Hackney Pentecostal Apostolic Church, 27 Middleton Rd, Hackney 17.04.11

Pentecostalists know how to party, their service does not have time for spiritual reflection, quiet prayers or sermons on society's ills instead they are too busy singing and dancing enraptured at the transformative glory of God. Ever since the minister of Faith Tabernacle Church of God told me to come again and bring my friends for some "pure spiritual worship no strings attached," I have been eager to re-join the Pentecostalists for some tambourine bashing and awkward arm waving. The Hackney Pentecostal Apostolic Church on Middleton Road did not disappoint, similar in spirit but far larger in size; the service consisted of a succession of bluesy gospel hymns only interrupted by some raucous evangelical testifying at the greatness of God/ Holy Spirit / Jesus / the pastor / the choir / the congregation / anything good or bad in the world (it’s all down to God after all). The service felt like a free inclusive party (if you ignore the piles of notes that overfilled the collection plate) where any stranger could walk in and be accepted into the throng of the worship. The only problem I had with the service was my enjoyment had very little to do with God and more to do with the excellent celebratory atmosphere.

The congregation would argue that God created such a magnificent atmosphere but I have more faith in people’s ability to have fun and get along than I have in one omnipotent being. I can identify three key elements that created such a welcoming Sunday service: the church, the clothes and singing. This week we don’t have time for theological debates instead I am interested in what makes this Sunday service seriously rock.

            Atmosphere does not come from people alone but from buildings and their surroundings as well. The Hackney Pentecostal Apostolic arrived on Middleton Road in 1972 and bought the building outright in 1974, before, they were situated in a hall on Whiston Road in East Hackney. Sadly I have not yet located the history of the building; the congregation members were unclear on the faith of the church before its spiritual conversion to Pentecostalism. Unlike Anglicans, Pentecostalists are far less interested in the history of their buildings and church and instead focused on the now which was reflected within the service’s overriding desire to summon the Holy Spirit instead of spiritually reflect. Despite the castle like entrance, inside there is new varnished wood panelling, clearly Pentecostalists are not interested in restoration but more for recreating an idyllic church interior, an interior more commonly found across the Atlantic. The small wooden booths and surrounding upper tier force interaction, bunching the congregation into a crowd to help lose any inhibitions. Sandwiched between families it would be rude not to take part and I think I was accepted despite being the worst dressed man in the nave.   

Most churches would applaud a young man in a blue suit, shiny shoes, and an open top shirt with cuff links but I was still short of a tie, waistcoat, and jacket with fine embroidery to equal the Pentecostalist’s Sunday Best. The smartest of the smart were a male group who led the worship under the guidance of Pastor Elaine Douglas.  The group would sing, clap and rabble rouse in front of the congregation as the queen grandmother remained seated behind them on her wooden throne. Rarely standing for the majority of the service, she would look over her congregation with microphone in hand and occasionally add a “praise the lord,” or “hallelujah.” Pastor Douglas’s chosen men were identifiable by their elegant attire: all dressed in three piece cream suits that sparkled with sequins. In full song it was like watching a service delivered by The Temptations. I was even tempted to shout out for requests of My Girl or Ain’t Too Proud to Beg but the only words the congregation were willing to hear was “Praise the Lord,” or one of its many variations. If the men were hierarchized by who had the sparkliest suit, it was size of the hats/crowns/headdresses that ranked the women.  Pastor Douglas did not disappoint with a shiny white high bowl crown hat and larger double brim, decorated with an extravagant net bow that provided a wave like peak to one side. The hat was so large it cast a mean shadow and dwarfed the young women wearing fascinators or cloche hats. The congregations’ style took you to the classic clichés of the American deep south but the congregation were from the Caribbean not North Carolina.  However the music did have similar rhythm patterns, both cultures hymns’ share a simple diatonic chord progression. It was this recognisable rhythm that really got my feet moving.

