by Michael Ward
The building:
Westminster Abbey has probably been Mystery Worshipped more often
than any other church in the world! Since the service I attended was to dedicate a monument in Poets’ Corner, let me limit my description of the building to that particular feature.
The south transept, which abuts some of the oldest parts of the Abbey, is commonly referred to as Poets’ Corner. Geoffrey Chaucer was the first poet to be buried there, but that wasn’t at all because he was a writer, but rather because he lived nearby and was the Clerk of Works. It took several centuries before another writer joined him, namely Edmund Spenser, author of the incomplete epic poem The Faerie Queene. Others followed. By the eighteenth century the tradition to bury authors in this particular space, or to erect monuments to those buried elsewhere, was firmly entrenched.
The memorials vary in style from a simple stone slab to intricately carved memorial busts. Some include eloquent epitaphs, often tinged with irony, such as that of the poet Samuel Butler, who died in poverty: “He ask’d for bread, and he received a stone.”
Memorialisation sometimes occurs years after death, such as that
of Lord Byron (died 1824, monument dedicated 1969) and even William Shakespeare (died 1616, monument dedicated 1740). Today’s service was held to dedicate a monument to C. S. Lewis, author of The Chronicles of Narnia, among many other works, who died in 1963.
The church:
There is something about Poets’ Corner that smacks a bit of the absurd.
As early as the eighteenth century, commentators were remarking on how crowded Westminster Abbey as a memorial site had become, and specifically Poets’ Corner, with memorial after memorial very tightly packed together.
Ben Jonson was buried standing up in a wall in the nave, as he, too, died penniless and his friends couldn’t afford a proper coffin. His epitaph reads
“O Rare Ben Jonson,” which is thought by some to be “Ora re Ben Jonson”
(“Pray for Ben Jonson”) in somewhat ungrammatical Latin. Occasionally, one bone or another pops out during renovations or reconstructions. I can’t help thinking that this mighty army of dead authors may one day rise up, pens in hand, to protest some particularly annoying modern day innovation (text messaging, perhaps?).
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The neighbourhood:
The Palace of Westminster, more commonly known as the Houses of Parlia-ment, is nearby, linking the Abbey visually and culturally to the very centre of Government.
The cast:
The Most Revd. and Rt. Hon. The Lord Williams of Oystermouth (former Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams) was the preacher. The service was conducted by the Very Revd. Dr. John Hall, Dean of Westminster. Also taking part were the Revd. Vernon White, Canon Theologian at Westminster Abbey; the Revd. David Stanton, Canon Treasurer and Almoner, Westminster Abbey; the Revd. Philip Hobday, Chaplain, Magdalene College, Cambridge; the Revd. Adrian Dorrian, Rector, St. Mark’s, Dundela; the Revd. Tim Stead, Vicar, Holy Trinity, Headington Quarry; Francis Warner, PhD, Emeritus Fellow of St. Peter’s College, Oxford (one of C. S. Lewis’s last pupils); Helen Cooper, PhD, Professor of Medieval and Renaissance English, University of Cambridge (chair held by C. S. Lewis 1954–63); Simon Horobin, PhD, Professor of English Language and Literature, University of Oxford, and Tutorial Fellow of Magdalen College, Oxford; Michael Ward, PhD, Senior Research Fellow, Blackfriars Hall, University of Oxford; and Douglas Gresham (younger stepson of C. S. Lewis).
The date & time:
Friday 22nd November 2013, Noon.
What was the name of the service?
A Service to Dedicate a Memorial to C. S. Lewis, Writer, Scholar, Apologist.
How full was the building?
From where we were seated, directly across from the pulpit in the crossing, it was difficult to judge exactly how many were in attendance, since we couldn’t really see much of the quire. My rough estimate would be 400.3
3. The number of people in attendance was actually about 1,000.
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Did anyone welcome you personally?
