The following is an entry in the “Church’s of the Wheatbelt” series. An introduction to the series can be read here.
In the post that opened this series on the churches of the Wheatbelt, I contended that the role of organised religion in Australian history was underestimated by contemporary accounts (if you missed this post, you can catch up here). Certainly, two areas in which organised religion has played an enormous role in Australian society is in the arenas of healthcare and education. And it is education that is of particular relevance to the history of St Isadore’s in Jennacubbine.
Opened in 1907, and dedicated to St Isadore the Patron Saint of Farmer’s, the church in Jennacubbine served dual roles until 1913 as place of worship and as the local school. Inside the church a couple of reminders of this history stand in the form of a peculiar pew design. These pews stand on hinged iron legs which can be easily convert the unit from pew to desk (complete with a recess for students’ inkpots). Pews of this design, which must be over a hundred years old, can occasionally be found in other rural churches which also served the dual purpose of school building.
One presumes that the dual purpose of St Isadore’s early history must have been fairly common for many rural churches in Australia’s history. Indeed, dual uses for church buildings are not at all unheard of dating back to at least the medieval period.
For those with (at least a passing) interest in church architecture, churches can be broadly divided into the nave and the chancel. The nave, broadly defined, is the area of the church that houses the congregation, the chancel houses the altar and sanctuary. Upkeep and responsibility for the church was traditionally divided along these lines with the clergy responsible for the upkeep of the chancel and the laity responsible for the nave. To delineate between these spaces the rood screen, often highly decorated, was erected to separate the sacred from the profane.
Some historians have contended that the nave of medieval churches was often utilised as a community space for church ales (parties), plays, dances, and even markets. Though the extent to which such activities took place is contended (and contentious), it is certain that where necessary church buildings have served dual purposes for their congregations.
This history, and the dual use of church buildings, can be controversial as it places tension on the sacred nature of the church space. Context and associations are obviously important in human relations and there are understandable concerns as to whether the building that hosted a dance on Friday might dispose the congregation towards worship on the Sunday.
Yet I believe that there is something to be said for holding two truths in tension. If any faith is able to negotiate the tensions of the sacred and profane, it must be Christianity which holds that God became man. And, consequently, I believe that there is something profound in the early history of St Isadore’s where the same building that served the needs of worship on a Sunday, educated the children of the congregation during the week. It speaks, to me at least, of a faith that integrates its worship with everyday living, where the profane is elevated by the sacred.
The school at St Isadore’s, Jennacubbine moved in 1913 when the church received the addition of a chancel. The chancel, and attached sacristy, has one peculiar and (I am told unique) feature – a fireplace. As Jennacubbine has never been large enough to house a parish priest, the church has always been served by the priests of the neighbouring town of Northam. In the days of horse-drawn transportation, this meant an overnight journey with the priest sleeping in the sacristy. As winter in the Wheatbelt commonly sees temperatures in the single digits, one imagines that the fireplace was a welcome addition for the priest.
St Isadore’s at Jennacubbine still has Mass said each month (on the second Sunday). The congregation is often small (though occasionally boosted by travelling parties from Perth) and for the past five years has included my own family. The morning tea that follows mass has been described by one priest as the “Avon Valley’s best kept secret”. And while it has been over a hundred years since the building saw use as a school, it is my hope that my children learn something of the sacred, and indeed of the profane, within its walls.
