24. Holy Trinity, Stratford. April 28, 2019

This Shakespeare Service is part of Stratford’s wider annual celebrations of the Bard’s life and works. Shakespeare is (obviously) big business to the town and Holy Trinity, being his resting place, has a big role to play. Like the dramatic works it celebrates, this April fixture has a fine cast of characters, a splendid setting and a well-rehearsed script.

It’s a morning of civic pomp. The roads around are blocked off and a procession featuring, among others, the Mayor, the town council, the services, the scouts, the MP, other Shakespeare organisations and so on, makes its way from the town to reserved seats in the nave of this magnificent church. Many years ago, as a member of the local press, I used to take part in this tradition and if I had to pick a quintessential Stratford moment it might well be this. It’s church attendance performed as a demonstration of civic status and, as befits such an occasion, there are plenty of hats.

Holy Trinity is a church which lives up to its importance on this very public stage. It looks fabulous, enjoys a perfect setting on the river and boasts many fine bits of history on top of the oft-photographed memorial which today has him holding the ceremonial quill.

The church is full, once the full length of the procession has been directed where to sit, and the singing is full-bodied. The theme for the morning is the nature of mercy. We get top class readings from RSC actors and directors together with some fine musical moments. We also hear the Shakespeare Sermon from The Revd Canon Dr Jessica Martin whose credentials (let alone her titles) from Ely Cathedral and the English literature department at Trinity College make her words on mercy most interesting.

But what strikes me is not just the word ‘mercy’ but the nature of language itself and the power that words hold, particularly in this setting. 

Some of the words Shakespeare wrote are as clear to us today as when they first slid from that quill onto the page. But not all of them. Some represent ideas we now find abhorrent or tough to grasp. Many of the plays contain aspects which actors and audience alike would label difficult. And with only the bald, unadorned words to go on, there’s not a lot of help for those searching for the truth behind the words. Pretty much the same could be said of the Bible and the words of the liturgy we’re encountering again today.

Scholars of both books have spent many a fat volume of their own trying to tease out nuances in the endless search for the true meaning of the text. But, as anyone who has actually spent time pondering what ‘Brexit means Brexit’ actually means, would attest, meaning is a terribly hard thing to pin down with anything like complete accuracy. Words change their meaning over time and represent vastly different things to different people. Definitive definitions, it would seem, are often very hard to define.

The truth is that the bible - and I’d probably say the same for any holy book - shares with the plays of Shakespeare an ability to be interpreted and understood differently by different people over different generations. And it’s precisely there that the enduring strength of both works lies. 

Write a text with an exact explicit meaning and it will probably end up rooted in its moment and, as time and opinion move on, become ever more dated and irrelevant. It’s precisely because we CAN find mysteries and ambiguities in great books that they continue to speak to us and will always reflect our interpretation of them.

Some of those reading extracts from the plays during this service are currently to be seen in a production of The Taming of the Shrew which swaps genders to provide a fresh perspective of the age old battle of gender politics. It seems to have been a worthwhile exercise if the comments I’ve heard are representative.

I wonder then what the actors made of the service’s opening call from the KES head girl to ‘let us now praise famous men’. Perhaps it’s enough to note that Shakespeare’s old boys’ school now HAS a head girl at all; perhaps it’s a lesson that language can be just as powerful by its omissions as by what it says.

23. St Stanislawa Kostka, Coventry. April 21, 2019

There must be a point at which an exiled mission abroad becomes an established church in its host country. It might be to do with numbers attending; it could be to do with finding a permanent base at which to meet. It’s a point which has certainly been reached when the numbers attending pack out the beautifully dedicated church to overflowing.

The Catholic church of St Stanislawa Kostka is just off the city centre and caters for the city’s growing Polish community. Interestingly it is only a stone’s throw away from the Gurdwara Guru Nanak Parkash and the Shree Krishna Temple. A two minute stroll would get you to the Spiritualist Church or the Jamia Mosque. And there are plenty of others close by. Not a bad choice really - I’m surprised the city council hasn’t started marketing the area as Coventry’s multi-faith quarter. It’s probably only a matter of time.

It should be noted that, far from being new arrivals, these places of worship and the burgeoning communities they represent have been in the city a long time. They are well-established and clearly very popular. They are part of a very diverse cultural complexion which should, you’d think and hope, be a useful force in countering the violence and knife crime which blights these modern days. 

