St Mary Woolnoth | Billy Barraclough | Financial Times
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Coat of arms of the Diocese of London on the gate of St Mary Woolnoth church in the City of London
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Sostice - anniversary of the death of abolitionist evangelist Rev’d John Newton
John Newton 4th August 1725 – 21st December 1807 Himself once a slave - then a slave trader - his religious conversion and becoming a priest led to him also becoming an active abolitionist , he is most famous for writing the hymn “Amazing Grace” . His life is worth a read https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Newton
He wrote his own epitaph, on his grave, and repeated in a memorial in the church in London where he served for a long time “JOHN NEWTON. Clerk. Once an infidel and libertine a servant of slaves in Africa was by the rich mercy of our LORD and SAVIOUR JESUS CHRIST preserved, restored, pardoned and appointed to preach the faith he had long laboured to destroy. Near 16 years as Curate of this parish and 28 years as Rector of St. Mary Woolnoth.”
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St Mary Woolnoth. The City, March 2017.
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Old stones
When considering older buildings, what do we decide is valuable enough worth keeping? Our cities must not become ancient monuments stuck in the past -although let’s face it these do attract tourists and everyone likes a trust/ heritage tea room and a gift shop don’t they? Older buildings serve as reminders of where we are, the identity of a place and in this way adding a dimension of interest to our built environment. Sentimentality probably also plays a large part in this – look at us, lapping up TV dramas soaked in nostalgia and harping back to the good old days. What is it that entices us to the old? The comfort of familiarity?
The built environment affects us deeply, even on a sub-conscious level. Its quality and appearance serves as a backdrop for the humdrum of everyday life and can impact greatly on our disposition. So more than anyone, we the user should have a say in our surroundings. One only has to look at Covent Garden to see what we may have lost if the public had not protested so vehemently against redevelopment once the fruit, veg and flower market had vacated the premises in the early 1970s. The old market has been adapted for a new generation; it functions in a different capacity for the current time and yet retains the soul of its former incarnation. People clearly felt that these ‘old stones’ were worth keeping and time has most probably told us that they were right.
Stopping redevelopment is not the way forward, but community consultation is often overruled in many cases where compromise could be struck and may lead to a better outcome.
Take the church of St Mary of Woolnoth in the City of London. A Hawksmoor creation, proudly sited on a corner of Bank junction, where it has sat since 1727. From the street it remains imposing; although dwarfed by looming glass giants in the background, its heavily rusticated Portland stone banding makes it appear quite contemporary. Hard to imagine now, post-war when churches in the City of London by Wren or one of his contemporaries are so revered, but during its lifetime it has been under threat on numerous occasions. At the end of the 19th century the City and South London railway were granted permission to demolish it. The people spoke out and this much admired building was saved, but the railway built too. Remarkably and in an under told story of historic subterranean structural feat, the crypt of the church was excavated (the bodies being exhumed and relocated elsewhere) and the structure of the church building supported on large steel girders, allowing the construction of the new station beneath. The station entrance at street level constructed as a single storey, leeching onto the side of the remaining church building – this extension is currently inhabited by a well-known coffee shop chain. The city it seems has always continued to evolve, old and new side-by-side and that’s clearly not to its detriment.
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220412 • 4:15pm ⛪️
Once again, St Mary Woolnoth. What an amazing little thing to have in the middle of the City.
I wrote about my experience visiting this and the neighbouring St Stephen Walbrook on Instagram (link below), feel free to head over and have a read if you’re interested. :)
☞ studygram
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Okay so knowing that Roger Allam's father(bless his genes) was a rector of St Mary Woolnoth can we say that "Son of A Preacher Man" song does, in fact, refer to Roger (The Great)?
The only one who could ever reach me
Was the son of a preacher man
The only boy who could ever teach me
Was the son of a preacher man
He was the sweet-talkin' son of a preacher man
(The only boy who could ever teach me)
I kissed me the son of a preacher man
(The only one who could ever move me)👀
The sweet-lovin' son of a preacher man
(The only one who could ever groove me)👀👀
(Was the son of a preacher man)
(The only one who could ever reach me)
(Was the son of a preacher man)
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Remarkable “ground floor” of St. Mary, Woolnoth pulpit. John Newton preached from here. Photo by Matthew Walker.
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Telling Parting Words: John Newton vs. Mr. Rogers
By Greg Koukl
A person’s final words are often telling.
Consider the last words spoken by John Newton—Newton, 18th-century infidel, libertine, and slave trader; later, Newton, rector of London’s St. Mary Woolnoth, mentor and political inspiration of abolitionist William Wilberforce, author of the most beloved hymn in history, “Amazing Grace.”
For all his undeniable moral greatness, John Newton’s parting words were, “I am a great sinner, but Christ is a great Savior.”
Consider another honorable soul, the much-loved Fred Rogers—Rogers, Presidential Medal of Freedom winner, ordained United Presbyterian minister, gentle and loving mentor to generations of preschool children through his long-lived television series, Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood.