Yes. A very friendly verger greeted me with a smile and directed me to one of the Abbey ushers, who were identifiable by the ribbon and badge they wore around their necks. The usher who helped me was quite friendly and suggested I move to a better seat so as to see the pulpit better. I felt very welcome.
Was your pew comfortable?
It was a folding chair that wasn’t too uncomfortable. I doubt I’d want to do the Easter vigil sitting in it, but for an hour it was fine. We also weren’t very tightly spaced, which was a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t left feeling like a sardine and could stretch out within reason.
How would you describe the pre-service atmosphere?
Anticipatory is, I think, the best way to describe it. A very tweedy type came rushing up to my row and demanded, in very plummy tones, “Just a few
‘graphs for the magazine, anyone? Yes?” I don’t think she was talking to me. I was also approached by a woman with a heavy Northern Irish accent who asked me why I was attending. She didn’t introduce herself, and I had to resist the urge to be a real New Yorker and ask her why she wanted to know. I was also surprised to hear a wailing bairn, wondering who in their right mind brings a baby to such a service, but so be it. Cell phones and babies seem inescapable these days, no matter where you are (what must the residents of Poets’ Corner think, I wonder?).
What were the exact opening words of the service?
“Fifty years after the death of C. S. Lewis, we assemble to give thanks for his life and works.” This had been preceded by a sung introit, Veni, Sancte Spiritus.
What books did the congregation use during the service?
A really lovely, four-colour service bulletin on heavy card stock, with the Abbey’s seal on the front cover and a large picture of Lewis on the inside cover.
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What musical instruments were played?
The organ. The service was sung by the Westminster Abbey Special Service Choir, which was made up of about twenty-five men and women, who were just about perfect.
Musically the service was pretty traditional, with lots of Herbert Howells in the mix. The motet, Howells’s Like as the Hart Desireth the Waterbrooks, was quite evocative, and I noticed quite a few wiping away the odd tear.
An anthem written especially for this service by the Welsh composer Paul Mealor (b. 1975), with a text from Lewis’s poem “Love’s As Warm As Tears,” was noteworthy.
Did anything distract you?
There were so many distractions it would be hard to count: a woman quietly weeping, the vergers rushing to and fro, people moving chairs, and the Abbey itself—it is such an incredible space, it is easy to get lost looking for something previously unseen. I did have a head scratch at Douglas Gresham’s outfit, which consisted of white jeans, a leather jacket, jackboots, pectoral cross, and a turtleneck turned down so low as to look suspiciously like a clerical dog collar.
Was the worship stiff-upper-lip, happy clappy, or what?
About as stiff as it gets before hopping off into Latin, I suppose, although there was a dash of Latin in the beginning with the sung introit. The Dean delivered the bidding, which was followed by the hymn “He Who Would Valiant Be” (which my tone-deaf self finds nearly impossible to sing). Then came a recording of Lewis reading from “Beyond Personality,” which was broadcast on the BBC in 1944 and is the only surviving recording of the weekly broadcasts Lewis later included in his book Mere Christianity. Readings from Scripture and others of Lewis’s works followed. The memorial plaque was unveiled and flowers were laid thereon. That old standby “All Creatures of our God and King” was sung with great gusto by the choir and congregation and was followed by Lord Williams’s address. The anthem, prayers, the Lord’s Prayer, and more hymns followed. The service co
ncluded with a blessing and the Allegro maestoso movement from Edward Elgar’s Sonata in G for organ.
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Exactly how long was the sermon?
Eighteen minutes.
On a scale of 1-10, how good was the preacher?
10. I could listen to Rowan Williams read Chinese take-out menus hour after hour on a continuous loop. He is, hands down, one of the most brilliant preachers I’ve ever encountered.
In a nutshell, what was the sermon about?
