Holy Trinity, Southport

I called at Holy Trinity, Southport, this winter. To my delight, it was open, and a friendly gentleman was found within, sheltering under the rays of a heat lamp. He was only too pleased to give me a tour of the building, and even stirred me towards an interest in stained glass, something I have always found tedious.

The worship here is rather too high for me, being Anglo-Catholic (“In worship, and supremely in the Eucharist, we encounter Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”) but I did not find its décor and furnishings gaudy and garish, such as other High Church parishes are pleased to be. It was somehow tasteful and even understated, but for the soaring tower, roof and general architecture, which are certainly ostentatious. Externally, it is a rather pleasing combination of brick and stone. Normally, I would prefer buildings to be the one or the other, but Holy Trinity pulls it off, marrying the two into a most pleasing form. The current building was erected in 1904 with additions in the next couple of decades. The church’s history recounts an urging of a Dr. G. B. Barron back in 1887 who complained that “it was a disgrace that the best site in Southport should be occupied by a church of no architectural merit whatever and belong to the age of sand hills and donkeys.”

When I think of sand hills and donkeys, I think of good, old fashioned British holidays; happier, simpler times. I suspect that our Victorian grumbler thought such things horribly naff, and desired a church that would rise above popular culture and convention. Although the church strikes me as a typical Edwardian building, with all its confidence and commanding prestige, it was intended to be a contrast with its times.

When churches merely reflect their times, they fade. When churches ignore their times, they die. When churches rise above their times while still reaching out to them, they grow even taller than Holy Trinity, Southport.