Since the beginning of my non-religious pilgrimage I have kept my faith through garnering an interest in American Gospel. Recently my music collection has been filled with Sam Cooke and the Soul Stirrers, Sister Rosetta, Pastor TL Barrett and the Youth for Christ Choir, The Staple Sisters, The Soul Searchers and many more. The music gives inspiration and encouragement when I struggle to find a reason to wake on a Sunday morning. Arriving at the church I was so excited by the sound of the choir booming out of the large red doors, I felt my prayers for a service of early gospel (without African rhythms) had been answered. Hackney Pentecostal church did not have the complete gospel back catalogue and the hymns could be delineated into two groups, the ballad and the ensemble. Music is always incredibly hard to describe in words, it would not have the ethereal power it holds over other art forms if it could be put into words. So I am very lucky that the Hackney Pentecostal Apostolic Church are web savvy and enjoy self-publicity, below is the video of Hackney Pentecostal Apostolic Church performing He Arose  in full swing during Convocation 2010.

The video not only touches on the infectious atmosphere generated by the congregation. You can also see how the golden uniform of the female choir (which was replicated by Pastor Douglas’s cream suited men during my visit) clearly separates them from the crowd. Notice that the serious theatrics centre on the audience at the front of the ministry, like any gig the most fanatical have pushed themselves forward. The sound is not great on the video but you can hear the cacophony of “praise the lords,” and “hallelujah,”at the end of the song which frequently abridge the majority of the hymns. In contrast to the ensemble partying is the soulful ballad, though I was not lucky enough to see Sister Lynch (featured in the video below) I did see a certain minister croon his way through a hymn reawakening the spirit of Marvin Gaye as well as raising the Holy Spirit.

The ballad did give the audience time to take a breath and rest their feet but for the majority of the service the attendees were forever standing. The service running for two hours would make you imagine that the elderly members might grow tired but the music clearly provided an adrenaline rush and a feeling of rejuvenation all in the name of the Holy Spirit. Despite my enjoyment of the service I was concerned that my lack of spiritual faith did somewhat tarnish my experience.  Church is not a club or a music venue, there is no door charge but a spiritual one and therefore I was definitely free loading.

After the exhilaration of dancing and singing in the aisles I inevitably felt isolated during some evangelical testifying. The testifying reminded me of when I had been at a dancehall gig and the DJ shouted some misogynistic line and I would automatically be deflated not having the music to drown out the offensive content of his lyrics. It might be a contrived and wild comparison but my love of gospel is similar to my love of dancehall. In both genres I do not share their ideological and cultural discourse but I can’t help but move my feet and sing and clap along to the rhythm. In retrospect after my second visit to the Pentecostal church I did worry if I was any clearer on the nuances of their faith. Researching the Pentecostal church (highly diverse and a growing faith) all groups seem to adhere to the prosperity gospel and are more often described as awaiting the arrival of the second coming and a day of judgement on all non-believers. So after my research the Pentecostalists seem a little more exclusive than they may first appear on Sundays and do share some conservative beliefs just as shocking as Dancehall culture of casual misogyny, homophobia and gun toting lyrics.  It just saddens me that the church I have grown most fond of through a shared love of gospel I can’t frequent weekly because of some spiritual differences and some omnipotent being called God.

 “Pure spiritual worship no strings attached,” I wish.

St Leonards Church, Shoreditch High Street, Shoreditch, 10.04.11

Stepping through the church gates of Saint Leonards of Shoreditch an educated man would be in awe of the spire which has inspired such a great history of literature and theatre but an uneducated man’s eyes would be drawn down to the collection of sleeping drunks that adorn both sides of the church door. St Leonards has a long standing artistic fame, it features in the nursery rhyme Oranges and Lemons with the line “When I grow rich, say the bells of Shoreditch,”  it’s built next to  England’s first purpose built theatre, and within the church grounds you can find  the resting place for a high number of Shakespeare’s original actors. The church’s artistic traditions live on as the grounds are the location for BBC 4’s church sitcom Rev and the building also moonlights as a classical and contemporary music venue. The arts love St Leonards and St Leonards appears to love the arts; but its biggest artistic contribution is the 18^th century building which is yet to be fully restored. Instead of restoration the building has aesthetically suffered as the church’s finances have focused away from the high spire and down to the drunks of the courtyard.

The church’s historical majesty but decaying decor reflected the two communities that formed the majority of the congregation, the elderly and the homeless (however families did arrive typically late into the service). The odd mixture of smartly dressed and mannered pensioners standing side by side with politely silent but dishevelled vagrants created a potent atmosphere of acceptance.  Judging by the appallingly whispered shared prayers and muttered melody that accompanied the hymns, the community was not formed by a familiarity or fever for the Holy Scriptures. A shared silence born out of an English sense of austerity and tolerance brought the two groups together to continue a classical tradition of Christian care in the community. The two groups were not attending under a passionate faith but more a sense of Christian duty.

