The former temple
Wales is a country filled with churches and chapels; a theologically-charged space, saturated with the architectural vestiges of past belief. The poet R. S. Thomas curiously described the Welsh landscape as being ‘brittle with relics’.
Take our language. A living treasure trove; a tongue saved and standardised by Morgan’s 1588 Welsh Bible. Glorious words like ‘iachawdwriaeth’ (salvation) or ‘rhagluniaeth’ (providence) entered our vocabulary thanks to Salesbury’s genius in 1567. Even today, our folk song remains the hymn which secular Wales seems unable to erase from her psyche. These poems are littered with ‘dying signs and symbols associated with our Judeo-Christian past’, a predicament Michael Symmons Roberts calls a ‘lexical impoverishment’. How many rugby fans understand the meaning of ‘Guide me O Thou Great Jehovah’? How many are ‘hiraethus’, or yearning, for the truths articulated within?
We are a people, according to R. S. Thomas, who ‘cannot live in the present’. Is this fair? Could we even say that the omnipresence of the past is distinctive of Welsh culture? Has this characteristic entered the church?
In the Book of Ezra, the temple project was accompanied by both joy and weeping. Many of the older saints remembered the prior building and were disappointed when their vista jarred with yesterday’s splendour (Ezra 3:7-13). Similar disappointment later warranted divine rebuke (Hag. 2:1-5). God instructed his people to carry on, reminding them that he remained in control and better days lay ahead.
Our ‘former temple’ was undoubtedly spectacular. Historians accuse evangelicals of ‘exaggeration’, but even the cynic cannot deny the curious absence of revolution in the 1790s or crime in 1904-05. God visited the church; men, women, and children were drawn repeatedly to the Lord Jesus as he was lifted-up by his preachers. These visitations left their marks like fossils in a stone. No wonder our Christian hearts long for that ‘Hen wlad fy nhadau’ or the turn of the tide…and yet, we are placed right here ‘for such a time as this’ (Es. 4:14).
Different tongues, one message
In the 1980s, one historian described Wales as a ‘dragon with two tongues’ – Welsh and English. The effect of hearing the ‘mighty works of God’ in the mother tongue is undoubtedly important (Acts 2:5-12). Preaching is needed in both languages (even multiple languages now since our cities are no longer bilingual) for ‘how shall they hear without a preacher?’ (Rom. 10:14).
Unfortunately, the tale of these two tongues is often tribal, a national trait upheld by past religious division. The language, denominations, ministers and families tended to demand ‘loyalty’; sadly, these things were often elevated above the good news itself. The gospel must come first, whatever language we communicate it in. Remember Paul was always willing to be culturally flexible! (1 Cor. 9:19-22).
Come with me to Athens.
The ‘Welsh’ synagogue
We find the distressed apostle entering a synagogue having witnessed the urban idolatry of Greece (Acts 17). He does not ignore this older place of worship and neither should we.
Some men are flying the evangelical banner in the traditional denominations like the Presbyterian Church of Wales and the Church in Wales. Unity is always unity in the truth (Jn. 17:17-23) and working with brothers who are agreed on the great truths is vital for 2024 (Ps. 133).
The failure of liberal theology and its ministers presents us with a promising prospect. I believe Wales, especially its youth, craves authenticity, craves identity and craves the reality of that Death Defeater sung about in the Six Nations.
Many in their 40s, 50s and 60s attended Sunday schools (this is quite unique in Western European countries). The chapel exiles remember hymns and stories, some may even have a Bible at home. I remember hearing this account about Richard Burton. As a child, he enjoyed attending chapel, singing hymns and collecting autographs from visiting preachers. Years later, in 1968, the frustrated actor listened to a record of ‘Bryn Calfaria’ again and again in his Swiss chalet. His diary entry for that day ends with this remark followed by an exclamation: ‘Gad im deimlo awel o Galfaria fryn!’ / ‘May I feel a breeze from Calvary’s hill!’ I think that his ‘hiraeth’ here transcends mere homesickness.
Three years ago, I visited a United Reformed Church while working for an international development charity. After presenting the charity appeal, I gave a short homily on Christ as our only hope in life and death. An older woman came up to me afterwards, tears in her eyes, saying: ‘I haven’t heard that old story for a long time.’
May we use every opportunity to remind these dear ones – some lost, some hungry and some with that ‘hiraeth’ for a better story – of the faithful shepherd who gave his life for the sheep (Jn. 10:11).
‘We would like to know what they mean’
In Athens, we follow Paul into the marketplace. He reasons with those who ‘happen to be there’, ‘preaching the good news of Jesus and his resurrection’ (Acts 17:18). That Athenian marketplace looks different through our Welsh lens, but, for some of us, it remains a cattle mart or a Tesco checkout (Matt. 28:19-20). Perhaps it’s a St David’s Day event in the local café, a school assembly, a Mother and Toddler Morning in the local library or a Park Run.
The Apostle is then taken to the Areopagus by those who ‘would like to know’ more…
I’ve just been reading Justin Brierley’s The Surprising Rebirth of Belief in God where he records a shift amongst the British intelligentsia. A new set of secular thinkers are turning away from the materialist ‘non-story’ of reality as they reconsider how the Christian story speaks to today’s ‘meaning crisis’.
In Acts 17, we find a similar curiosity among the Epicureans and Stoics. The apostle knows their poetry and philosophical tradition, and yet he unashamedly presents them with the simplicity of the gospel. Where is the Welsh Areopagus? Universities? Social media platforms perhaps?
Cultural festivals like the Eisteddfod or Hay are good examples. Not only should we be sharing the gospel in these cultural hotspots, but I would encourage Christian poets, journalists, writers and artists to enter competitions, to publish and to engage unashamedly with 1 Peter 3:15 always in the forefront of our minds.
I have found the book…
Centuries before Paul tried the Areopagus, a godly young king was repairing the temple in Jerusalem. Imagine the high priest, Hilkiah, blowing the dust away. As the light settles, he discovers an old, forgotten book called Deuteronomy in the mess. He brings it to the king. Having listened to its content, we are told in 2 Kings 22 that Josiah ‘tore his clothes’. His heart was so moved because his people no longer adhered to what was written in the book. What followed was a glorious reformation.
I long for the Bible to be read in Welsh homes again.
I long for a divine visitation of God’s Spirit; that God would come down and fill our little land again with a sense of his glorious presence.
- B. Kuiper wrote that ‘through the salvation of souls evangelism contributes to the growth and completion of the church, which is the body of Christ’. He then goes on to say that:
All the church does, and can do, when it brings the gospel to [Wales] is to plant and to water. For results it is completely dependent on God, who alone can give the increase.
Or, if we return to the building metaphor: ‘Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labour in vain’ (Ps. 127:1). There is great comfort in this verse. This is God’s work and he involves us in his building project.