St Stanislawa’s really is packed this morning. The pews are shoulder to shoulder and there are people crowded in at the back and down the aisles. It being a glorious morning, the doors are open and there are even people peering in from outside. There’s a few up for baptism as part of this first mass and most are looking suitably smart for the occasion. It’s a lovely setting. A fine mix of modern light and colour with some traditional fittings included. There’s a similar mixture in the music too. The songs are led by acoustic guitar and percussion with a more traditional organ accompaniment coming in when called for.

From first to last there’s not a word in English, as you’d expect. Does that matter? Having been to a few masses in my time I don’t find it too hard to keep track of where we are in the normal course of things. The responses and songs all have a pleasingly Eastern tonality to them but much is the same. 

Not that it would make a difference if every word were in English such is the non-stop background babble of chatter - mainly, though not exclusively, from children. I’m convinced there are more children in this church than any I’ve been in. That bodes well for a lively, if noisy, church in years to come. I’m not complaining however. This whole service has a genuine feeling of family and community about it. It’s as if all those not directly involved in the baptisms have just come along to watch. There are times when the whole congregation suddenly responds in unison and I’m genuinely surprised to find they were all listening.

The service over, there are families grouping together for pictures to remember baptisms. This community strikes you as very together and very tight. Not excluding others (I felt entirely welcome) but celebrating what they share. I can’t help but think this is what it will be like back at the family home enjoying another very Polish Easter.

Wesolych Swiat Wielkanocnych as I believe they say.

22. Dawn Eucharist, Coventry Cathedral. April 21, 2019

Perhaps it’s Easter, perhaps it’s the very early start, perhaps it’s just the fact you can drive into the city centre without seeing another car and take your pick from any number of parking spaces - but there’s something rather special about this dawn service. And it’s a feeling which is sustained all morning.

The gathering starts in the old cathedral ruins. Lit only by a flaming brazier there is a brief service celebrating the creation of light and all it stands for. 

The appearance of this light picks up the symbolic extinguishing of light at the Maundy Thursday service which ends in complete darkness. It’s an arresting sight as the first hint of daylight creeps through the windows of the old cathedral.

Easter is, it’s somewhat obvious to say, a big event in the Christian calendar. The biggest really. And this is a big service. As well as two people who have taken the decision to get baptised on this day, there are a number of others being confirmed in the faith, some young some not so young. 

As the light begins to build through the cathedral’s wonderful stained glass and plain screen Easter is proclaimed accompanied by full-throttle organ music, fevered peace bell ringing and - despite the early hour - party poppers sounding like starting pistols in the echoing acoustics. It’s an unrestrained moment of joy and sets the tone for much of what is to come. 

The focus moves to the slightly incongruous plunge pool where the full immersion of those being baptised is carried out by the Bishop. No danger of a dipped finger on the forehead here as the two taking part are laid back under the water and then raised back to their feet with much acclamation and applause. It’s an experience neither of them will ever forget, which is as it should be.

There’s a huge feeling of joy about this service. There are lots of smiles not just from those being welcomed to the faith but from the whole cathedral team. After the dark reality of Good Friday it’s the new life, new dawn the whole church is built upon. And it’s enough to send you back out into the still early Easter morning with a spring in your step.

Outside I pause, along with quite a few, to view and take pictures of the Knife Angel. This imposing metal figure of an angel holding out empty hands is constructed in the main from thousands of knives surrendered to police in the fight against knife crime. It stands, temporarily, next to the cathedral’s own celebrated sculpture of St Michael subduing the Devil with a very sharp-looking spear in his hand. Many people have come to see the Knife Angel and left tributes to people they’ve lost through this current wave of senseless violence. There are pictures, ribbons, messages and so on. It’s very moving.

I pause to wonder how much those bereaved in such circumstances would love to be able to vanquish death and bring back their loved ones. Or to believe with certainty that they will all meet up somewhere in the future. This is the comfort the church is offering through the story of the resurrection and all it means and Easter is the embodiment of that.

21. Walk of Witness, Kenilworth. April 19, 2019

Having lived in Kenilworth longer than I’ve lived anywhere else, I’ve witnessed this annual Good Friday demonstration of worship and faith many times although I have never before joined in.

This Walk of Witness is organised by Churches Together, a group which does exactly what it says on the tin. There are representatives from the Methodists, United Reformed Church and Catholics together with the Anglican churches around the town and beyond. There’s a voice for the younger people too in the shape of Kenilworth Youth for Christ.