In the twilight of his years, reflecting on Jesus’ judgment parable of the sheep and the goats in Matthew 25, Fred Rogers asked his wife, Joanne, “Am I a sheep?”
John Newton, after a lifetime of noble accomplishment, confident only of his own badness and of Christ’s merciful goodness on his behalf. Fred Rogers, after a lifetime of loving, self-sacrificial service, certain only of his uncertainty—unsure of his own goodness, thus unsure of his own salvation.
Two lives; two virtuous legacies, yet two entirely different understandings of God’s grace.
It saddened me when I learned of the doubts of the decent, upright, conscientious Mr. Rogers. His wife, Joanne, had answered him, “Fred, if anyone is a sheep, you are.” It was not the right answer. Something vital was missing.
I want you to think of the words of this, the first Bible verse I ever learned more than 45 years ago: “For by grace you have been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God; not as a result of works, so that no one may boast” (Eph. 2:8–9). This verse—and the many like it—informs everything for me as a Christian. It always has.
I am 68 years old, and the twilight of my own life is slowly approaching—not close, I trust, but within sight. I am nowhere near as noble, as self-sacrificial, as persistently and irrevocably loving as Mr. Rogers was. No matter. That is not what counts in the final reckoning. Here is what matters:
When the kindness of God our Savior and His love for mankind appeared, He saved us, not on the basis of deeds which we have done in righteousness, but according to His mercy, by the washing of regeneration and renewing by the Holy Spirit, whom He poured out upon us richly through Jesus Christ our Savior, so that being justified by His grace we would be made heirs according to the hope of eternal life. (Titus 3:4–7)
And this:
Since we have confidence to enter the holy place by the blood of Jesus…let us draw near with a sincere heart in full assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water. Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for He who promised is faithful. (Heb. 10:19–23)
And this:
For He rescued us from the domain of darkness, and transferred us to the kingdom of His beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins. (Col. 1:13–14)
Do passages like these (and there are a multitude of them) instruct your heart the way they do mine? Feast on these words. Regularly. There is life in them. Relief from self-doubt. The source of great hope, the only hope, for even the worst of us—and the best of us. These are the verses Joanne Rogers should have comforted her husband with—those that focus on Christ’s magnificent merits, not our own, feeble by contrast.
I have already chosen the epitaph for my tombstone. You’ll find it in Psalm 130:3–4. It reflects not Rogers’s sad uncertainty, but Newton’s proper confidence:
If You, Lord, should mark iniquities, O Lord, who could stand?
But there is forgiveness with You, that You may be feared.
Are you a great sinner? You know you are. So am I. And if God should mark our iniquities, then we are all done for—John Newton, Fred Rogers, you, me. But Christ is a great Savior. Never forget this. It is our only hope as darkness encroaches.
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Bank Performance - 14 April 2022
When:
14 April 2022 (thursday) 2-3.30pm
Where:
Meet at Bank station exit towards Lombard Street
1) The Royal Exchange Square
2) Outside St Mary Woolnoth
3) Blue Gates by Mansion House Place Road
What:
Crocheting to music through earpieces around various locations in Bank, changing stitch type to the sound of the music and sense of the space.
Bring:
1) Crochet hook(s)
2) Yarn(s)
3) Earpieces
4) Phone
5) Bluetooth Speaker
Documentation crew - Vanny and Daye:
1) Photographer with DSLR
- Taking landscape pictures of the whole group
- Taking close up images of women crocheting
- Capturing the Bank architecture + office people moving around/interacting
2) Videographer with iPhone
- Taking full videos of the process (mostly for archival purposes)
- Capturing the broad landscape of the performers
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British Library digitised image from page 352 of "Poems, of William Cowper ... Embellished with engravings, and a sketch of his life"
Image taken from:
Title: "Poems, of William Cowper ... Embellished with engravings, and a sketch of his life"
Author(s): Cowper, William, 1731-1800 [person] ; Newton, John, Rector of St. Mary Woolnoth [person]
British Library shelfmark: "Digital Store 11611.ee.27"
Page: 352 (scanned page number - not necessarily the actual page number in the publication)
Place of publication: London (England)
Date of publication: 1833
Publisher: W. H. Reid
Type of resource: Monograph
Physical description: 2 volumes (8°)
Explore this item in the British Library’s catalogue:
000806119 (physical copy) and 014808092 (digitised copy)
(numbers are British Library identifiers)
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from BLPromptBot https://ift.tt/3i3IVCi
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Lovely old clock mechanism at #stmarywoolnoth and mentioned in #tselliot’s #wasteland #unrealcity Unreal City, Under the brown fog of a winter dawn, A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many, I had not thought death had undone so many. Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled, And each man fixed his eyes before his feet. Flowed up the hill and down King William Street, To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine. #clock #citychurches (at St Mary Woolnoth) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bt6nu9cnlTs/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=187spay000tal
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London Architecture Photos: Building Images
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St Mary Woolnoth by Nicholas Hawksmoor, Lombard street London, is beautifully rusticated and quite inventive for the English baroque yet based on sansovino’s rusticated columns in Zecca in Venice.
