On a gently mist-shrouded morning in a small English village, the ancient stones of a churchyard stand silent, their inscriptions softened by age and moss. Yet beneath the quiet repose, green shoots are stirring — not only of memory, but of life.
Here in the hallowed ground of the Church of England, a subtle revolution is underway: the call by the Graham Usher, Bishop of Norwich, to transform churchyards into “places of the living, not just the dead”.
Roots Of A Hope
When Bishop Usher addressed the church’s governing body, the General Synod of the Church of England, he didn’t speak only of theology — he spoke of grass-roots ecology. “Our churchyards were quite static places, apart from the odd hole being dug from time to time,” he said.
He urged parishes to embrace the potential of their land holdings — approximately 7,100 hectares of churchyards plus tens of thousands of hectares of farmland and forestry under church ownership.
In doing so, he invited the church — and its local congregations — to re-imagine these spaces not only as places of remembrance but as sanctuaries for biodiversity: for wildflowers, hedgehogs, bees and birdsong.
A Quiet-Growing Movement
This isn’t a ladle of fresh paint on an old concept. The transformation is taking shape parish by parish. At St Mary’s Church, Wargrave in Berkshire, volunteers abandoned their strimmer and fuel-powered tools in favour of the ancient scythe, allowing a wildflower meadow to seed and flourish. Wildlife surveys there have revealed a growing richness of flora and fauna.
Across the country, national schemes such as Caring for God’s Acre and A Rocha UK support congregations to rethink their churchyards. One recent evaluation found over 10,800 species recorded in more than 20,000 burial grounds — among them hedgehogs, rare lichens and insects once thought too fragile for suburban sprawl.
And in parallel, the Synod has recognised that land stewardship must now give biodiversity equal team-member status alongside climate goals.
Why Churchyards?
There are several reasons this idea is gaining traction.
First, many churchyards are ancient. They sit on land relatively undisturbed by modern agriculture, pesticide-sprayed lawns, or large-scale landscaping. As a result, they often host remarkable ecological legacies: ancient trees, seed-banks of wildflowers, mosses and lichens.
Second, they are often embedded in tight-knit communities, offering a chance for local volunteers, schools and nature groups to engage meaningfully.
One vicar in Derbyshire described how his churchyard team of six volunteers, some in their seventies, had revived the space into a “living sanctuary”, installing hedgehog hotels, ponds, bird-nest boxes and insect habitats.
Third, there is a quietly powerful spiritual dimension: the mingling of memory and renewal. Bishop Usher reflected that seeing birdsong, butterflies and wildflowers at a loved one’s resting place can offer mourning people solace, a sense that life and memory are intertwined in the same green cycle.
The Push, The Plan, The Practice
In February 2024, the Synod approved the “Land and Nature” motion. That decision invited each parish to create land-management plans, map biodiversity in their churchyards, and work with tenant-farmers on the wider estates to deliver nature-positive outcomes.
The guidance emphasises practical steps: leaving areas unmown to allow rarer plants to seed, creating wildflower patches, installing bat and bird boxes, encouraging bees and hedgehogs.
At the same time, the guidance emphasises balance: burial grounds carry deep significance to communities, so changes must tread sensitively around the needs of mourners, visitors and memory-keepers.
Real Voices From Real Yards
At St Mary’s Wargrave, eco-church lead Mike Buckland explains that the scythe allows more control over what is cut, when native wildflowers should reseed, and reduces both carbon emissions and noise.
In Glossop, Derbyshire, the Rev Dr David Mundy describes how the project opened up the space to a wider volunteer base. A 76-year-old volunteer shared, “It is a lot of work but you can’t think about it like that. You just enjoy it.”
These testimonies reflect more than ecology or church policy — they reflect community, purpose and rooted belonging.
Challenges And Thoughtful Conversation
Of course, this movement isn’t without tension. Some worry that wild growth might appear “untidy” or disrespectful to graves; others argue that the visibility, access and care of burial sites must always remain paramount. One council’s “let-it-grow” policy provoked complaints from mourners unable to locate graves and fearing safety hazards in overgrown ground.
The church is aware: its guidance insists on consultation with local communities, clarity of signage, and maintaining safe, accessible paths. The goal is not chaos, but careful stewardship.
Blossoming Possibilities
What makes this an uplifting story is not just the ecological gain but the human gain. In a world where loss, disconnection and biodiversity decline weigh heavy, we find something profound: a future-facing vision grounded in ancient soils and shared lives.
Imagining a child stepping into a churchyard where wildflowers nod between gravestones; a retired gardener leaning on a spade, planting native bulbs; a community listening to bats at dusk where once only memories lingered — these are gentle but potent shifts.
And as Bishop Usher urged, when what is good for nature turns out to be good for people and good for business, then we are not simply doing “green management” — we are reclaiming places of meaning, beauty and belonging.
An Invitation
Perhaps you have walked through a churchyard and thought only of silence. What if you paused, looked closely, and noticed the lichen on gravestones, the delicate wing of a bee, the quiet hum of a living world? The churchyard, for one fleeting moment, becomes not only a place of memory — but a place of hope.
In their quiet revolution, England’s churchyards invite us to tend the ground of our futures as lovingly as we tend the ground of our pasts. And in doing so, to find solace, connection, and a renewed sense of life flourishing — where once only stillness reigned.
Sources:
Diocese of Norwich
The Guardian
