Lost and Found

My friend Norman Newton has just published a new book – Lost Inverness – which describes city buildings which no longer exist. Some of these demolished structures were of poor quality, but a number of buildings of significant historical merit – notably Queen Mary’s House on the corner of Bridge Street and Bank Street have also been lost.

Decisions to clear land and re-build reflect the thinking of the times, and especially the ambitions of the people involved. Some of the demolitions were prompted by a genuine desire to improve Inverness; some showed disregard for the treasures of the past; and some were driven by folk seeking to enrich themselves, or to erect structures which would dominate the town centre – or both.

In his book, Norman describes standing in the city streets, surrounded in his imagination by shadowy figures from Inverness in times past. And I stand with him, imagining the evolving Christian history of the city.

Here, Saint Columba on his way to King Brude’s stronghold; here, the Black Friars, deep in meditation; here, worshippers climbing St Michael’s Hill centuries before the present High Church was built; here people, making their way to many church buildings as denominations proliferated.

It seems to me that not just Inverness, but Dingwall, Fort William, any other town has a spiritual history just as much as the individuals who live there, and that civic decisions such as those leading to demolition and reconstruction are shaped by spiritual values. And I believe that in turn, those values are shaped by the ideas we cherish in the streetscape of our souls.

If we keep in good repair the solid structures of love, self-giving and community spirit, then our contribution to the life of our towns will be positive and life-giving. If, on the other hand, these inner treasures are swept aside, or dominated by ugly blocks of pride and self-focus, not just we and our families will suffer, but our communities as well.

Christians are convinced that the crucial structure, which gives sense and empowering to everything else in our lives is the belief that God is with us. But for many people, this is an idea which seems hopelessly past its sell-by date.

Norman’s book shows conclusively that new buildings are not necessarily better than the ones they replace. How, we wonder, could anyone back in the 1960s have imposed on us the ugliness which is the south side of Bridge Street? And yet we tend to think that newer ideas are automatically better than those which preceded them. And that is why many of us accept without question that of course no sane person can believe in God.

But there is nothing about ‘new’ which necessarily makes an idea ‘better’ or ‘truer – it’s simply that each age likes to imagine it understands reality better than ever before. So perhaps we need to revisit this idea of God, this key idea which shaped our city’s past.

Norman’s ‘lost’ buildings have gone – we’re left with drawings, photos, written descriptions but nothing more. But lost ideas, lost values can be rediscovered. It’s as though we were walking down the street and saw an old, ignored building we thought had been demolished long ago. Out of curiosity, we climb the front steps, and push open the door.

For each of us, lost houses await our rediscovery – perhaps the house of love, the house of hope, the house of joy, the house of grace, the house of God – houses which still exist despite the architectural nightmare we may have made of the streetscape of our souls.

These days, when we preserve old buildings, we adapt them to our own needs – like the old Royal Northern Infirmary has been transformed to house the University of the Highlands and Islands HQ. But when we find our way back to the forgotten houses, far from us changing them to suit our lifestyle, as we inhabit them, we are changed into new and richer ways of being.

Each of us shares responsibility for the spiritual history of the communities we belong to. We recognise that communities thrive when people work together in wisdom and in service, actively seeking the good of others, where decisions are made from the purest possible motives. And across the centuries it has been the case that wherever the best of humanity has been seen, people have been living out of the houses of grace.

Jesus said he had come to ‘save the lost.’ The deepest tragedy in Inverness is not lost buildings, but people who feel lost – lost in despair, perhaps, or addiction, or loneliness. As Christians we believe that the voice of Jesus calls us in our sense of lostness to the forgotten houses where, in meeting him, we will know ourselves found.

(Christian Viewpoint column from the Highland News dated 5th December 2013)