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| The Second Lord Baltimore Cecilius (Cecil) Calvert (1605-1675) by Gerard Soest, c. 1670 |
A sermon given during Holy Communion (BCP) at St Giles-in-the-Fields at 11am on Sunday 24th August 2025 (Saint Bartholomew, Apostle) based on the text of Acts 5.12-16, Luke 22.24-30 and referencing the International Day for the Remembrance of the Transatlantic Slave Trade and its Abolition. The service was followed by the baptism of Ava Coumbes.
On a wall at the back of this church, placed near
the font, stands a memorial erected thirty years ago, paid for by the Governor
and citizens of Maryland. It commemorates Cecil Calvert, Second Lord
Baltimore—the ‘First Proprietor’ (or owner) of what was then a British colony.
Cecil, like his father
before him, was Roman Catholic. The colony of Maryland—unlike many others—was
founded as a place where Catholics could live without threat of persecution. A
place which, its founders hoped, would become a beacon of religious tolerance
and freedom—at least for white Christians of a certain class.
Cecil himself never set foot
in Maryland. His brother Leonard sailed with the first colonists and remained
as the colony’s first Governor. Both Leonard, the colonists and the ships they
arrived on are mentioned on the memorial. Had it been installed today, I
imagine it might also have made reference to the Native American people they
met when they stepped ashore—and perhaps even something about their religion.
It might also record how the Calverts financed their lifestyle at the time.
The plaque records Cecil
Calvert’s burial in St Giles churchyard in 1675 - our ancient foundation
meaning this ground has been deemed suitable for Catholic and Protestant
burials.
Ten years later, the parish
register records another burial: Thomas, described as “a black
child of Lord Baltimore,” buried on 12th March 1685. He is believed to have
been one of the enslaved servants—many of them children—brought from Maryland
by Cecil’s son, Charles, the third Lord Baltimore. A number of which appear in
the background of family portraits of the time - always unnamed. In these early
years of the transatlantic slave trade, the Calvert family imported many
enslaved Africans to work on their tobacco plantations. They were forced to
stop buying slaves after the so-called ‘Glorious Revolution’ of 1688, when
Catholic families like the Calverts were stripped of their legal authority to
own slaves—though they retained ownership of household staff like Thomas’s
colleagues. The slave trade continued for many more generations at the hands of
Protestants.
Beyond the parish register
entry—now held in the London Archive—there is no public memorial to Thomas
here. No plaque, no inscription in stone. He is just one of countless lives
that, on the surface, appear to go unnoticed—even in a house of God.
Our first lesson begins in
another such house: the Temple in Jerusalem. We find the apostles gathered at
Solomon’s Porch. While their presence was known, and they were held in high
esteem, few dared stand with them in public for fear of persecution. And yet,
the book of Acts tells us that their ministry grew in power and influence
during these early days. Through them, multitudes of men and women—unnamed and
unknown—came to believe. Others brought the sick into the streets, hoping even
Peter’s shadow might pass over them. And we are told, “All were cured.” But not
all are named. Not all are remembered.
The historian Simon Newman
has published a fascinating account of his research into the lives of enslaved
people in London during the period when Thomas—the so-called "black
child" of Lord Baltimore—lived and died.
His book includes a map
pinpointing every recorded birth, marriage, and death of a person described as
black in the parish registers of London between 1600 and 1700. That a racial
descriptor was used by parish clerks in the official records immediately sets
them apart. But the fact that they were included at all suggests that these
people were in some way considered Londoners—able to partake in the same
Christian rituals as everyone else.
Nearly half of the entries
in the record are concentrated in the City—the Square Mile—where many merchants
involved in colonial trade lived. Others appear in dockside parishes like
Wapping, Whitechapel, and Stepney. But notably, one of the highest concentrations
outside the City appears here, at St Giles-in-the-Fields. Our parish registers
contain thirty-seven such entries and most of them are baptisms.
It is hard to know exactly
why so many black Londoners were drawn to St Giles to be baptised at that time.
One theory is the visible presence of a black population in the St Giles
Rookeries—the slums to the north of the church—which may have attracted others
here.