For the homeless Sunday service attendance is a continuation of their rehabilitation and a possible duty to insure their temporary housing. St Leonard’s runs “Acorn House,” an 18 bed residential unit for those who need a roof and security, “Acorn house,” also offers assistance in recovery of various addictions. Judging by the assortment of sleeping bags that scattered across the church yard I imagine St Leonards charity extends outside the residence of Acorn House into the church grounds providing a nonresidential temporary home for those unlucky enough to be without in exchange for increase in church attendance. The elderly share a similar sense of duty in their church attendance, not singing or jumping like the Evangelicals of previous Sundays but instead focused on the practicalities of charity and spiritual reflection. The belief in charity as a form of faith clearly bound the two groups in silence; the homeless practically benefited from the church’s charity and provided philanthropic substance to the elderly’s spiritual reflections. Regardless of the lack of passion within the service the sermon from the reader ( Reverend Paul Turp was sadly away) reflected upon modern Christianity  and justified its mannered and modest Church community.

Too reserved to attack other churches the reader merely voiced his concern at the increase of popularity of “prosperity gospel.” ”Prosperity gospel,” is the belief that that God rewards people in life for their Christian faith from which you can reason the Holiest man is the most successful. Anglicans rarely spark  a fight (under Rowan’s new politically correct leadership) in comparison to their bloody past, so rather than outwardly criticize the high number of evangelical churches who follow “prosperity gospel,” the reader indicated that just because a person is “unlucky in life, “ does not mean he or she is  a bad Christian. Focusing on Psalm 112 (a passage that could be seen to reinforce “prosperity gospel”) he claimed that despite the passages praise for the “man who feareth god,” and the “wealth and riches shall be in his house,” the passage also states “he hath dispersed, he hath given to the poor; his righteousness endureth forever.” The reader wanted to highlight that while the Psalm refers to Christians being rewarded by God it also attacks the shortfalls of materialism and instead focuses on the enduring spiritual reward Christians receive.  Judging by the crevices of peeling paint from the church ceiling and the battered wooden cross that stands in the  sanctum the congregation of St Leonards church was clearly not driven by aesthetics.

Not that St Leonards has a boring architectural history. The first church was built by the Anglo Saxons and later demolished and rebuilt by the Normans.  St Leonards did not rise to fame till the Elizabethan period when it was dubbed the actors church for being the chosen place of worship for many of Shakespeare’s actors. After the Elizabethan building collapsed in the 18^th century it was quickly replaced by the current structure.  The old church’s remains have recently been discovered in the current Church‘s crypt and has fuelled speculation of a possible renovation not that the current the church is not a historical monument by itself.  Following the partial collapse of the tower in 1716 the medieval church was rebuilt in Palladian style by George Dance the Elder in 1736 - 1740, with a soaring steeple 192 feet tall (an imitation of Christopher Wren’s  magnificent steeple on St Mary-le-Bow in Cheapside). Inside the church the entablature is supported by giant Doric columns, giving the church an almost ancient Greek quality.  Many original 18th century fixtures and fittings remain, including the front, the pulpit, the communion table, clock, organ case, bread cupboards and commandment boards. It was lit with gaslight in 1817, the first in London. The possible restoration appears to hover over the spire of St Leonards with the recent crypt discovery and the current deteriorated state of the 18th century building in need of make over. To renovate the crypt is a current campaign of Reverend Turp along with his ambition to get the clock tower working again. In the two short docu pieces on the brilliant St Leonards website the softly spoken Reverend Turp explains his desire to renovate the crypt and the difficult logistics of the church clock’s potential restoration. Please see the below clips.

In the short interview Reverend Turp outlines his predicament that a full restoration of the clock tower would be jeopardized if he just fixed the clock without renovating the tower. Reverend Turp is clearly frustrated that a practical solution would undermine the possibility of a full restoration, viewing a full restoration as a waste of money when the clock could be fixed for less. Turp’s practical nature and consideration highlights the church’s lack of vanity. In contrast to the beautifully refurbished Christ Church of Spitalifields (only a 10 min walk from St Leonards) the congregations of Shoreditch church are not preoccupied with aesthetically recreating the past yet they are still continuing other church traditions.