I haven’t been inside St John’s for along time. It’s been comprehensively remodelled and is now a multi-purpose open space capturing lots of light on this beautiful morning. I will come back here properly later in the year. As is to be expected of any church gathering, the whole thing starts with refreshments, and it will end with more of the same at a different church. The coffee urn in full flow and plates piled with hot cross buns remind me of how much I miss treats like this. Oh well, it’s a problem of my own making and I suppose we all have our cross to bear. No time to dwell on buns though as the cross is lifted and the procession forms up behind it. 

It’s an odd sight in many ways. Around a hundred people - growing to many times that over the course of the walk’s progress - stretched out behind a huge white wooden cross being carried by a team of scouts and others up through the town. It’s odd because it doesn’t stop the town. In these days of excessive safety consciousness you might expect road closures and police escort - and a hefty bill to go with it. 

But that’s not the case here. Instead we wind our way up through bemused shoppers hunting the last minute chocolate eggs and mint sauce which seem to symbolise Easter for most. There are volunteer stewards on hand to pause the traffic as we cross but this feels like a procession OF the town rather than one which merely passes through it.

There are lots of other marches and demonstrations today, quite apart from the many Walks of Witness taking place. London is in the grip of climate change activists disrupting the capital to make their fears abundantly known; in Paris there’s controversy surrounding the yellow-vested protesters choosing a meeting point in the shadow of the roofless, partly-collapsed Notre-Dame. In any number of football grounds there will be protests about recalcitrant owners or under-performing players. All these gatherings will have plenty of participants and be addressed by speakers praising their presence and underlining what it’s all about. That’s no different here. And those taking part should be (and are) proud to be doing what they’re doing.

The main address to the assembled comes from the town’s Catholic church. Father Kevin Hooper invites us to recognise the way the Easter story brings the different denominations together rather than highlight any differences there may be. It’s a theme that will probably be heard in London, Paris and elsewhere, but looking around the hundreds of faces gathered here, there is a palpable feeling of solidarity.

There’s prayers and hymns and personal testimony heard in equal measure by those in the midst of the throng and those enjoying the first al-fresco coffee of the year at tables in the sun.

By the time the cross has made its way to its Easter resting place in Abbey Fields the crowd has grown again. The team of scouts set a decent pace slowed only be the need to negotiate the low-hanging branches of trees. I doubt many of those destined for the cross would have shown such verve and spirit in getting there. With the lengthy crocodile of followers still hundreds of yards behind, there’s plenty of time to hoist the cross Iwo Jima style and settle it in place. There it will stand as a reminder to dog walkers, joggers and those zooming past in their cars of the real meaning of this extended Bank Holiday weekend. 

In some ways it’s a small demonstration of faith - thankfully the full-throttle reconstructions complete with horrifying self-sacrifices in the Philippines are not the style here. But it’s a hugely important act for those who believe. The crucifixion and resurrection offers such a lesson of love and sacrifice, of triumph and renewed hope it really is the basis of everything Christians. And something well-worth taking to the streets for.

20. Kingdom Hall, Warwick. April 14, 2019

Quite often I like to watch football on TV. I can get very interested in the game - so much so that at times I hardly notice the logos on the players or the flashing signboards round the touchline or the way that every break in the game is an opportunity for me to be urged to join the happy, burgeoning betting community. Advertising is everywhere. I get stopped in the street almost every day to be quizzed on who supplies my electricity, and my phone and email inbox are constantly bombarded with offers to get compensation for  PPI I was never sold or accidents I (thankfully) never had.

It gets wearing of course. I mute the TV at half-time, I bin the emails and sail past street canvassers as if I have much more important things to do. And as for those who knock at the door and drag us from our sofas...

Not many people actually knock at my door any more. Power companies gave up a long time ago and politicians only appear when they get desperate for your vote. But every now and then, I’ll get a visit from someone who doesn’t claim to be saving me money, but instead wants to save me.

Just such an approach came a few Saturdays ago when a knock at the door revealed a chap called Richard who, it transpired, was a Jehovah’s Witness bringing me an invitation to join a bible reading event. He had his sales pitch ready and his supporting literature in his hand. And off he went. I think he was truly stunned when I said yes.

So that’s that brings me here this morning to Warwick’s Kingdom Hall tucked away behind some light industrial development near the hospital. There’s a full car park and a packed hall. The greeting is sincere and widespread. A succession of very similarly-suited men shake my hand and welcome me in. There are even reserved spaces at the front so I get the best view.

