The Feast of the Innocents | 28th Early morning [open]- Xmas 1677

[Guest]

St. Matthew Friday Street was the smallest and cheapest of the Wren churches.

 

Its plan was an irregular rectangle; George Godwin described the interior as "a plain room of most uneven shape, about 60 feet long and 30 feet broad within the walls, with a plain flat ceiling, slightly coved at the sides. There was a gallery at the west end with a small organ. The exterior walls were of brick, except for the east front, towards Friday Street, which was faced with stone.

 

The east wall was unadorned at street level, but had a row of five round-headed windows with cherub-headed keystones above. The tower, in the south west corner, which was not visible from the street was the plainest of any Wren church. It was plain brick and hung one bell.

 

Entrance to the church was via alleyways to the north and south.

 

The Christmas season was a time rich with religious significance. And equally rich with calls to charity. The 26th had been a day for kindness to commoners and servants, and John had done what he could for his staff. The 28th was reserved for children, commemorating the day that Herod had slew the childer. They were the first Christian martyrs, the first to die for the true faith. And all children were reminded both of their sacrifice... and of the petty revenge they were allowed to take on adults. Not to mention the gifts they got.

 

The season on the whole was something of a perfect storm: combining his love of kindness, his religiosity, and his love of English tradition.

 

John carried a well-worn book, brightly illustrated and full of pictures. It had been given to him as a child: it was the story of Christmas and reading from it was a bit of a tradition. He was followed by some servants carrying food and sturdy shoes and coats to be distributed. There were also some toys and sweets. Nothing expensive, but John hoped it would the children fed, warm, and amused. (He also had a bit of money, which he knew commoners always appreciated)

 

He arrived at the church, small and packed in among the buildings on Friday Street. He’d originally planned to do it at his house, but since then a better alternative had come up under the Reverend Burnet. He looked around to see if anyone had arrived, or if he was ready to be received.

[Hope]

"Good good, you are early, come on in..." Burnet wore a great goat over his clerical robes, and stamped the cold from his feet as he ushered the good samaritan in. "I am Reverend Burnet, and you must be Lord Maldon, merry christmas to you good sir." The men had not actually met previously, this convenience between them the innovation of a helpful third party.

 

Entering the church, it was a fraction warmer than the outdoors was, due perhaps for the collection of bodies. A dozen, perhaps twenty, people awaited near the entrance looking much at a loose end.

 

"You've a preference of where to do this then?" Burnet asked, gesturing vaguely about the space.

 

For all of the sparsity of this afterthought of a church, it hd the most fantastic arrangements of wreaths and berried present, and over there at the east wall near the keystones stood a life sized papermache nativity scene amongst strewn straw.

[Guest]

“Yes, merry Christmas” John smiled at Burnet. The servants deposited their loads and departed. “Where it’s warm and there’s n-n-nothing to break.” John explained his preferences. “I think I should l-l-like to sit before the nativity when I read.” John held up the book, in case the implication wasn’t completely apparent. He hoped, too, a chair could be supplied.

 

It went without saying that John did not want to approach the altar unless he needed to. It was best to avoid even potential religious taboos.

 

“Will you… or anyone be staying to help?” John asked. From his tone it was clear he would be impressed by a yes, or more cynically that he expected at least Burnet to help. “What d-d-do you think?” He gestured towards what he’d brought, hoping for an honest opinion. John expected the Reverend had much more contact with the needy than he did.

[Hope]

"That is easily enough arranged." Reverend Burnet replied in a relaxed manner, "It's good to see such a charitable attitude. I can only imagine what provisions you have made for your own estates congregations. God Bless you Lord Maldon."

 

"Now, would you like to take a cup of broth with me before you begin. You have some time yet. " As he settled John might notice that the people lingering about had been given some soup.

 

"Though we are practically in Whitehall's shadow, Saint Matthews is sadly under-recognised and under financed. It was not alwasy so, you do no think that this is the original plan for a church designed by the laudable Christopher Wren? Rumor goes that the church at that time suggested that our budjet was better put towards more pressing matters, housing for the poor and provisions for widows and orphans. Budget cuts, and so here we are, no vaulted ceilings, no spire and but one bell to call our parishioners to services. And yet, did you note, that there are quite as many homeless, hopeless widows and hungry children as always. And they must attend church in a building that is little more than a closed in alley, how do we inspire those most forgotten of his Lords creatures in a place with no stained glass gallery, window to the heavens, where even our voices when lifted in song do not soar, but fall flat, repressed. And what has come of the rest of the Friday Street Chapel budget hmm? It is politics, that is what it is." the man seemed to like to talk.