St Leonard was the patron saint of prisoners and those who are mentally ill and therefore it seems fitting that the church should focus its work on the rehabilitation of local addicts and provide care for the homeless. The church’s website proudly states that “Shoreditch Church has always been committed to its community. (When the Spanish Armada was coming up the channel, the church was giving out bread and coal to poor people.) So when it was recently rebuilt, a large amount of money was spent on its community needs and no funds were left to buy paint. Hence it still looks a bit sad and tatty.” The church’s lack of vanity is very sobering and applaudable that Saint Leonards looks first to rehabilitate its community rather than restore its wealth.

The Holy Temple Church of Christ, 1A Greenwood Road, Hackney, 03.04.11

When I began my blog it was not my intention to reinforce stereotypes that surround Christianity and immigration but each week I find myself victim to the clichés that inhabits modern religion in a multicultural society. On Sunday I got up at 11.30 (when the majority of church services would have been finished) and travelled as far across the other side of my road to visit The Holy Temple Church of Christ. When a church is called “The Holy Temple of Christ,” you can make the assumption that the congregation are going to have evangelical tendencies and are more likely going to be predominantly African and West Indian. Annoyingly another assumption crossed my mind, the racist cliché that “black people are always late,” and sadly my worst fears were proven true. Standing in an empty hall surrounded by an amazing collection of Christian paraphernalia I was not greeted by the minister until 10 minutes after the scheduled start of the service. Minister Adi was a large and friendly Nigerian with very sweet and tired eyes that were not yet fully awake. Conservatively dressed in sweater and jeans he was yet to wear his white Sunday robes. After explaining my intrusion to Adi he told me the congregation travel “from near and far,” and I should return in an hour when everyone should be in attendance. Intrigued to see the large hall come alive (usually I am one of the last to arrive) I did wait and watch to see the first members enter. Ironic that the first to arrive had travelled as far as Clapham and actual residents of Hackney would join midway through the service. The main reason I did hang around was when I realised that the congregation embarked on a ritualised dressing before entering the main hall (or perhaps Holy Temple as the congregation would call it). The long journey and the ritual attire made me realise that the Sabbath was another weekly mini migration mirroring the larger migration the congregation had made earlier in the church's life; a migration away from London and back to the traditions of the homeland. 

More often congregations dress in their Sunday best at home and travel to church. Unlike regional cities it’s more common to see kids dressed in a suit than a hoodie on Sunday mornings outside churches in the east end but interestingly this congregation had rare fashion duality. One of the first arrivals was Alisha, a very beautiful young woman wearing incredibly high and thin heels that matched her figure; she had a silhouette to rival Jessica Rabbit with the tiniest of tummies but a big butt and bust and incredibly long thick luscious hair. I expected her to be the missing member of Destiny’s Child not one of the many gospel choir singers.  My conservative response was given a sharp shock when I returned to see her dressed head to toe in a white cotton dress that made her look like a giant pillow. The cotton dress was a familiar African style (see photo) but the large and ill-fitting hat was less common (appearing like a doylie to naïve whitey), but I was glad see she still wore her Dolce and Gabbana glasses inside the temple (some vanity the church will allow).  Alisha was an amazing singer and key to keeping the congregation moving during the hymn so maybe she will be the next Beyoncé (she is a church girl after all).  Alisha's male counterpart was Adu who was dressed in a more regular Nike sweater but also wore some more outlandish jeans that featured a picture of Tupac on one leg and his infamous “thug for life” mantra written across the bum. Adu was far less stunning but I did smile when I returned to see this self-proclaimed fashion “thug,” wearing a striking silk satin white robe and kneeling to a humbly lead the Lord ’s Prayer with the softest and sweetest of voices.  I could enormously relate to the congregation's schizophrenic appearance as I often dress in a suit for Church (consciously attempting to fit in with the congregation). In no way do I think mine or any of the congregational members of the Holy Temple are being dishonest, instead I regard the dressing as a key ritual that is key to any pilgrimage (no matter how small).  The individuals that formed the wall of white robes filled the hall and may have amazingly diverse lifestyles but on Sunday they all decide to unite under a singular uniform which sadly made my smart attire seem entirely inappropriate. The ritual robes of the congregation reminded me of a Holy pilgrimage and the importance of the Sunday service not just as an on-going spiritual migration but also the continual physical migration of the church itself.