This morning’s meeting comes in two parts: A video talk on ‘reaching out for the real life’ given to all 120,000 Jehovah’s Witness meetings around the globe and a discussion on an article in The Watchtower concerning the value of integrity and how it can be maintained.

The ‘real life’, we learn from the almost salesman-like speaker interspersing leading questions with bible quotations, is reached by turning your back on the shallow cares of the modern world and embracing the word of Jehovah. Integrity, we are told, means staying true to your beliefs in the face of either temptation or provocation. In both cases the reward on offer for following Jehovah’s way is eternal life.

Our world’s modern day obsession with material goods comes in for criticism bordering on scorn. We’re shown a picture of a JW ‘brother’ resisting the temptation to buy himself a huge new television. The TV, we’re invited to understand, won’t improve his life because what’s on it won’t be any better than what was on his current telly. I feel like asking the entire row of people following the bible references on fancy apps if the word of God is any better on an iPhone5 than it is in a paperback book, but I resist.

Reaching out for the real life seems to require giving ownership of your self to Jehovah; maintaining integrity means putting Jehovah’s will above your own. If I’m perfectly honest, I’m not sure I’d swap a life of experience, emotion, free thought, risk and possibilities for an eternity of apparently slavish obedience. But it seems others would. I also think integrity is perfectly attainable within our flawed world. It’s not Jehovah’s voice that makes me stick to my integrity, it’s voices from my upbringing reminding me of the moral obligation of not giving offence if it can be avoided. So I hold my tongue.

It’s a huge part of any church’s purpose to spread the word and get people in through the door. Without new people all religions would simply wither and become even more marginalised than many now are. So you can’t really, on reflection, criticise them for trying. But they might just find out that following my own choices and whims, I don’t always answer my door.

19. St Michael's, Budbrooke. April 7, 2019

St Michael's is a traditional stone built church tucked away in the very out-of-the-way hamlet of Budbrooke. There's quite a few cars in the car park and by the time the service gets started the church is pleasingly full. Evidently this is a popular church people are prepared to drive to.

I've chosen to come here partly as a consequence of browsing church websites - something of a regular time-filler for me these days. Very handy for checking service times and trying to get a feel for a place you've never been before. Most churches seem to have them and you can tell a lot about how a church wants to be viewed by the pictures displayed and the language used.

The website for this church reads more like the prospectus of a thrusting new business than a square towered church in the quiet countryside. Here's a taster of the church's message and its style of communication: "Our mission is: to raise a church of prayerful, passionate, missionary disciples of Jesus, empowered to serve God’s plan to renew the whole of creation. Our patterns of corporate worship are shaped to seek and glorify God and encourage, equip and empower us in his mission. The gathered church is the “powerhouse” that resources us in mission and is the place of inspiration and refreshment. This means we seek to ensure the following emphases are present through the ministry of Word and Spirit when we come together to worship as a gathered community."

Powerful stuff indeed. The theme of this morning's informal worship though is more homely and domestic than commercial and businesslike: We're to focus on the family - our own family, the church family and God's chosen family. 

As seems to be the case in many churches these days there's a big projector screen. Some of the time this is displaying the words to a series of simple but catchy songs which are clearly popular with a very wide-ranging congregation. 

But the big screen also plays a part when this morning's talk commences. Having sat through a few meetings in my time, I never really warmed to the Power Point presentation. A few key words under a fairly arbitrary heading usually serve to distract rather than focus, in my opinion. There is a danger it can all become a bit 'team-building', a bit 'on-message'. There is also a danger that presenting in this meeting-like fashion can lead to overstatement and repetition. At more than an hour and a half and with three people effectively covering the same ground, there's certainly scope for that this morning.

We look at the bible passage in which Jesus, when told his mother and family are outside, tells the assembled that anyone who follows him is in essence his mother or brother and therefore of equal importance. To say a perfect stranger can have equal standing in your eyes as your own mother or brother is taken to be quite shocking. But I've never really felt that. Not these days anyway.

Outside Eastenders and The Sopranos it's a moot point as to whether unswerving family loyalty still carries the weight it once did. We live in an age of complex, almost accidental non-nuclear families. You have only to look at the hierarchy of loyalty in any inner city gang, ambitious start-up business or - dare I say it - religious group. The notion of the husband, wife and two children 'perfect' modular family is, I would say, so outdated to be positively redundant so Jesus' words have arguably lost any real power to shock.

