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The Reverend Alan Gyle is a parish priest in Belgravia, west london. He has a programme called 'Christian formation' which focuses on 21st-century issues. 'We can no longer assume people will actually know any of it,' he says.
The Reverend Alan Gyle is a parish priest in Belgravia, west london. He has a programme called 'Christian formation' which focuses on 21st-century issues. 'We can no longer assume people will actually know any of it,' he says.
The Reverend Alan Gyle is a parish priest in Belgravia, west london. He has a programme called 'Christian formation' which focuses on 21st-century issues. 'We can no longer assume people will actually know any of it,' he says.
Henry Hopwood-Phillips talks to one of Belgravias parish priests, the Reverend
Alan Gyle, about where he thinks the Church is going
hen I was a member of the staff at St
Georges Chapel, Windsor, I told the Dean I dont want to be a parish priest, the Reverend Alan Gyle informs me, as I try to touch on the times he has felt Gods influence clearly. Id been working in the rarefied atmosphere of Windsor for so long that I was excited at the prospect of becoming a university chaplain at Imperial College London. It was not to be, however, as God (and the Bishop of London) led him to St Pauls on the marches of Belgravia and Knightsbridge instead. It is not the most obvious place to end up for a man who was born a Presbyterian bashing out the same four hymns each Sunday in Aberdeen. But it was from music that a theological sensibility grew. A keyboard player and singer from the age of 14, he studied music at Aberdeen University and swiftly became aware of different sources of music and Christianity to the common stock hed been exposed to. So when the Episcopal Church offered me a position as an organist, I leapt at the chance, he explains. The young scholar was also attracted to the fact that the Mass permitted colour, incense and a cacophony of voices. I remember being amazed that they had a choir! he recalls. As we pick up speed, quite a bit of Christian terminology comes out. The vicar is clearly aware of it, too, because he reminds me that we can no longer assume people will actually know any of it. And so he has a programme in place called Christian formation which focuses on certain 21st-century issues and places them in an historical and a Christian context. At the moment the group is concentrating on the Holy Land. Not that the Reverend takes for granted the fact that people will seek out this knowledge from the Church any more. One of the things he believes has changed during his lifetime is that the Church used to rely on attendance from people who believed they ought to go. Now, however, fewer feel compelled to. Thats not to say there arent still contact points [such as baptism, marriage and death], but it does mean we have to work harder, through mission, to bring these people into the congregation. I evoke Pope Emeritus Benedict XVIs image that the Church is returning to the ark, tossed by unfriendly waters, and suggest that it may simply be returning to the pre-Constantinian settlement. Yes, thats very perceptive. Whilst Constantine embedded Christianity in civil life, creating what we might call Christendom, we are now at the other end, trying to work out what it means to be outside the establishment, the vicar responds. That means travelling to see the beauty of the world but it also means going to the darker places that challenge
us. He is talking about an impending trip to Auschwitz. Is
he prodding peoples hearts to acknowledge the incidents when many have felt God wasnt there? Yes, to an extent, he admits. Many of the great 20th-century theologians felt the need to respond to the Holocaust, referring to the likes of Paul Tillich, Jrgen Moltmann and Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Talking of dark places, I risk approaching the vicar on the subject of doubt. He is quite sure all must question, because if youre not asking, you are dead from the neck up, he reasons. The dark night of the soul has a powerful history within the Church, Theres an immense tradition of silence, emptiness and absence that forms part of the mystery of the understanding of God. But the vicar draws his own strength from the Anglo-Catholic tradition, immediately apparent at St Pauls in the rood screen and Stations of the Cross. He attended St Stephens House in Oxford, a college famous for its high-church heritage. Staggers, people called it, he smiles, along with Wykkers [the Protestant Anglicans at Wykeham College] and Cudders [Cuddesdon College where liberal Anglicans study]. We all used to play what we cruelly called inter-faith football matches, which makes it all sound like an A. N. Wilson sketch: very Wodehousian. On a serious note, however, the Oxford movement is the Reverends favourite pillar of the Church. Founded by men such as Edward Pusey and John Newman, it was the movement that had St Pauls built in the first place. They worked to restore the dignity and beauty of worship and to transform society, he tells me. Its a transformation that involves getting people to work together who dont necessarily think alike. Its hard to get those who think differently to really engage with one another. Today most people only ever get together to pursue similar interests, but church isnt like that, the vicar clarifies, as we laugh over the fact that its popularly seen as vice versa (that church is for clones and society is for free thinkers). This puts the Reverend slightly on the defensive and leads him to insist the Church is not a decaying, fey, distanced organisation, and his Christmas diary is a timely reminder that he is right. Listing 17 charity carol concerts, most involving audiences of more than 850 people (and celebrities), who last year donated 750,000, as well as his parish events, his hard work serves as a reminder this Christmas that If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. (John 15:7)