Talking to Minster Adi after the service I began to realise the many incarnations this church had been through. Originating from Nigeria (though Adi quickly pointed out that the congregation were a collection of South Africans Kenyans and a few from West Indies)  the Holy Temple of Christ came to England in 1987 as a self-proclaimed “African Church” . The Holy Temple’s first base was St Mary’s hall in Stoke Newington (currently the home of a Quaker group and various other Christian sects) but the Holy Temple eventually moved north east to share another building in Seven Sisters eventually moving into their own building in Kings Cross. The Holy Temple bought their current home in 1994 but the self-funded roofing and refurbishment was not complete till 1996.  The building was a disused sorting office of the Royal Mail, an apt choice for a congregation that had travelled so far.  The main hall filled with an enormous assortment of religious placards must have been the main mail room. Now all the mail room walls are filled with same Christian messages that God is Great, Jesus Loves You,  Jesus said “I Am The Way, The Truth and The Life,” and my personal favourite Bible: Biblical Information Brings Life Eternal. Similar to the instantly recognisable slogans that decorated the walls the service was a predictable collection of shared passionate prayers, lots of singing and dancing and a sermon that was about everything but said nothing.  Christianity can be repetitive and does more often breed a sense of conformity and but you have to admire its longevity. I did enjoy the singing and dancing but I was more impressed and intrigued by the Church’s short history.

When a faith that is so strong it travels across from Europe to Africa and then back again its going to change and adapt in ways we cannot understand but yet remain instantly recognisable. The Holy Temple Church of Christ is very similar to other “African Churches” I have visited in the area but what is unique are the details of their journey which is not something I can learn on one visit and so instead I fall back on the clichés. In the short time I spent with the congregation and the brief history lesson I received by the end of the service it was quite easy to for forgive them all for being late, they have after all travelled from “near and far.”

The St Parish Church of St Chad's, Haggeston, Dunlow Street

Every time I visit a Catholic church I want to confess, not necessarily to expose my fraudulent faith but instead to grapple with some guilt (I should feel) at the failure to adhere to my own personal principles. Principles I presume I have but could not define in my writing. This desire to form a sense of guilt might explain my planned decision to visit the congregation of St Chad's on Dunloe street after a very heavy night of drinking. Perhaps an unconscious desire to feel guilt had driven me to masochistically punish my already vulnerable body (recently recovering from a cold) by pleasurably poisoning myself with alcohol till the early hours of the morning. After very little sleep I had decided to go to be judged by God’s people or at least punish myself by publically appearing hungover to a room of extremely polite and pleasant strangers. In the church the only one to condemn my sins was me which ironically helped me obtain a sense of guilt (but not the type I wanted). I have not been in the best of health on numerous occasions when visiting churches in the past but never before had I felt so guilty toward the congregation that surrounded me.

The reason I chose St Chad’s as my spiritual priory was that my previous experience had taught me that the most mannered and conservative of services were Catholic and therefore a Catholic congregation would be ideal company if I was of poor health. So I was prepared to not talk to anyone and instead appreciated the beautiful late Victorian architecture (more on which later) but to my snobbish disgust the congregation of St Chad’s were the most cheerful Catholics I had ever had the fortune to come across. A small crowd of chirpy cockney Catholics predominantly elderly women (Nans not Grannies) greeted me with wise smiles and gravelly voices; the congregation had a genuine east end community feel with a mixture of races all linked by the local accent identified by the dropping of “Hs” and adding “ers” at the end of sentences. In previous Sunday services I have commented on the routine ritual of Catholic services and the mass drone prayer that destroys the rich language of the Bible but these cliched elements were challenged by the congregation’s enthusiasm and arguably my sensitive state of mind. From reciting the “Act of Penitence,” to the “Lord’s Prayer” and concluding with “Holy Communion,” and with a lot of proclaiming “The Word of Lord,” and “Thanks be to God,” the spoken prayers of St Chad’s congregation were crystal clear and in perfect unison in contrast to the mass drone I had come to expect. All the communal spoken prayers were so vividly heard it was like hearing the word of God channeled through a congregation of Michael Caine impersonators reminiscent of a stand up sketch by the comedian Simon Munnery (plese see video). 

