Since my adolescence I have loved churchyards and cemeteries.

A man lies back against a wooden cradle, high in the apse of the ancient church of Saint Clement in Rome.

Regular readers of this column know that we are often engaged in a species of cultural pathology.

"It's a strange place, Mat," said the young bride, shivering, and looking at the monastery covered in snow. 

Catholic schools are in a privileged position to help parents in [their] vocation, by providing opportunities to form themselves as families in that true Christian spirit which is nurtured by the sacred liturgy.

We in the West are obliging amnesiacs of our greatest achievements. 

Lost is classical reserve, and, in the Church, there is a fatal weakness for inflated rhetoric.

From fine art to music, enjoying high culture has largely been seen as a reserve for leisure time – but Roger Scruton argues it's an essential element of everyday life.

The church stands with its back to the road. It turns away, quietly guarding its secret. 

Why, in 2015, would anyone want to build a classical building?