Lord Williams began by describing Lewis not so much as a Christian apologist but as a writer, speaking to his demand for precision in language and holding the belief that words should indeed mean what they say. Sacrifice and belief, he argued, are commonly held to be the hallmarks of Lewis’s oeuvre, and they are indeed there, but they are nothing without clarity and precision because they clear away the cobwebs of self-delusion and are thus essential to any understanding of Lewis’s works. Obviously the Narniad and A Grief Observed, his two most well-known works, detail what could arguably be the most honest descriptions of loss and its relationship to Christianity, but one can find those themes throughout Lewis’s works.
Which part of the service was like being in heaven?
The service was held on the fiftieth anniversary of Lewis’s death, so I was surprised and moved that such a public service held very private meaning for the several close associates of Lewis present. There were many who were visibly touched during the service, and it was hard not to be struck by how deeply Lewis’s literary executor [Walter Hooper] appeared to feel the emotions of the moment. It was a great reminder that these events aren’t just public “dumbshows,” but have real meaning—an idea I think Lewis would appreciate.
And which part was like being in
. . . er . . . the other place?
I had always thought it too fantastical to be believed when, in Victorian novels or the like, a character dies after a long and painful illness caused by
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sitting exposed to a cold draught for any length of time. I am now convinced that such a plot device is entirely plausible. The temperature inside the Abbey was positively arctic! I am sure I face death.
What happened when you hung around after
the service looking lost?
No chance of looking lost with the Abbey ushers on hand. Everyone was directed to see the newly unveiled plaque, which caused a bit of a traffic jam.
Ultimately I had to give up, as I had to get back to the office for a meeting.
How would you describe the after-service coffee?
Unfortunately I couldn’t attend the gathering afterwards—pressing demands at the office—but I did have a nice word with the Dean of Westminster on the way out.
How would you feel about making this church your regular
(where 10 = ecstatic, 0 = terminal)?
5. I think if I knew that one day I’d be included in the Corner or even a dim wall off in some nook like Ben Jonson, I’d have a different rating. But since there’s not a chance in Hades, I’ll have to stick with a 5. They do the big events flawlessly, but since I’m no big event, I doubt I’d make it my parish church.
Did the service make you feel glad to be a Christian?
Absolutely! Lewis is inspirational, and I can’t think of a more suitable person to memorialise in Westminster Abbey.
What one thing will you remember about
all this in seven days’ time?
Rowan Williams speaking so eloquently about Lewis as a writer. I still think it is fascinating to hear a religious figure give literary criticism of a literary figure whose focus was religious. There’s a perfect symmetry there that I think even Lewis would appreciate.
7
C. S. Lewis’s Memorial Service
Jeanette Sears 1
After being at the C. S. Lewis memorial events at Westminster Abbey this week—listening to lectures on C. S. Lewis, speaking at the C. S. Lewis Symposium, meeting up with C. S. Lewis fans and friends, and finally attending the C. S. Lewis service itself—I felt like having a bit of a day off today to recover, preferably on activities nothing to do with C. S. Lewis.
Especially as I’ve also spent the last few weeks reading Lewis’s novels and writing talks about Lewis, some non-Lewis reading seemed in order, much as I love him.
But, as usually happens when I’m trying to escape a subject, the very thing I pick up instead drags me back to it—or, to put it more positively, gives new insight and perspective on the forbidden subject. This morning, as an escape, I picked up at random an old murder mystery by Ngaio Marsh called False Scent (1960). It concerns the death of a famous actress. And after being with the thousands who turned up to honour Lewis this week, I couldn’t help but resonate with the opening words of Ngaio Marsh’s story: When she died it was as if all the love she had inspired in so
many people suddenly blossomed. She had never, of course,
realised how greatly she was loved, never known that she was
to be carried by six young men who would ask to perform this
1. The Revd. Dr. Jeanette Sears is a writer and speaker, with a special interest in Lewis, Sayers, and Tolkien. Formerly Curate at St. Aldate’s Church, Oxford, and for seven years lecturer in Christian Doctrine and Church History at Trinity College, Bristol, her books include the novels Pig’s Progress and A Murder in Michaelmas and the tour-guide The Oxford of J. R. R Tolkien and C. S. Lewis. She maintains a web presence at www.jeanettesears.com, where the original version of this article first appeared.
