I once came to evensong in Bristol’s fantastic cathedral in the company of fewer than a dozen other visitors. Then, we were marginally outnumbered by the choir; today we would have been comfortably outnumbered by shepherds. While the rest of the city takes advantage of free parking and extended Sunday shopping hours the cathedral is packed - the most packed I’ve seen any church (let alone a cathedral of this majestic size) throughout my year’s visitations.
It’s the family telling of the Christmas story and blessing of the crib and there’s not even standing room. I’m put in mind of one of those Rocky Horror or Sound of Music singalong screenings because everyone seems to have come as something. There are dozens of angels and shepherds - not all of them children it should be noted - and the dress code seems to be Christmas jumpers rather than Sunday best.
We start with instructions from the vicar on our expected role - to baa at every mention of sheep, swoosh when the angels appear and clip clop the donkey. We must also boo Herod in true pantomime fashion - I suppose that’s what you deserve for being the architect of child genocide.
The noise is incredible. Like many a carol service we start with a solo voice singing Once in Royal David’s City but it’s drowned out to most of the body of the congregation by the babble of children and the shushing of their parents.
Thankfully the din subsides enough to avoid spooking the beautifully turned-out donkey which is paraded round the vast interior as we all sing Little Donkey. Just as dramatic is the appearance of the star high overhead - lit by the cunning ruse of asking parents to use the lights on their phones - which is then zip-wired along to lead the wise men and the shepherds to the stable. The conventional telling of the story has a trio of wise men and a similar number of shepherds. Here, their ranks are swollen by anyone in suitable costume joining the procession. It’s fun, a trifle chaotic but probably hugely memorable to those taking part.
Watching as parents and families juggle the demands of straightening angel wings, attaching tea cloth head-dresses and rescuing dropped toys and coats while holding crying babies and trying to follow the service, I wonder if my familiar comments about the church being an oasis of calm away from the bustle of life are entirely true. Some of these mums and dads look like they’d be less stressed pushing the family round the maelstrom of final weekend Wilko. Interesting to note, though, how many of us (and I include myself after handing over my order of service to prevent a sibling incident in the row behind me) actually know the words anyway. Out come the familiar phrases of the carols and the Lord’s Prayer. That alone must be something of a reason for celebration should the clergy spot it.
Despite the informality of the presentation and the inattentiveness of the audience, this was still a church service. There’s still a story to hear, a divine intervention to be thankful for, prayers to recite and responses to be given. Over the course of their young lives all these children will have the chance to decide whether this can form a part of their life outside the Christmas context. It would be interesting - perhaps a little depressing for some though - to be able to look into the future and see how many of these angels, shepherds and wise men next set foot in this magnificent cathedral only when lifting children of their own to see the donkey.
Sliding out of the cathedral door thankfully ahead of the carnage as 200 parents try to find which of the hundred parked buggies is theirs, I’m met by winter darkness, a steadily-worsening drizzle and an odd gathering on the far side of College Green. Today is the first day of Hanukkah and the city’s combined Jewish community is holding an outdoor lighting of the giant Menorah. Bristol’s Lady Mayoress is there, complete with fine scarlet robes and tricorn hat, sheltering under a huge city council branded umbrella.
There are traditional snacks and free coffee and a chance to hold candles to spread the light as the festival gets under way with blessings from the Rabbi. There’s a clear theme in what’s said by all the civic and Chabad leaders of the Jewish community reaching out to be an integral part of this modern diverse city. Given the numerous unanswered emails I’ve tried, not to mention being flatly refused by the central Synagogue in London and stopped at the door in Birmingham, I’m a little envious of this openness and I’m happy to ignore the rain and hold my candle.