 
In truth I wanted the more mannered and antique like mass which I had previously criticized and disregarded in past weeks as merely a zombie rite of ritual for the indoctrinated because then I could remain within my cynically spiritual comfort zone, but instead the service despite its trance like repetition was very sweet and touching.

Three factors that gave St Chads service a more intimate and communal feel (and none of them have anything to do with my hangover).

1.    The service had no organist which led to a stronger emphasis on singing with no congregation member being able to hide behind the musical accompaniment and lazily mouth the words to the hymns. Plus the acoustics of the late Victorian church made even the quietest member heard.

2.    The congregation were heavily involved in the readings and the running of the service, but were not timid (as I have found in previous Catholic and Anglican services). The jovial nature of the congregation as they assisted in the Sunday ritual created the impression of an amateur theatre group performing their favorite play. Speakers were clearly nervous but everything was spoken with a smile that told you they were happy to be there.

3.    The architecture created a real sense of community despite the churches incredible size for such a small congregation. Of all the many features it was the large wheel shaped windows in the transepts that enhanced the congregation. Positioned in the east end apsidal of the church and one in the north-east vestry under the pyramidal roof, the windows provide a showering ray of curved light shone onto the red brick interior that lit up the entire room and created a high contrast from the heavily lit congregation and dark depth of extremely lit nave. In God’s incredibly large building the architect had managed is so his light would shine on them.

Despite all of these factors I predictably felt not only alone but possessed by the alcoholic poison running through my veins. Not one for spiritual intervention I found all these pleasant qualities of the church deeply haunting (obviously in retrospect I was just still hung over). The voices of the congregation spoke to me like never before and they were not even addressing me, the cheerful personalities were the social peak I could not reach and the bright light from the large wheel windows got in my eyes. The main factor for my discomfort was the burning of incense. Still harboring a cough, as soon as the incense was burnt during the opening antiphon all the way to Holy Communion I was coughing, I did my best to hide my cough but it was impossible. The church had such amazing acoustics the tiniest sound of politely clearing your throat echoed across the nave. The congregation of Nans kept offering suspicious smiles and curious glances at my strange intrusion. As the mass progressed it got worse as I watched the smoke move from the light of God’s window to surround me, physical appearance acting as a placebo that kicked my larynx into a fit of convulsions. So embarrassed by my demonic cough I had to leave during communion to properly clear my throat, bronchioles and lungs. As my unfit and damaged body fled the hospitable and holy surroundings I could not help but feel some spiritual exorcism had been completed. My guilt had manifested into a cold and physically driven me from the pleasant company and eloquent architectural surroundings that I clearly did not deserve.

Leaving the church I did find a little solace in spotting a lone stone Mary situated in the corner between the church and the vicarage. Judging by the stone it was not as old as St Chads (built in 1869) but it held a similar relationship to the surrounding building. St Chads is like Gods cavern, due to the extremely high red brick walls you feel it could be designed to be a warehouse for the Industrial Revolution. The grandeur of St Chads, like the lone statue, has been dwarfed by 20^th century ideas of progress with a huge number of high rise council flats surrounding it. The building is now hidden within back streets between the main roads of Hackney Road and Bethnal Green Road. The building should be visited and appreciated not only to appease my guilt at leaving early but to celebrate the rarity and unique architecture that provides a spacial stability in contrast to the hyper developments of the area that surrounds it. I asked a friend (a resident of Bethnal Green) what does he think of modern London architecture he said he thought of cranes and scaffolding; a constantly unfinished metropolis. After this comment I realized the buildings of the past are always intended for the present (especially churches which are built for the end of days). Whatever your spiritual persuasions I recommend people to visit the churches of not just the east end, not just London but the entire UK and go out and celebrate a sense of history. It is hard when surrounded by such religious imagery not to feel a sense of guilt at your lack spirituality or religious conformity but it’s important to remember these buildings may have been built in the past for a more religious society but they have always been intended for the present. Guilt only breeds more guilt, from planned piss up to spiritual hangover I cannot prescribe to such masochism and it really does get in the way of appreciating the other qualities of religion.