Bath Abbey

As I stepped through the entrance and into the main hall of Bath Abbey I paused for a moment in admiration. I had arrived at a perfect time to see the stained-glass windows. With the sun behind, they radiated strong reds and deep blues, laced with intricate gold. What contrast from the outside! The very same windows had appeared bleak and oppressive, projecting the dark interior from between glistening columns of sandstone. Now they accentuated the afternoon light whilst dancing with vibrant colour and powerful images - the sword crossed with a key, angels playing instruments, Mother Mary cradling baby Jesus. It was marvellous to see the images spring to life.

Such ancient glamour was, to me, a stark contrast with the mounted LCD televisions lining the aisles. This was not in keeping with the ‘grand Abbey of old’ I had imagined. The priests wore trendy clerical garments and conversed in loud, cheery voices. Visitors also had no reserves about discussing the memorials with casual noise levels. My idea that a church should be as quiet as a library seemed embarrassingly outdated. I liked that. Suddenly the Abbey felt lived in; not a forgotten old relic.

A soft, almost inaudible music reached my ears. A melody of choir voices and organ sounds reverberated quietly, giving the Abbey a spiritual ambience. To discover the source as speakers in the adjacent gift shop disappointed me a little, yet it was a relaxing sound as I explored further.

The ceiling of the main hall rose high into the air. To reward those who looked heavenwards, (so to speak,) there were more sword and key images, backed by shields. The support arches were arranged with military precision, and put me in mind of the ribcage of a great beast seen from the inside.

My echoing footsteps carried me up the nave to the main lectern: a fantastic golden statue of an eagle perched on an orb. The bird’s widespread wings held the book, whilst its piercing gaze fell onto the pews. A sparkling sheen, caused by the light spilling in through the windows made the creature seem somehow conscious.
My tour ended with the altar, seen through metal bars in a huge wooden gate. The haunting image of Jesus’ crucified form decorated the wall behind. It struck me then that, without being otherwise informed, a visitor might think Christians endorse his crucifixion!

Furthermore, I realised that all the text to be read only mentioned people who had died. Memorials covered the walls and floor – I was surrounded by glamorised death!

Despite this slightly morbid discovery, I left the Abbey in unusually good spirits. I walked home in a reverie over how a place of worship, known to enhance people’s lives, was founded on the acceptance of our mortality. Such contemplation gave me good insight into a topic I rarely stop to consider. Could it be that Christianity, perhaps unknowingly, acknowledges death as a way of appreciating life more fully?