Day 28 Part 1: Sherborne Abbey

One of the best ways to enjoy an ancient building is to put yourself in the position of overhearing a tour guide. The best guides judge well how when to speak and when to stop. Most ramble. If I'm part of the signed-up group, I find it hard to be rude and wander off. Much better to be an eavesdropper, drifiting in and out at will.

I was in just this position this morning, as I sat writing postcards in the nave of Sherborne Abbey. The guide shepherded his little flock of tourists to the top of the nave and once assembled, this is how he began. "Welcome to Sherborne Abbey. Although we've just celebrated our thirteen hundredth anniversary, we're not a museum. We're a living church."'

He went on to talk very briefly about the way the church community seeks to serve the people of Sherborne today, before beginning the historical story. It was gently done, but this little huddle of tourists were clearly informed that the story of Christian faith in Sherborne is still being written.

The first thing to notice about the Abbey is the gorgeous stone of which it is built. Simon Jenkins reckons the ham stone is "the loveliest building material in England". I first thought that the best way to describe it is honey-coloured, but honey isn't a rich enough shade. It later occured to me that it's the colour of bruised root ginger.

After writing yesterday (or was it the day before) about the disconnection between church and general population which I've noticed as I walk, it was fascinating to hear about the most dramatic moment in the abbey's history.

The building had served as the seat of bishops in the kingdom of Wessex from 705 to 1075. When the bishops moved out to Old Sarum, Benedictine monks moved in.

A separate church for the parish was built next door, but it wasn't fully consecrated. For baptisms and funerals the population had to come into the Abbey whose monks, it seems, weren't at all interested in them. It had become an inwardly-focussed place, oblivious to the needs of the people.

In the fifteenth century a mob came to protest and broke into the abbey. During the commotion one hot-head let loose a flaming arrow, which lodged high up in a screen. The flames spread upwards, into the roof and melted the lead. The blaze soon engulfed the whole building.

I thought of today's walking verse, Isaiah 65.2: "I held out my hands all day long to a rebellious people, who walk in a way that is not good, following their own devices."

Was it Sherborne's angry mob who had rebelled against God? Or was it the monastic community, inward-looking and uninterested in the people, who had forgotten that God is a God of outreach?

The abbey's present harmonious style, with its sumptuous fan-vaulting and elaborate ceiling bosses, owes its origins to the scale of the rebuilding project. I liked it so much I think it's entered my top three favourite church buildings.

(Continued in Part Two)