In those days, the law
around slavery in England was vague, and it was commonly believed that baptism
could bring about not only spiritual freedom, but legal emancipation as well.
By cross-referencing
newspaper adverts calling for the return of escaped slaves with data from
parish registers, Simon Newman gives us a rare glimpse into the life of one
such person who came to St Giles to be baptised.
One of the runaway adverts
published in the London Gazette in
October 1685 describes “a blackamore boy by name Champion, about 14 years of
age, very black and handsome, with a scar in his forehead over his nose.” He
had escaped from the home of Winifred Brooking, widow of a wealthy merchant in
September, and was to be returned to Mr Nicholas Hamburgh in Seething Lane,
near the Tower of London.
The parish register here at
St Giles records the baptism of “William Champion, a black aged about 14 years”
on 1 October 1685—two weeks before the newspaper advert was printed. We can
only guess what drew William Champion three miles across the city to be
baptised here, passing many other churches along the way. Or why he chose as
his Christian name that of his late master, William. But we can say with some
confidence that this was a decision made by an enslaved servant seeking
freedom—and one made on his own terms.
In the interests of transparency we should
acknowledge that our parish history book, published recently, doesn’t include
the story of William Champion, nor many like him. When I enquired why, it was
explained that Newman’s research remains the only study to approach parish
records in this way, and the significant but limited budget for the parish
history book did not allow for independent verification of primary sources — so
Newman’s research is referenced by way of a footnote rather than mentioned in detail.
Economics has always shaped
whose stories are told—and whose are relegated to the margins. To the shadows
of stone monuments. Even in our latest attempt at recording the past, William
Champion remains a footnote in history, for now.
In our Gospel today, the
disciples are arguing about greatness. Who is the most important? The most
worthy of remembrance and honour. Jesus reminds them—and us—that greatness in
God’s kingdom is not measured by wealth or status. It is those who serve—the
invisible, the overlooked—who are truly great. “I am among you as one who
serves,” he says. And to eat and drink at his table, we too must take up that
calling.
Among those listening to
Jesus was Bartholomew. One of the few saints the Prayer Book allows us to
remember. The scriptures say next to nothing about his life. Even his name is
uncertain - he appears elsewhere in the scriptures as Nathanael. The most famous
thing about Bartholomew is his gruesome martyrdom—immortalised in Damien
Hirst’s sculpture, Exquisite Pain -
and even that story is shrouded in uncertainty, first appearing many centuries
after his death. And yet, Bartholomew’s life—largely hidden from history—was
known and honoured by God and is celebrated today.
The spirit is still drawing
people across London to be baptised here at St Giles. We will be welcoming a
new member into the church after this service. Standing at a different font to
that in which William Champion was baptised - and in a different church
building. But in the shadow of a relatively recent memorial to Cecil Calvert—a
wealthy, powerful slave-owner, commemorated in stone.
There is no plaque for
William Champion. No memorial to Thomas, the enslaved servant of Lord
Baltimore. They came here—to this church—not seeking legacy, but longing for
hope, for faith, for freedom in life and death.
While it can seem as though
the great and the good have left the deepest imprint in bricks and mortar here
- and in our history books - the scriptures assure us and we believe that this
is not the case in God’s kingdom. Where nothing is lost. All are known. All are
valued. All have purpose. All are loved.
The healing that poured out
through the apostles in Solomon’s Porch made no distinction between citizen and
stranger, servant or master. “All were cured.” And that same boundless love,
that same power to heal and restore, continues to flow through those who take
up the servant’s call today. All who are baptised and reborn as children of God.
So this weekend, as we mark
both the Feast of St Bartholomew and the International Day for the Remembrance
of the Transatlantic Slave Trade and its Abolition, let us remember both in the
way that Jesus taught us. Not passively but actively.
Actively recovering the
footnotes of our history.
Remembering the lives of
William Champion and Thomas and all the forgotten people of this parish then
and now - not as afterthoughts, but as icons of courage and faith. They may lie
at the margins of our history for the moment, but they are never set apart from
the love of God.
And may as we, with that
same love flowing through us, seek to live as they did: not striving to be
remembered, but striving to serve. So let us better serve them - that we, too,
may with confidence take our seat at the table with Jesus in his kingdom.
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