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sears—c. s. lewis’s memorial service
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last courtesy: to bear her on their strong shoulders, so gently
and with such dedication. Quite insignificant people were there
. . . the family nurse . . . her dresser . . . the stage doorkeeper
. . . Crowds of people whom she herself would have scarcely
remembered but upon whom, at some time, she had bestowed
the gift of her charm. All the Knights and Dames, of course, and
The Management, and . . . the great producer who had so often
directed her. Bertie Saracen who had created her dresses since
the days when she was a bit-part actress and who had, indeed,
risen to his present eminence in the wake of her mounting fame.
But it was not for her fame that they had come to say goodbye to
her. It was because, quite simply, they had loved her.
That was exactly how I felt! I, surely, was one of those “insignificant people”
who had turned up to honour Lewis on the fiftieth anniversary of his death.
As a speaker at one of the commemorative events, I did have a place in the Quire of the Abbey and so was closer to the “action” and so felt doubly blessed, and I’m sure I wasn’t alone in thinking along the lines of “Why has this happened to me, that the mother—or at least a great author—of my Lord comes to me?”—if I can reapply Elizabeth’s words to Mary.
The service was stunning and moving, beginning with the oh-so-
appropriate opening hymn “He Who Would Valiant Be,” based on Pilgrim’s Progress, then a recording of Lewis himself speaking about “getting a real self.” How strange and affecting to hear his voice in that setting!
Dr. Francis Warner, one of Lewis’s pupils, read from Isaiah 35 (including the wonderful phrase “the habitation of dragons,” putting one in mind of
“that record stinker” named Eustace Clarence Scrubb, who almost deserved it!), and Professor Helen Cooper, who holds Lewis’s old Chair at Cambridge, read 2 Corinthians 4 (with its reference to the “eternal weight of glory” that gave Lewis the title of his greatest sermon).
There followed a particularly telling reading as Douglas Gresham,
Lewis’s stepson, gave us Aslan’s welcoming of the children into his
land forever after their earthly deaths in The Last Battle—hard not to shed a tear at that point if you hadn’t already.
Dr. Michael Ward led the dedication of the memorial that he has done so much to bring about, and Walter Hooper, Lewis’s friend and secretary and the editor of his works, laid beautiful white flowers above Lewis’s name.
The Most Reverend and Right Honourable Rowan Williams (now “The Lord Williams of Oystermouth”—who knew?) gave a brilliant sermon on Lewis’s defence of language and the human, and the choir sang Paul Mealor’s flowing arrangement of his poem, “Love’s As Warm As Tears”—another opportunity for tears from the congregation. The prayers were led by a wonderful
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array of clergy representing the geography of Lewis’s life, and the service ended on an uplifting note with the hymn, “O Praise Ye the Lord!”
There was then the chance for us to actually see the memorial in the stone floor of Poets’ Corner, cut with his own words: “I believe in Christianity as I believe that the Sun has risen, not only because I see it but because by it I see everything else.”
People sometimes go to services at Westminster Abbey just to see the magnificence of the building without paying the usual £18 entrance fee (there’s a tip for you!); and some may have been tempted to attend this Memorial Service simply because Lewis is now a celebrity—as opposed to the very few who went to his funeral in 1963. But I actually don’t think either of these things would have been the case with many or even any people yesterday, the 22nd November 2013. If I can adapt the words of the Ngaio Marsh story: “It was not for his fame that they had come to say goodbye to him. It was because, quite simply, they had loved him.”
8
Stonecrop: Lewis Takes
His Place in Poets’ Corner
Holly Ordway 1
On 22nd November 2013, the fiftieth anniversary of his death, C. S.
Lewis was honoured with a memorial in the celebrated Poets’ Corner of Westminster Abbey. I had the privilege of being present—knowing that this Memorial and its attendant Symposium were events of international, and lasting, significance for Lewis studies, English letters, and Christian apologetics.
