St Cuthbert's, Earl's Court

I called at St Cuthbert’s Church at Earl’s Court yesterweek. An incident took place here on Good Friday, 1898, of which I shall write shortly.

St Cuth’s is one of the most Anglo-Catholic churches one will see within the Church of England. It outdoes most Roman Catholic churches in its grandeur, its statuary and its ritual. Externally, it is perfectly pleasant, though without a tower; within, one is instantly struck by its eery beauty. It is strangely dark, though every wall and crevice appear to contain some furnishing or decoration. As I wandered about, I reflected on what a medieval time traveller would have thought: would he have blended in, or would he too have thought its dark and mysterious beauty something at which to gape?

True to its theological heritage, the pulpit, below, though massive, is halfway down the nave and to the north, as though not to allow the Bible to detract from the masses of the altars. Colourful saints’ shrines line various walls, offering a gaudy contrast to the austere, gloomy walls.

That Good Friday 126 years ago, John Kensit, founder of the Protestant Truth Society, attended the service here. He was much concerned by the increased ritualism and re-Romanising of the state church, of which St Cuthbert’s was a significant symbol. Having waited his turn to take communion, and invited to kiss a crucifix, he seized it and

‘holding it aloft, said in a clear and distinct voice, "I denounce this idolatry in the Church of England; may God help me".'

He was forcibly removed from the church and later fined three pounds by magistrates, though this sentence was quashed on appeal. Four years later, Kensit would be murdered for his faith in Birkenhead, a heavy file thrown at his head. At the more salubrious St Cuthbert’s, however, the vicar, Father Westall, had an image of Kensit's head carved with asses’ ears, which he placed under his seat in the sanctuary. Thus, Father Westall’s derriere would always be upon the Protestant crusader. From one point of view, Westall won and Kensit lost. British Protestantism lost its zeal, and, as the twentieth-century wore on, its congregations. Anglo-Catholicism seemed to triumph, with nearly every parish in the country now boasting a paschal candle, and statues of Mary are no longer considered unusual.

Both men are now dead, Westall dying in 1924. Kensit was considered a rabble-rouser and a sectarian fundamentalist, Westall a cultured and learned man of arts and graces. Yet when they appeared before God, shorn of vestments and reputations, which fared the better?

Nothing in my hand I bring,
simply to the cross I cling;
naked, come to thee for dress;
helpless, look to thee for grace;
foul, I to the fountain fly;
wash me, Savior, or I die.

While I draw this fleeting breath,
when mine eyes shall close in death,
when I soar to worlds unknown,
see thee on thy judgment throne,
Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
let me hide myself in thee

-Augustus Toplady, 1776