Oxford is known principally as a place of learning: over 350 different graduate courses, countless sports teams and societies, classes on everything under the sun. When I arrived four years ago, I was expecting to learn about philosophers and theologians. What I less expected to learn about was the value and meaning of buildings. Oxford, surprisingly, does not offer an undergraduate architecture course. But it has given me the architectural education of a lifetime.
In few places do the buildings play such a prominent role in the character of a city. Oxford’s vibe is not its academics, its restaurants, its markets, its cycling, its collegiate system, its tutorials – its vibe is its buildings. They are constant reminders that this is a special place, that one is fortunate to be here, and that this is where great things happen.
Among the more celebrated are those that often make it into graduation photos: the Sheldonian Theatre, the Bodleian, the Radcliffe Camera, the Ashmolean Museum, Exam Schools, or certain college towers like Magdalen Tower and Tom Tower. These are all magnificent, setting Oxford apart from anywhere on earth. But Oxford’s lesser-sung architectural wealth lies in its churches. They are lesser-sung because no one visits Oxford for churches. All places have churches; only Oxford (and Cambridge) have ancient colleges, which are the main attraction. But ecclesiastical ideas permeate these too – from the quads shaped like monks’ cloisters to the beautiful chapels, which bear witness to the soul, and ultimate character, of each college.
When I arrived in Oxford it felt like I was stumbling across a new church every few feet, and, not only that, but stumbling across whole church communities. I probably haven’t even scratched the surface of the Christian communities of Oxford, but I have at various times tried to get stuck in. I’ve come across evangelical Christians in St. Aldate’s, St. Ebbe’s, Oxford Community Church, and Presbyterian variants; High-Church Anglicans at Pusey House, Keble College, and many other colleges; Catholic monastic life at Blackfriars Hall and Catholic traditionalism at the Oxford Oratory and Catholic Chaplaincy. There are many others I just haven’t had the chance to meet yet, but the ones that I have met left me in no doubt that they were thriving, independent, and enjoyed having spiritual neighbours just down the street.
But what about the church buildings they inhabit, and why do I think they add so much to the character of what must already be one of the world’s most characterful places? I admit I have a predilection for churches, but who could fail to enjoy Keble Chapel lit by the evening sun as one walks across University Parks, or the venerable stone church towers which bracket the ends of Cornmarket? The former All Saints’ Church is the great focal point of Turl Street, while the University Church on Radcliffe Square, possessing one of the finest spires in the country, brings an air of solemnity and mystery to a place full of immense but essentially playful buildings like the Rad Cam or Bridge of Sighs.
It’s in some of the less central areas, though, that Oxford’s character is really amplified through its churches. I think especially of St. Barnabas’ in Jericho. This building is evocative of so much. For one thing, it takes me immediately to Italy, with its Romanesque campanile stretching above the local terraced streets: a divine gift of beauty, shape, yearning, and poise. Then, once inside, the large expanse of its internal space and its stillness draw you in. This is one of Jericho’s defining structures – open to all, full of coloured tiles and mosaics, visible across the area. It’s just what a church building should be.
Then we find Blackfriars’ Hall on St. Giles; a front row seat to a medieval rite, a monastic environment, and something authentically calm, other-worldly, and escapist. The former St. Paul’s Church (now Freud’s) adds to the character of Walton Street, nestled among its fellow neo-classical building at the Oxford University Press, the postmodern Blavatnik School of Government, and the stunning Radcliffe Observatory. In a few short paces one is buffeted by an array of architecture both baffling and magnificent, with the former St. Paul’s Ionic columns playing a small but important role.
Among the traditional stone churches, one of the most characterful is St. Ebbe’s. Nestled in the heart of Oxford’s shopping district, St. Ebbe’s is a joyful enclave, an immensely old foundation given new life by an inviting, comfortable interior. This church, although largely rebuilt in the 19th Century, breathes ancient breaths. See the Norman West door, a portal to another time of patterned stone grandeur; lines in the stone zig-zag like a drawing of the sun’s rays.
More mundanely, in a time when communal space that you don’t have to pay to access (à la coffee shops) is at an ever-greater premium (note closures of local libraries across the UK), churches remain one of the few democratic, open spaces. I am especially thankful for this when Oxford’s libraries are shut, and on very hot days when old church stone walls make them the coolest places to be.
This idea of churches as a strangely democratic institution, which should be open to all most of the time, cannot quite be extended to college chapels. These are usually open to all college members, but are behind a barrier for the non-university or college member. Though even here, in my experience, chapels are the most accessible areas of a college for a visitor, much easier to see than the dining hall or library. Evensongs are often open to the public as well, and are one of the best ways to see Oxford colleges while not a student.
Three college chapels that greatly affected me are Keble, for its scale and exuberance, New, for its reredos, and Exeter, for its symmetry and mosaics. But these are just the start, and Oxford is full of chapels designed with careful attention to God, to the hopes and dreams of His followers, and with meticulous craftsmanship that brings these ideas to life in stone, brick, glass and plaster, woven by the long centuries.
Oxford felt like the right place to study and to seek out my religion. It felt natural to participate in the traditions that had grown here in and through its great buildings, and especially, its great churches. Oxford’s churches to me are integral to its abiding character.