The C of E’s raving madness

In February there was a commotion at Canterbury Cathedral. Or, to be more precise, there was a silent commotion. The cause was a ‘silent disco’ which took place in the nave over two nights.

For anyone above the age of 12, a silent disco is where everybody has headphones on and is in their own world. Like the London Underground but with more legroom. There is a DJ as well and so I think (if I’ve got this right) everybody is listening to the same music. In any case, over two nights thousands of revellers came to the cathedral, put on headphones, bought drinks in the side aisles, brushed past the tomb of Thomas Becket and then waved neon lightsabers and danced around to their heart’s content.

There was a certain amount of backlash to this in the popular press which called it ‘a rave in the nave’. There was then a defensive response to the backlash. Clearly the whole thing was a money-making exercise. But its defenders in the Church said that it was also a very special and precise ruse intended to get people into Canterbury Cathedral who might not otherwise come.

I do not know whether the data has yet been collected for service attendance in Canterbury since February. But I would be surprised if the headcount at Matins has shot up. I may have to stand corrected, of course – and I am willing to be. It may be that next week’s Letters page will be adorned by missives from multiple pew-openers at the cathedral or maybe even from Justin Welby himself informing me that Evensong is now one great big mosh pit and that every time the cathedral choir strikes up a canticle a battalion of people wearing headphones and waving luminous lightsabers have to be held back by the vergers, who act as bouncers at a nightclub.