Light minded

IT is no doubt as part of its Lenten penance that a parish church in North Yorkshire has invited me to give a talk next month on how the media perceives the churches. Or possibly vice-versa.

Should the talk begin with a biblical text, as good (and bad) sermons used to do, it would probably be a verse from the 11th chapter of St Luke:

No man, when he hath lighted a candle, putteth it in a secret place, nor under a bushel, but on a candlestick, that they which come in may see the light.

Thus it is almost accidental – Ann Shepherdson, the minister, prefers “providential” – that today’s column tells of great things, of acts of real faith and of joy and hope at the Methodist church in Wolsingham, in Weardale.

It was only last Friday that I’d rung Ann, who’s smashing, about somewhere else entirely and that Sunday’s rededication service at Wolsingham was mentioned almost in passing.

“May I come?”

“We’d love you to,” said Ann.

Light no longer under a bushel, the service began at 2 30pm. A notice by the brass monkey bus stop added “Not 3pm, as stated in the paper.”

While this was no doubt Another Paper, the thought for the day may on reflection be a little unfair. Perhaps it should be “You can’t believe all you read in the press.”

WOLSINGHAM is a village of perhaps 2,000 people – that’s a guess, see the paragraph above – with four churches: Anglican, Methodist, Roman Catholic and Baptist. Three Methodist chapels further up the dale – Wearhead, Westgate and St John’s Chapel – have closed in recent years.

The magnificent High House, at Ireshopeburn, this year marks its 250th anniversary.

Wolsingham’s first Methodist preacher is said to have arrived in 1749, John Wesley himself soon following up the dale.

Now a garage, the building where he preached still stands at the end of Meeting House Lane. It’s said to have overflowed. Unlike in Barnard Castle, next dale down, they didn’t turn the town fire engine (or, strictly, its hose) upon the poor chap.

Soon, by means of the sub-division of which churches remain so fond, there were Primitive and Wesleyan Methodist churches. The present building was opened in 1862 on what had been the site – says Weardale historian Peter Bowes, enthusiastically – of the Sun Inn.

An earlier building, next door, still has a sundial with the inscription “Tempus fugit”, Latin for time flies.

This brought to mind the first (and perhaps only) joke I ever heard cracked by a schoolmaster: Mr John Fay, Bishop Auckland Grammar School, circa 1959.

“Tempus what, boy?”

“Please sir, ten past ten, sir.”

What in 1862 may have been considered grand and lofty had almost 150 years later became what clever folk now call unfit for purpose and what a chapel member whispered was “awful”.

Ten years ago, during the ministry of the column’s old friend, the Reverend Les Hann, it was decided that something must be done. Now in the Tyne Valley, Les and his lovely wife, Jill, were back for the rededication, swaying giddily to the hymns like a pair of unsychronised shuggy boats.

“People keep asking me if it’s as good as our original vision,” said Les.

“It’s far, far better than that.”

ONE of the problems with the great high roof was that the place became almost impossible to keep warm. They’ve put in a suspended ceiling. The pipe organ blocked the light from a window.

They’ve removed it. The pulpit – “like the Tardis”, said Kathy Grylls, one of the stewards – has gone, too.

The entrance, so tricky for coffins, has been redesigned. There’s a community area, a quiet room, new furnishing and redecoration. The apse at the end – how many Methodist churches have an apse? – becomes even more the focal point. It’s cost about £120,000, some raised locally and some from central funds. The effect’s tremendous.

Anne Offler, a lay worker who leads the service with the minister, tells the crowded church that they’re not allowed to sit with frosty faces. “It’s a time of real excitement, the sky’s the limit. It shows you’re not dead yet; you haven’t lain down. It gives a real message to the community.”

Anne also produces three bags – bags with presents, she says – labelled Past, Present and Future. The past’s history’s, the present the handsome refurbishment, but what of the future?

Should it, asks Anne, be one of those gifts that are left in the mantelpiece to be dusted down when visitors come? Kathy Grylls – “as in Bear,” she explains – is confident they’ll be much more adventurous.

Already they’ve an action plan, already they’re looking at community uses for the church – hire charge £15 for a three-hour session – and at initiatives with young people. Already they’ve seen congregations edge up from the usual 20 or so.

“The architect and the builders have done a brilliant job, but first we had to prove to Methodist headquarters that we weren’t going to do the job and then just sit back and admire it. We had to show we were going to keep the church moving forward; it’s what we’re determined to do.”

Afterwards there’s tea, coffee and home baking. Everyone’s up for it, none rushes home. No beating about the bushel, this is light fantastic.