[Guest]

“Thank you Reverend.” John said, “I w-w-wish I could do more.” John meant that quite sincerely. While his attention often bent this way, he also felt the limits of his power here most acutely. “But hopefully we’ll d-d-do some good this season.”

 

John smiled at the offer of soup. “Yes, p-p-please.” John’s appetites tended to track his mood. He was in a good mood today so he was hungry. Besides, he liked the idea of taking soup with them.

 

“Politics, yes.” John said. Generally, he had sympathies for the simplicity of the low church. But the Reverend seemed like a decent sort, so John didn’t mind. He nodded to the poor being numerous. “Yes, so it seems. We m-m-must find a way to reduce that poverty, if we c-c-can. Prosperous, wealthy communities can afford m-m-more… beauty in their churches.”

[Hope]

"Well perhaps you can." The Reverend replied, pleased with the young mans christian spirit. "The church is alwasy short of resources, be it money, provisions, or even time. As it is said in the Psalms, 'Blessed is the man that feareth the Lord, that delighteth greatly in his commandments... [this man]... He hath dispersed, he hath given to the poor; his righteousness endureth for ever; his horn shall be exalted with honour."

 

John was given a cup of broth that held a faint flavor of beefbones, with chunks of carrot settled down at the bottom. "Prompts to visualise the rewards of heaven, the House of the Lord is like a doorstep into heaven, inspiring the flock, uplifting their spirits beyond the drear of daily lives. All the more important in a community that struggles.

 

I most lament the absence of stained glass windows her at Saint Matthews, yet we have a not even the window spaces that could be used to show off illustrations of bible stories. It is a tragedy, without any possible solution." he looked back at John, eyebrow a raised at his goading complaint.

[Guest]

“Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up,” John replied with one of his favorite verses on the subject. “Yet those who d-d-do well… will be assured of my good favor.” John assured him. Admittedly that was probably worth more in the countryside, but even in London it was worth something.

 

John shook the cup slightly to shake it up and took a long sip. He enjoyed it. He’d subsisted on meaner fair in his darkest days. “Beauty in a church is no sin, so long… as the pastor is compassionate. A rich church in a p-p-poor community is a mockery. When m-m-men wonder why the House of God is so pretty while their children starve, the d-d-devil draws them away.”

 

Yet John was not unsympathetic to the Reverend’s pleas. John couldn’t resist a bemused puff, “What would you need?” He asked plainly. The knocking out of a part of a wall and the installation of colored glass was not remarkable, though John lacked the architectural sense to understand all the implications of such an addition.

[Hope]

"Those that cannot read the written word, can still read for themselves the tale of Christs sacrifice when illustrated. There is a deeper appreciation gained, when 'reading' the good book for oneself, where in text or in illustrations, as I am sure you will appreciate."

 

As the men talked more humble folk entered the church. Here came a group of four young people, three boys and a girl. The eldest, a sandy haired boy might have been 15 judging by his height and the plight of his complexion. The next boy, dark haired and with a bowl-cut might have been 12, and spent more time at a pudding bowl. The youngest weedy looking lad (also dark haired with a bowl cut) kept close company to the girl, who seemed to be about 13, and wore a coat rather too fine for this part of London. The kids eyes slid towards the preacher and the gentlmen, and then they filed past to get some soup also.

 

"The question in service is rarely 'what is needed', but instead, 'what is available'. The Church of Saint Matthews is entrepreneurial in that regard. Have you a surfeit of any product Lord Maldon, that our industrious ladies might translate into saleable items for the mural fundraiser."

[Guest]

“It’d be better to teach them to read.” John opined. There was a pause as he shook the soup so it mixed, “Harder, though.” He admitted. By his tone, he’d already made up his mind to help. John smiled and waved as the children looked over. The soup tasted good, but it only tasted faintly. He’d eaten meaner fare in the darker days of his childhood.

 

“I c-c-can get you signed copies of all of Mr. Blackwood’s books.” John said. That he was Mr. Blackwood went unmentioned. Such was the purpose of an alias. “And I can give you an out of season f-f-fruit basket.” That was a bit more impressive than it sounded: in a time without refrigeration, out of season fruit was hard to come by. John had grown them in an orangery on his estate. “I know a f-f-fellow too who can make buttons and scrimshaw and the l-l-like. Do you have someone who can make the cloth and thread? And t-t-turn that into coats or something?”