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220116 • 11:27am ☕️
St Mary Woolnoth revisited.
I had an excuse to stay in here for an hour or two while going out on Monday. Nothing like using a Hawksmoor church as a quiet study space to work out my design portfolio.
I like this one because it’s small and compact, but still retains Hawksmoor’s signature sense of monumentality. I often forget how massive his churches are until I put myself there for scale, like the little people in a render. That palpable heaviness is a whole experience in itself.
With Woolnoth though, I also forget how dark it is - the chandelier hardly does anything to give it some light. Sit in there for too long, and you’ll find sleepiness creeping upon you, lulling you into nebulous dreams of Baroque fantasy. The only thing that keeps you grounded and awake is the bustling of the coffee bar ladies outside, only a door away but feeling like another universe.
(Also paid Bank station another visit before it closes for the much needed upgrade. I’ve been here many times but it’s the first time that I noticed the little illustration on the signage! Very cute.)
☞ studygram
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To where St Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
Just around the corner from the Royal Exchange, by the Bank, next to the Mansion House, are two churches: Hawksmoor's St Mary Woolnoth, and Wren's St Stephen Walbrook.
I visited them the other day as I've visited them many times before, and I felt the same thought and body processes in each as I always do.
St Stephen makes you think. No - it makes you calculate. Squares, rectangles, crosses, curves - how can they all fit together? How can something so clever be so light? It is beautiful, serene, cleansing almost, but it is not organic. "God's crossword puzzle," Nairn calls it, but not the cryptic sort - more the sort of puzzle that, once you've solved it, creates the false impression that maybe the world, and the heavens beyond it, are orderly after all. There is no blood in St Stephen Walbrook, and the rather spongy altar in its centre does it no favours. But it is a wonderful building, you must visit it (it is nearly always open), and you will leave with one or two of those synaptic knots untied - it's a lovely feeling.
Depending on what sort of person you are, whether or not you like the easy life, you'll need to decide whether to go to St Stephen's before or after St Mary Woolnoth - for the latter will undo all the chimney sweeping work of the former.
St Mary's is cerebral too, but it is also carnal, bloody - and from the outside, downright animal.
It's the smallest and oddest of Nicholas Hawksmoor’s London churches, comparable in a way to St George’s Bloomsbury, in that both are built on small, irregular sites in the middle of the city. But where St George’s baffles through its surfeit of competing styles and bizarre accoutrements, St Mary Woolnoth is compelling because of its coherence.
Its design, both inside and out, is utterly original: peculiar, punky, brutal (one is tempted to say brutal-ist). Hawksmoor takes the towers of the Stepney churches, beheads them to become squat little boxes with balustrades for tops (the effect is a little like the joke where a grown man puts shoes on his knees) and places them on an entablature which lies on a set of Corinthian columns separated (by a coffin-like podium with three punched-out windows) from the severely rusticated doorway.
I should point out here that I have described it upside-down, for no eye would ever start at the top and work downwards. The violently horizontal grooves which inscribe the west front (including two wonderfully modern Tuscan columns and the steps leading up to the door) gives the impression that the building is broader than it is, and also shorter. This is apt, given the tiny plot which Hawksmoor had to work with. It lurches at you, twitching aggressively at you like an animal on a lead, so that you are afraid to turn away from it. Keep your eyes down, don’t look up.
So far, so wild. The interior is something else altogether, and of course it gains something from being so perilously close to, yet cloistered from, the counting houses and the cars and buses that hurtle across the intersection of so many roads. Close the doors once you’re inside and hope nobody disturbs you. Now you can look up – and you will quickly discover you are in a cube within a cube.
The inner cube has three deliciously white Corinthian columns at each corner, supporting a rich entablature which projects forward slightly at the corners. A subtle shift, but one which accentuates the squareness of the square, and the brilliance of the light shining through the semi-circular windows above. Around the perimeter of the outer cube, bits and pieces scattered out of sight, inviting you to explore: two organs (only one operational), the intricately carved reredos and the almost obscenely twisting columns at the altar, various monuments and dedications, Eliot's tribute to the church). Happy exploring – but you will be drawn back to the inner cube before too long.
These are generalities. I haven’t mentioned the details: the niches on Lombard Street with their columns placed on the diagonal, the little door marked “vestry” (how is there possibly room for one?), and (the cherry on the top) the teller over the pulpit whose shape echoes the ceiling. It’s details like these that get under your skin. I have fallen asleep thinking about this place, and I have woken up thinking about it. You may laugh, but that’s how it is. Nairn writes that “the real focus of the church is yourself, wherever you are standing. If the Saint Chapelle or Die Wies transports outwards, this forces inwards, quintessentially Protestant. You are forced in through yourself, and this is not a romantic view but the strictest spatial analysis.” So perhaps that explains it.
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