Quiet in the City

I would like, as a die-hard atheist, to save our churches.

I have no interest in the big G, and cannot but help feel that a great deal of massive public architecture is as much about pride and mis-placed imperial grandeur, than it was about the construction of beautiful things.  But!  Churches, synagogues and mosques are all part of our past, as well as our present, and like a good book I will always stand up and say we should protect the past, regardless of its content.

More to the point… it’s hard to find a quiet place to just sit and think in a busy city.  Sure, we can do it in our homes, but my home is more often than not full of noise and work, of stuff to do and guilt over all the errands I haven’t yet run.  Whereas, walking through the city some time running early for a meeting (technicians are trained to be early, sigh) it’s quite nice occasionally to see an open door to a quiet church, and just pop inside and have a moment to yourself.

I will generally try to put an extra ten minutes into my walk if I’m passing by the British Museum, just so I can sit inside one of the galleries and look at beautiful things from far-flung ages.  Or if it’s a summers day, I’ll add a few extra minutes to a route so I can cut through a park, sit on a bench, stare at the clouds.  But in winter, or when the museums are full, churches represent some of the few really old buildings in London that have a better than 50/50 chance of being open to the public.

So!

Should atheism ever grow to such a point that it seems ridiculous for these hallowed and ancient buildings to be used for the purpose of chanting, then I’d still like to cast a vote for them being kept as official places of quiet and solemnity, perhaps even inhabited still by a polite man or woman in a silly coat who is concerned to listen to your tales, gives charity to the poor and always has the number of a good out-of hours GP surgery, homeless shelter or sexual health clinic to hand.  I’d like synagogues to invite people in to enjoy candlelight, contemplation and good doughnuts.  And, as it’s also part of our history, and loads of fun, I’d furthermore like us to keep those places where, once a year, everyone can get together to eat mince pies and sing loudly, badly and off-key, together, just like Christmas ought to be.