In February there was a commotion at Canterbury Cathedral. Or, to be more precise, there was a silent commotion. The cause was a ‘silent disco’ which took place in the nave over two nights.
For anyone above the age of 12, a silent disco is where everybody has headphones on and is in their own world. Like the London Underground but with more legroom. There is a DJ as well and so I think (if I’ve got this right) everybody is listening to the same music. In any case, over two nights thousands of revellers came to the cathedral, put on headphones, bought drinks in the side aisles, brushed past the tomb of Thomas Becket and then waved neon lightsabers and danced around to their heart’s content.
Red Dwarf star Craig Charles will be coming to Peterborough Cathedral to ‘spin an epic DJ set’
There was a certain amount of backlash to this in the popular press which called it ‘a rave in the nave’. There was then a defensive response to the backlash. Clearly the whole thing was a money-making exercise. But its defenders in the Church said that it was also a very special and precise ruse intended to get people into Canterbury Cathedral who might not otherwise come.
I do not know whether the data has yet been collected for service attendance in Canterbury since February. But I would be surprised if the headcount at Matins has shot up. I may have to stand corrected, of course – and I am willing to be. It may be that next week’s Letters page will be adorned by missives from multiple pew-openers at the cathedral or maybe even from Justin Welby himself informing me that Evensong is now one great big mosh pit and that every time the cathedral choir strikes up a canticle a battalion of people wearing headphones and waving luminous lightsabers have to be held back by the vergers, who act as bouncers at a nightclub. More likely is that a lot of people on MDMA and vodka Red Bull wandered into the cathedral for a night and have not wandered back since.
In any case, the Church authorities insisted that these events in no way harmed the sanctity of the place. Scholars of canon law noted that the silent disco would seem to go against the Church’s own rules – specifically F16.1, which I have just carefully re-read. This is the law that states: ‘When any church or chapel is to be used for a play, concert, or exhibition of films or pictures, the minister shall take care that the words, music, and pictures are such as befit the House of God, are consonant with sound doctrine, and make for the edifying of the people.’ I am not quite certain how the cathedral authorities found their way around that one.
Yet Canterbury Cathedral resisted all the tabloid descriptions of its fundraiser and insisted that this disco was in no way a ‘rave’, and was in fact very far from it. In a very real sense.
But the Church of England is nothing if not predictable. This week Peterborough Cathedral announced that it will host a big event on 29 November, from 6.30 p.m. to 11.30 p.m. For some reason the former star of Red Dwarf, Craig Charles, will be coming to the cathedral. The announcement says that he will be leading ‘an unforgettable night as he spins an epic DJ set, mixing classic soul, funk and contemporary hits’. The flyer informs us that the ‘master of ceremonies’ will be one ‘Rayan Gee (Shades of Rhythm)’ and that other DJs will include ‘Pat Unwin (Dig Deep, Beats on the Barge) and Mark Goodliff (Shock, Attic)’. I am not sure I know what any of that means, but I’m sure that the nation’s barge and attic communities will be able to inform me in their own time.
Of course, what is interesting about all this is that the November event in Peterborough is exactly what the Canterbury events in February were claimed not to be. It is a perfect demonstration of that old rule that whenever the Church of England insists it has not hit a new low, it turns out to have inspected the low, found it rather attractive and decided to give it a go.
Personally, it makes me think of all the years that the decline in church attendance in the UK was meant to have been stalled by the introduction of rock bands into the divine office. The drum kit and guitar (often electric) were meant to ensure that a new generation of hip young go-getters realised that the Church was the place for them. In reality it meant that the elderly attendees at Church of England services have had to spend more than a generation putting up with the worst musical experiences known to man – all to entice a generation of church-goers who never materialised.
Since I am still in the habit of not being able to pass a country church without heading into it, I often notice a flicker of Larkin-esque dejection in myself as I see the drum and cymbal kits sitting covered in dust beside a collection of kneelers stitched up by late, loyal ladies of the parish.
For what it is worth, this often draws to mind my first glimpse of Peterborough Cathedral. I was a chorister on a tour there and we were due to sing a couple of services in the cathedral. We entered late-ish one evening to do a practice and I remember that the whole of the nave was empty.
The chairs and pews had been pushed to the sides and the effect was awe-inspiring. I remember looking down the silent, empty nave, and then up at the ceiling and thinking how lucky I was to be able to see this with almost no one else there. After a day of breathing in, the building seemed to have breathed out and was experiencing – as I was – a moment of perfect peace. That was more than three decades ago, and was achieved without any mood enhancers, yet it haunts me still.
I hope that the Red Dwarf man manages to hook some young people on the majesty of this holy place. We’ll see. Tickets are available for £47.50, plus booking fee, of course.
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