 

“Have you d-d-decided on the scene you want?” He asked idly.

[Hope]

"There is always another worthy goal to be found, when the eyes of the good christian looks." Reverend Burnet replied of that.

 

"Mr Blackwood? I do not know the author, what it he write upon? But we would be greatful of books to sell at our next church fair, and anything else you are able to donate would be welcome." Further new arrivals entered the churches doors, and as they were given mugs of broth they were directed to gather around the nativity scene.

 

"Call me a traditionalist, but the tale of the Lords Life is foremost in my mind for the mural. Though of course, the Church shall have the final say of that." Burnet's eyes slid to the patiently waiting men women and children. "I think they are ready for you now." A chair had been brought for him, so that he'd be sat just in front of the manger scene.

 

Reverend Burnet stood nearby, able to assist if needed.

 

 

OOC: Please go ahead and write up your presentation!

[Guest]

“He’s a historian.” John said, “He’s g-g-got a very popular History of Essex. A few other works. A book that’s a collection of pamphlets.” John nodded at the idea of scenes of the lord’s life. But it appeared things were ready for him. “Good,” He said, and moved towards the nativity to take his seat.

 

He looked out over those looking at him. As a lord, John was never entirely sure if they were just cooperating to flatter him. Still, he supposed many lords had more predatory quirks than he did.

 

He sat down, and opened the worn book. The illustrations were still bright. He spoke and read of the story. The familiar part, Joseph and Mary returning to Bethlehem. The birth in the manger. Of the terror of the Massacre of the Innocents that was commemorated this day. And of how in their deaths they became the first Christian martyrs, spirited up to heaven by a loving God.

 

He spoke of visions of angels and of Jesus’ name day, January first. He spoke of how, on that day, he was circumcised. He danced around what circumcision was exactly, since it was not much practiced in England and John wouldn’t mention that part of a man directly. Still, he got the point across it involved cutting and blood. That blood shed the first blood he shed, and how this was the first mortal pain he endured to save mankind.

 

And he spoke of how, on the twelfth night, the end of the fifth of January and the beginning of the sixth, the three wise men arrived with gifts. How they proclaimed he would be a king and had followed divine signs. And how this was the justification of twelfth night, the greatest celebration of the season.

 

John finished. He sounded much better than he usually did, reading instead of speaking and rehearsed. “God loves the educated soul.” This was a slogan from John’s seminary days. “This is a… season for merriment and charity but also f-f-for piety. Remember our lord’s sacrifice and look to the goodness of your soul.”

 

John’s tone quickly lost its seriousness. “But d-d-don’t let the stodgy put you off your fun either.” He smiled, “There’s some things in back for those that c-c-can use them. A few toys and b-b-balls for those that would play. If any of you have p-p-problems, or d-d-don’t have a place to stay for the season, Reverend… Burnet will help.”

[Hope]

It was a rather long story, but mugs of hot soup in hands made it a pleasant enough way to spend the morning. These were all tales well known, the English populace were a religious lot (there was a fine to pay if you did not attend services), but it was a less common thing to be seen over by a man not of the church. That, and the interest in the presents kept attention rather keener than it was any given sunday service.

 

"Amen." somebody in the back spoke in a manner of gratitude. Clapping was hardly apt in Church, but a hearty amen never went amiss. More Amens sprung from lips, with one or to Thank you's thrown in as the lowly folk filed past collecting a offered gift.

 

Most of them Maldon would not recognise, but Peter Janzoon was there, and Dodds, Carl too, each of them giving a nod of thanks as they received their measure.

 

Burnet for his part hoped that not too many would not take up Lord Maldons uncleared offer of the Reverends his assistance. It was a busy week already. He glanced at his watch often enough as he farewelled parishioners young and old big and small... until it was just the Lord Maldon and he that remained.

 

 

 

OOC: Nicely done post up there. would you like to have a last few words with Burnet before you leave.

[Guest]

John smiled at the praise. In another life, he might have been a bishop. The Anglican church did not take cripples or stutterers though. He’d learned that quite early on. It was alone in this, though. Still, John imagined his prospects to be dim outside of his own family.

 

John had little more to say but pleasantries, the rest of the matters having been settled. He was in a good mood and departed in good cheer.

 

OOC: Thank you for the lovely thread!