There are many different loyalties within our modern families - whether actual or metaphorical - and we seem to cope with that without too much trouble. Heaven knows what the unstoppable tide of social media and online friendship have done to make our relationships with those a round us even more complex and nuanced: Even less archetypal. Families have confusing structures made up of very varied characters. All families have people whose views we respect and some whose presence and utterances we tolerate while secretly wishing they'd keep quiet. If it proves anything, then this lengthy family chat certainly proves that.

If all this sounds a bit negative then it isn't supposed to be. We just happen to live in the societal structure that we do taking the rough with the smooth. The group whose members all agree absolutely with each other on every point simply doesn't exist. We don't all have to like the same things. We couldn't. Yet we get along, bestowing loyalty, respect and harmony for the good of doing just that. Families are like that.

18. Masjid Zeenat ul Islam, Coventry. April 5, 2019

My satnav says it takes sixteen minutes to get from my home to Stoney Stanton Road in Coventry and the mosque where I’m heading to join Friday prayers. I know plenty of people for whom the journey might as well be sixteen hours.

To many the mosque - and those who go there - really are from a different world. This isn’t the place to debate prejudice, bigotry and ignorance, but we live in times when Islam’s appearance on our TV screens or newspaper pages tends to be about anything BUT the religion itself. Blithely bracketed with terrorists and barbaric practices and, most recently, the victims of one of the worst, most cowardly massacres in modern times, these are delicate, perplexing times for the muslim community. I have no qualms whatsoever about going. I know that my intentions are honest and respectful. But it’s still a step along a path I’ve never trodden.

Above all there is the fear of giving offence. I am constantly alert to the possibility of inadvertently going into a place I shouldn’t, saying or doing the wrong thing - or as often as not, failing to say or do the right thing. I have to say that this feeling is there for all the places I visit which hold some sort of unchartedness for me. I’m actually no more at home in a Catholic church or Kingdom Hall than I would be in a mosque, synagogue or gurdwara. It’s probably just the sense that there’s a heightened tension surrounding Britain’s relationship with Islam at the moment that makes me even keener to get it right. 

Having made tentative searches on the internet I am soberly dressed, right down to socks I am confident could offer no offence, and I wear on my face an expression of benign amiability. Now I know how election candidates feel.

The welcome here is as strong as any I’ve encountered. The unknown can be as scary as it can be exciting. This mosque - and Islamic centre - is clearly aware of that and presents a very friendly face. Duly cleansed by the offer of scented oil I take a seat at the back of the hall. I note that my companions on the lone row of chairs are all either very old or toting clearly debilitating injuries. I wish I was a bit more supple and could actually take part.

The modern purpose-built hall gradually fills up as prayer time approaches. This hall, plus another within the centre will all be full. It’s a very big centre serving an ever-expanding community.

Friday’s congregational prayer is preceded by a sermon exhorting all to remain true to what they know to be right. The world, says the speaker, is full of forces which seek to divide and cast doubt. Only by sticking true to the principles which bring you here today can we all avoid being dragged off the right course. It could be a lesson for anyone from any religion, or indeed none.

The Salaat-ul-Jumu'ah itself is impressive. The hall is packed, with appeals to  ‘move on down the bus’ and stand shoulder to shoulder. It is as clear a physical expression of devotion and togetherness as you could expect to see. It’s as intensely observed as it is brief.

Once the shoes are on and the packed hall has emptied, the focus switches to the streets outside where the socialising happens and a hundred different conversations take place. I get warm greetings and handshakes from many and a much longer discussion with a man who was born a muslim and came to the city in the 1960s. So keen is he to welcome me and show what being a muslim means that we spend half an hour sitting in the car park comparing life stories and watching a phone clip outlining the five pillars of Islam. It’s an entirely friendly gesture. He’s very keen that I go again. I’m sure I shall.

According to my car park correspondent, one of the pillars of Islam seems to encourage constantly hitting a notional reset button to ditch distractions and return to what’s important to you. Another is the notion of pilgrimage. The phrase often used is ‘to travel with intent’.

For me that doesn’t necessarily mean having a fixed target in mind, just the conviction that your journey should be one from which you can learn something, anything. It’s not where you travel, but how you travel. So where should such a pilgrimage take you? A journey of sixteen minutes may seem unlikely to yield a great reward, but if it makes you think things you haven’t thought before, it’s as good as a lengthy trek through a strange but thrilling country.