![The church should be a place where you can escape yourself, escape stuff and reflect on something bigger](https://www.telegraph.co.uk/content/dam/columnists/2023/09/04/TELEMMGLPICT000264152671_16938407160020_trans_NvBQzQNjv4BqpVlberWd9EgFPZtcLiMQf0Rf_Wk3V23H2268P_XkPxc.jpeg?imwidth=680)
![The church should be a place where you can escape yourself, escape stuff and reflect on something bigger](https://www.telegraph.co.uk/content/dam/columnists/2023/09/04/TELEMMGLPICT000264152671_16938407160020_trans_NvBQzQNjv4BqpVlberWd9EgFPZtcLiMQf0Rf_Wk3V23H2268P_XkPxc.jpeg?imwidth=680)
Not long ago, I attended a wedding ceremony in which the vicar referred to the state of holy matrimony as being “a little bit like a garden shed”. In order to protect that shed from the elements, he sermonised, “we need to paint it with creosote. That means regular trips to B&Q. It means putting in the work.”
The rest of his pedestrian little analogy was drowned out by my outrage – for the bride and groom, and for the congregation as a whole: the people who had gone there to celebrate the sacred union of two loved ones, yes, but also to be lifted up, just for an hour, to a loftier place – only to be brought crashing back down to “You can do it if you B&Q it.”
I thought of that vicar yesterday after reading that, in a poll of almost 1,200 active Church of England clergy, most would back moves to turn churches into “places where people gather for non-religious events, activities and amenities”. Apparently more than 70 per cent of priests would happily “offer their buildings for use, outside of service times, by community groups such as playgroups and yoga classes, for events such as exhibitions and concerts, and for amenities such as cafés and post offices.”
Of course, extra space will be needed. But that’s OK: with only 4 per cent of young people now describing themselves as Christian and approximately three-quarters of serving Church of England priests believing that the UK can no longer be called a Christian country, let’s just rip out the pews! Some 250 churches per year are already applying for permission to get rid of these space wasters to make way for matcha lattes, trays of flapjacks, warrior poses and downward dogs; bean bags and rainbow hued soft-play mats.
That cracking sound you’re hearing? That’s Britain’s moral backbone crumbling into a thousand pieces. Although community heads and “forward-thinking” clergy will put up a sturdy counterargument.
To those who criticise the church’s gradual descent into community centres hosting fashion shows and helter skelters, they’ll say that it brings in money. That historically – certainly in the Middle Ages – the church was always seen as an all-purpose building, buzzing with secular activities. And just maybe once people are inside these holy confines, playing crazy golf along the nave, their dormant Christianity will be reawakened, and they’ll be inspired to return as worshippers?
That won’t happen. When you’re ripping out pews, the message couldn’t be clearer: “we’ve given up”. The church should be a place where you can escape yourself, escape stuff and reflect on something bigger. But we’ve given up on trying to elevate people above themselves, to get them to focus on the spiritual or the metaphysical. As someone once said: “civilisations don’t give out, they give in” – to the cult of the physical, in this case, to the tangible, the relatable.
The number of Brits who said they had “no religion” may have risen 12 points at the last census to 37 per cent, but that’s not strictly true. They have a religion, an institutionalised set of attitudes and beliefs: they worship daily at the altar of “me”.
It’s all about wellness in the church of “me”, about physicality, beauty, defying time and mortality by working out our bodies at the Pilates studio and the gym. Yes, we’ll play at spirituality, with our bite-sized YouTube meditations and yogic influencer-style mantras, but crucially it’s a safe kind.
It’s ironic that, as a secular society, we’ve thrown ourselves into the cult of self, precisely because we’re flailing, with no basic spiritual scaffold to keep us steady. The idea of being handed out nourishment in the form of the “blood and body of Christ” is ridiculed, but we’ll guzzle down our green juices and “superfoods” in the hope they’ll give us what our empty souls are lacking – and ensure an eternal, if spiritually devoid, life.
How’s that working out for us? Well, we’re experiencing the biggest mental health crisis in our country’s history, with rates of mental health difficulties in children having risen by 49 per cent over the last five years, one in four 17-to-19-year-olds suffering from a probable mental health disorder and a 22 per cent rise of “mental illness and nervous disorders” in adults.
You know what has been proven to improve mental health, reduce isolation, and give us the sense of belonging and community we crave? Altruism, charity, spirituality – the real kind, where you’re faced by something bigger than that suffocating “you”. I’d suggest nipping into your local church, but the pews have probably been ripped out to make way for a legs, bums and tums class.
Britons have given up on the church – we’d rather worship ourselves
With congregations diminishing, it seems we’re happier at the altar of wellness while our collective spirituality goes down the drain