing the space made the human horror of that religious strife immediate again.
What happened when you hung around after the service looking lost?
There was no chance to feel lost. This was assisted by the fact that half of us were spending the weekend together, but the local members gave the impression that the church is a significant social connection in their lives.
How would you describe the after-service coffee?
Along with lively conviviality there was tea, coffee and three sorts of excellent home-made cake.
How would you feel about making another visit (where 10 = ecstatic, 0 = terminal)?
8 — If I lived nearer, I definitely would.
Did the service make you feel glad to be a Christian?
Certainly.
What one thing will you remember about all this in seven days' time ?
The austere Cistercian beauty of the monks’ choir.