Lunds Church

We recently departed the road at Grisedale in Cumbria to walk down a narrow track. A fairly modern footbridge allowed us to avoid the ford which former generations would have had no choice but to negotiate. We were seeking a little eighteenth-century chapel, sitting on a lonely hillside. It belongs to the Church of England, so we should strictly call it a church. And so there it was: Lunds Church.

Surprisingly, it was left unlocked, and we wondered in. Online travel logs record an altar rail and pews, but these have all been removed. Only some broken, Victorian floor tiles indicated where once the communion table had stood. A solitary bench squatted at the single room’s rear, a concession to weary walkers seeking respite or shelter from the elements. Otherwise, nothing: bare walls standing over a bare floor. There was modern, Perspex sign fastened to the wall, explaining that the ‘project’ had been part financed by monies from the ‘European Community’. This now appears as charming an anachronism as the building itself. Yet also within the place was something very precious. More precious than an altar rail or more pews upon which to slump. It was a Bible text, painted on the wall many years ago. It was hardly worth the trouble of removing, as its lettering, made by brushstrokes, could hardly be sold on for scrap or profit. It was an invitation given by the Lord Jesus Himself:

Come unto Me and I will Give you Rest

It is written in rather clumsy, old-fashioned lettering, and one can still detect a previous version of the words, not quite flush with the ones now on top. I dare say all visitors will glance up and read it, often in a cursory manner. Had the other furnishings been present, few would have regard for them. Quaint furnishings would have better attracted the eye, extra pews would have directed people forwards, rather than upwards at the text. It is the very nakedness of the church which makes the text the more prominent. Nonconformist chapels have typically been plain affairs, minimising distraction, that the pulpit might master our attention. Here, there is neither pulpit nor lectern, nor people within them to preach and read. But the words of Jesus Himself stand tall, making still their gracious offer of eternal rest.

I wonder if God sometimes takes away our pleasures and preoccupations that we might better hear His words, and them alone.

Heaven and earth will pass away, but My words will by no means pass away. Matthew 24:35