St. Margaret's Church, Binsey

Last weekend, we visited an important Oxford site. Surprisingly, despite having lived in and around Oxford for the past seventeen years, we had only just become aware of its existence. What drew our attention to it was the mention in the Author's Note of Alison Mercer's novel 'After I Left You'.

The site in question was St Margaret's Church in Binsey. Binsey is a tiny village, just to the west of Oxford. You can reach it by walking along Binsey Lane, which links Botley (Oxford's western suburb) to the village. Binsey itself boasts the church, a pub and a handful of houses. Although the church is little visited and very peaceful (you reach it via a lane leading away from the main village), it is flanked, just a few fields away, by the A34, and you can hear the muffled roar of traffic as you approach.

The church is beautiful -- rebuilt on the site of a Saxon church in the 13th century, with additions in the 14th and 15th centuries. Although tiny, it still hosts services, weekly during the summer, and monthly at other times of the year.

Legend has it that St. Frideswide, the patron saint of Oxford, built an oratory at the site in Saxon times. In the churchyard stands St. Margaret's Well. The story goes that a spring appeared here in answer to St. Frideswide's prayers, and the well subsequently became a focus for pilgrimage in medieval times.

After having soaked up the tranquil atmosphere of the church, we retraced our steps to Binsey's pub, The Perch (which is far more touristed than the church!), and enjoyed a drink sitting in the sunshine in the garden there.

On the walk home along Binsey Lane we picked lots of blackberries, which we used to make a blackberry and apple crumble -- lovely!

Religion and biblical fables

Last week, the media reported on some research carried out by the Bible Society, which indicated a number of things:

• almost three out of ten children did not know that the story of the birth of Jesus comes from the Bible;
• a similar number had never heard stories about Adam and Eve or the Crucifixion;
• more than a third did not know that the tales of the Good Samaritan and David and Goliath come from the Bible;
• many of the parents in the study considered the Bible to be a good source of values for their children AND YET almost half of them did not recognise that the story of Noah's Ark comes from the Bible, and many muddled up biblical stories with the plot lines of well know films such as the Harry Potter series.

I was surprised by these findings -- and the fact that parents were confusing biblical stories with film plots struck me as laughable. How was this possible, I asked myself?

In a bid to understand, I asked my children about the stories listed above and where they come from. They knew the answers and, it turns out, they know a lot more detail about these stories that I do. Our family is not religious (I don't remember having told my children biblical stories), but we do have a good level of general knowledge and my children do attend Church of England schools. Maybe that's the answer, then.

Even though I'm not religious, it strikes me as 'a good thing' to know a bit about the Bible, the stories and morals contained within it, and religion in general. Why? Well, first off because religion is an important part of the history and culture of this country, and is worth learning about for that reason alone. Second, because religion has shaped and affected many of the events and thought processes in British culture (the Crusades, divorce, dissolution of the monasteries, ordination of women, to name but a few). And third because whatever one might think of the Bible (or indeed religion in general) it does impart some significant messages. The importance of putting sectarian differences aside in order to help an individual in need (aka the tale of the Good Samaritan), for example.

Granted the plot lines of the Harry Potter films do highlight some thought-provoking issues, but  for some reason I find myself baulking at according them the same level of historical, cultural and moral significance as our religious and biblical fables.

The religious life

We were out on a family walk recently and our route took us past a monastery. This prompted our youngest daughter, always hungry for information, to ask what is the point of monasteries; what are monks and nuns, what do they actually do.

That's an interesting set of questions, especially these days. In years gone by, the answer to these questions was much more clear cut. The religious life could provide refuge from disgrace (inability to find a husband, birth outside wedlock, homosexuality), from poverty, from ill health. And once there, a religious house could provide opportunities that were perhaps not available to such people in the outside world--board and lodging for a start, a good education, a structured life, even a career for the ambitious. Of course, some degree of religious faith was also required--or at least the ability and willingness to go along with a religious life.

Yet nowadays, these kinds of advantages are widely available on the outside. Unmarried women are able to support themselves. Birth out of wedlock and sexual orientation are no longer an issue. The state keeps its people out of abject poverty.

So why do people become monks and nuns in the twenty-first century? The short answer is that far fewer do. According to a Guardian article, in 2000 there were roughly 710 nuns and 230 monks in Anglican religious orders in Britain and Ireland, but by 2008 those numbers had dropped by over a third--to 470 nuns and 135 monks. Some religious houses have even taken to running 'taster weekends' in an attempt to attract new recruits. One assumes that, for those who do take the habit, one of the overriding motivators must be religious faith, given that the other advantages of religious life are no longer apparent. Yet, as we all know, religiosity is on a downward spiral (in the UK, at least), with secularism being the order of the day.

I have some experience in this area. I grew up as a vicar's daughter and, when I was travelling with my father, we often used to stay in the guesthouse of the local nunnery. My overriding memories are of large gardens in which fruit and vegetables were grown, of meals eaten in companionable silence, of a quiet and slow moving life. I haven't stayed in one of those guesthouses for over three decades now--in fact, I have no idea whether such facilities still exist--but it seems a pity that they might not due to the lack of a religious 'workforce'.

Of course, the tables may turn again, I suppose. I am currently reading a book by Penelope Lively in which she points out that although we in the UK now live in a very open society in which all manner of things are talked about and done quite freely, social mores have changed more than once throughout history. The eighteenth century was similarly unfettered (debauched, some might say), yet the Victorian age of modesty was a direct reaction to the liberality of that time. And now we have come full circle.

Perhaps the religious tables will similarly turn, and ours will revert to a a much more spiritual society in which the youth are falling over one another to make it to the front of the religious order entrance queue. That's hard to imagine, though, from where we currently stand.