Sermon - Wings of Faith

Gin Lane 2016 by Thomas Moore

A sermon given during Evensong at St Giles-in-the-Fields on Sunday 5th May 2024 based on the text of Song of Solomon 4.16-5.2 and Revelation 3.14-end.

For much of its history, the land to the north of the church was a slum. A no-go area. Portrayed as a haven for thieves and prostitutes, with living conditions as insanitary as the morals of its inhabitants, packed together tightly like a large colony of roosting birds. 

Our new history book about the parish suggests that The St Giles Rookery may also have been so-called because of a community of black beggars who once lived there.  The “blackbirds of St Giles” were former slaves who had fought with the British in the American War of Independence in return for their protection and freedom. 

Like most residents of the Rookeries we know very little about their lives. Living under-the-radar, very few of their voices can be heard - even in the most well researched history books. Except for the few “characters” whose lives were deemed intriguing enough to grace the pages of the periodicals of the day. Like the one-eyed Charles McGhee, who by day earned a living as a street sweeper at the crossroads of Fleet Street and Ludgate Hill before returning to the St Giles Rookery at night. 

The Committee for the Black Poor, established in the late 1700s to distribute food and medical care, soon began developing plans to move people like Charles McGhee to a new home, where they could spread their wings and flourish. When a scheme to relocate the blackbirds to Nova Scotia in Canada fell through, a new proposal was put forward by businessman Henry Smeatham. With the offer of building materials, tools, medicine and three months’ food supplies, the blackbirds would be transported to a new territory in West Africa, which became the British Protectorate of Sierra Leone. At that time, while it was illegal to own a slave in or transport one to Britain, the global slave trade was still thriving. Smeatham reassured parliament that the blackbirds would not be at risk of being forced back into slavery, because Sierra Leone was a safe country - despite having given evidence to the contrary just a year earlier. 

Twenty years after the proposals were first mooted and following a great deal of parliamentary wrangling and debate in the press, three ships set sail for Sierra Leone. Among the four hundred on board were several St Giles blackbirds, as well as a number of others who had been press-ganged into joining the voyage. Including several prostitutes who had been ‘married’ to the male passengers. 

One third of those who survived the journey died within three months of their arrival in Africa. 


In the nineteenth century, The Rookeries became known as the Holy Land - due to the large population of Irish people who lived there at that time. According to one local clergyman the Irish were “more virtuous and moral than our own poor.” 

Whole families were crammed into single rooms of poorly ventilated buildings. Living at close quarters, nerves became frayed. Tensions often boiled over into violence and rioting. 

Even before a further influx of migrants following the potato famine, the parish Medical Officer noted that the Irish account for twenty per cent of the population of St Giles and received two thirds of the poor relief - around £2m a year in today’s money - raised by a tax on wealthier residents. 

The Irish found support here. But not everyone seemed happy to welcome the newcomers. John Parton, the Vestry Clerk - the chief administrator of this parish - wrote that “Irish and aliens, beggars, dissolute and depraved characters had ‘infested’ St Giles.” Like flying rats - or pigeons.

Among them were Margaret Read and Michael Donovan, who came here with their parents as young adults, met, married and became my great-great grandparents. Had the parish not opened its doors to what John Parton implied were vermin like them, it is highly likely that I would not be here now to say how abhorrent his language was. Yet - just like the plight of the St Giles blackbirds, how familiar - how contemporary - it sounds. And how contrary it is to everything we believe about the nature of God, in whose image we are made.


Our first lesson this evening is a section of an enigmatic and, in parts, rather steamy poem. The Song of Solomon - or the Song of Songs as it is also known - is unique in the biblical canon, since it does not directly mention God.  But it does offer an extended description - drawing on numerous images - to describe the essence of God. Love. 

The brief section we heard begins with love arriving on the wind, drawn by the scent of a beautiful garden. Where love is at home - in paradise. The passage ends with the voice of love knocking on the door of its companion, saying : “Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove."

Our second lesson is from a no less mysterious text, full of diverse imagery - the Book of Revelation. The passage we heard is an oracle or prophecy, which reprimands members of the church in Laodicea for their lukewarm faith. For their complacency - for resting in their privilege. A church that was rich in material wealth, but morally and spiritually bankrupt. The passage ends with an image of Christ’s return - the sound of him knocking at the door. And a reminder that in order to be with him - to enter the New Jerusalem - we must let him in to our lives. 

Again, God - Christ - Love - is described as something - someone - knocking at the door, waiting to be invited in. Waiting to be offered hospitality by us. 


After their marriage, my great great grandparents were able to leave the slums of St Giles when they were offered accommodation in the first Peabody Estate - the first social housing - in this area, just down the road at Wild Street. For the first time they had a front door of their own. It was the step-up they needed. 

But I’m not the only one here whose very existence might be said to have been dependent on an act of love manifest as hospitality. The same is true of each and every one of us. 

All those upon whom the Holy Spirit has descended like a dove. All those who have opened the doors of their hearts to that Spirit - that love of God. Because until we did so we had no purpose, no hope. We were empty. We did not exist. 

Consider the words of the creed we said a few moments ago. 

If we truly believe those words, then we must accept that being open to something, someone, other than ourselves - is absolutely fundamental to our faith. Fundamental to who we are as people made in God’s image. Fundamental to our existence. 

So we cannot be complacent, indifferent or lukewarm about matters of hospitality and remain true to ourselves.

Our true home - the place to which we are being called - where we are destined to exist - is a place beyond divisive rhetoric and programmes that demonise other people. It is a place where there is unity in diversity. 

And the scriptures tell us again and again, the way back to that home - that paradise, that Eden, that New Jerusalem - is to hear the persistent knocking at our door and welcome that something, that someone - that love - into our lives. 

To create a world which is a haven for each and every person who is equally loved by God. 

Blackbirds, Pigeons and Doves. 

Let us flock together and fill ‘The Rookeries’ of today with our wings of faith. 

Image : Gin Lane 2016 by Thomas Moore

A version of this sermon was given during Holy Communion on Sunday 12th May 2024.