Bishop Edward King Chapel
Ripon College Cuddesdon
Introduction to the 2015 RIBA Awards Religious Buildings Category
Written by The Very Revd. Professor Martyn Percy, Dean of Christ Church,
Oxford, and previously the Principal of Ripon College Cuddesdon 2004-14
– and where the Bishop Edward King Chapel was completed in 2013.
Although it is something of a cliché,
most people will know that churches
are essentially ‘sermons in stone’. That
is to say, the very design, layout and
physicality of a church building convey
spiritual sentience and religious
resonance. To try and ‘read’ a church
otherwise is to entirely misunderstand
its purpose: gathering for worship.
Churches are spaces that take us to
another place. They point us upward
to God, inward to reflect, and outward
to a world that is both created and
awaiting redemption.
We, as clients, were deeply fortunate – I should say blessed, really – to
have an architect in Niall McLaughlin who understood that our new
Chapel could only ever be a sermon in stone. To be sure, everyone knows
what stone is; and they might assume they know what a sermon is too
(i.e. often lengthy, ponderous, and dull…?). But a sermon is, strictly
speaking, a small comment – an expansion and reference which only
refers us back to the scriptures. A sermon in stone is merely a comment
on what God has already revealed in words.
Niall McLaughlin’s design – essentially a ship, or large coracle – is rooted
in a remarkable Gaelic Christian legend, and recounted in a famous story
by Seamus Heaney (Selected Poems, from ‘Seeing Things’, 1991):
Lightenings viii
The annals say: when the monks of Clonmacnoise
Were all at prayers inside the oratory
A ship appeared above them in the air.
The anchor dragged along behind so deep
It hooked itself into the altar rails
And then, as the big hull rocked to a standstill,
A crewman shinned and grappled down the rope
And struggled to release it. But in vain.
'This man can't bear our life here and will drown,'
The abbot said, 'unless we help him.' So
They did, the freed ship sailed, and the man climbed back
Out of the marvellous as he had known it.
The story, much like McLaughlin’s architecture, leans on ancient ideas of
Christian space. The ‘nave’ of a church comes from the same term from
which we derive the word ‘naval’. One of the earliest Christian symbols,
apart from the cross, was that of a ship – conveying the idea of pilgrimage
– the soul in transition, or the journey from this life to the next. More
specifically, one thinks of the boat tossed on the storms of Sea of Galilee
and the fear of the disciples – yet the boat does not sink because of the
presence of Jesus (Matthew 8: 23-27). The story, taken as literal or as
metaphor, simply says, ‘you will not be overcome’ by the storms of life;
be still, have faith, and trust in God.
The spiritual relationship between individuals, communities and their
buildings is always a complex one. Yet sometimes, the simplest things are
also the most difficult to produce. McLaughlin’s great skill was to be able
to not only tell a simple story of salvation, but to create and interpret that
sermon in stone within the award-winning Bishop Edward King Chapel at
Cuddesdon. McLaughlin has created a uniquely holy space that anchors
women and men in their evolving vocations and discipleship. The
building provides a unique, inspiring and beautiful frame of reference that
is open in character and texture.
For many people the ‘implicit theology’ of the new Chapel will not be
obvious at first sight. Yet if you encounter the space in stillness, you
quickly absorb the sense of the use of light, space, materials and design –
all combining to produce an awareness of being carried and held, yet also
freed and offered. The relationship between the Chapel and the
worshippers becomes essentially perichoretic – the ‘mutual indwelling’ of
materials and spiritual currents that blend and inter-penetrate, producing
new spiritual meanings, whilst also maintaining distinctive sodalities. The
use of colour (bare, minimal) means that the natural light does all the
work, and the worshipper is simply left with a sense of being bathed in
warm, numinous buttermilk. The Chapel does not seek to impose; yet it
cannot fail to inspire. Most people, when they enter the Chapel for the
first time, simply gasp – and then whisper a single word: ‘wow’. Then
they fall silent, subsumed by the simplicity and intricacy of it all.