The last King Charles was crowned in 1661. Samuel Pepys attended the ceremony. He was captivated by ‘the sight of all these glorious things… sure never to see the like again in this world’. He later became so merry, he told his diary, that ‘my head began to turne and I to vomitt…Thus did the day end, with joy everywhere’.

We live in a more decorous age, but I think Pepys imbibed the right spirit. The coming coronation of King Charles III should be joyful too. The paradox is that joy will not be achieved unless the ceremony is solemn and magnificent.

Early signs give slight cause for concern. On Tuesday last week, the coronation was announced for 6 May, half the traditional time gap. This creates rush, empowering organisers who need to execute practical plans fast, at the expense of careful thought about what the coronation really is.

The coronation is the great state occasion. Its roots are biblical – in the Book of Kings, the King is crowned and anointed in the temple and all the people shout ‘God save the King’. In England, coronation ceremonies existed well before the Norman Conquest, and the Normans themselves drew on the coronation of Charlemagne in 800. In Scotland, the coronation had separate, mediaeval origins. The two nations’ ceremonies united in 1714: George I’s oath spoke of ‘this kingdom of Great Britain’.

Contrary to myth, the coronation’s essential elements were not invented by late-Victorian imperialists. They are much older and deeper. They bring together church and state. They are pre-modern, and therefore pre-democratic, but imply the consent of the people and exemplify the need of kingship to stand before them.

Most countries can only write down their constitutional history. In the coronation, our country performs it in 3D. The ceremonies do not, nowadays, make the King the legal King (he is that already), but they acclaim his legitimacy, exact his most sacred promises and attract the fealty of state and people in return. They dramatise our idea of sovereignty and of the nation’s acceptance of it.

According to the historian John Martin Robinson: ‘State ceremonial should be treated like a great historic building with respect for elements of different dates and significance.’ A spectacle the coronation certainly is, but not mere show. All its elements contain meaning.

Both church and state should guard this meaning. So far, vigilance has not been displayed. The traditional proclamation of the coronation takes place – as, movingly, did that of the King’s accession last month – from the balcony of St James’s Palace. But last week it was dropped without explanation, apparently by the Earl Marshal, the Duke of Norfolk, who oversees ceremonial. In the past, the Court of Claims heard the claims of those with hereditary rights to coronation roles, such as the King’s Champion, who rode armoured into Westminster Hall and threw down the gauntlet to anyone challenging the new monarch. The Dymoke family from Lincolnshire holds the hereditary right to be Champion, and an existing Dymoke stands ready. This time, the court will not sit.

The press has been briefed that the service will be ‘stripped back’. It will also be dressed down. Lt. Colonel Anthony Mather, who formerly worked on coronation plans for the royal household, announced last week that peers will not wear their coronation robes: ‘Give them [the robes, not the peers] to a museum where they belong,’ he says. He wants ‘morning suit or lounge suit’ only. In the past, Ede & Ravenscroft have been the principal tailors for such occasions. At the time of writing, they are still awaiting orders. The time is quite tight.

No doubt some modernisations are needed, but is it a good idea for people like Col. Mather to decree what should be consigned to a museum? Do they really know?

As for timing, what took three hours when Elizabeth II was crowned will now, we are told, come in within the hour. The 1953 service was undoubtedly too long, but the essence of the coronation cannot be contained in 60 minutes. It is a great liturgical and visual essay in specifically Christian kingship, not icing on a secular, or even a ‘faith-based’, cake.

The service contains the recognition, the oath, the anointing, and the investiture, which includes the crowning, enthronement and homage – all in the context of Holy Communion. These have their props – the crowns, of course (the King wears two), but also the spurs and swords, the sceptre with the cross, the rod with the dove, the ring, the glove and much more. What might be chucked out, and on what principles?

The coronation is a great moment for church and state, yet no leading figure currently speaks for either. The Archbishop of Canterbury is, as I write, in Australia, saying nothing. The coronation is a state occasion paid for by the United Kingdom government, but I have not found a minister with knowledge to impart. I have found ministers who are anxious about this.

It also appears that current preparatory meetings have cut out the College of Heralds, the only royal servants with learned knowledge of the history and meaning of the ceremonies. The work is being led by officials under the Deputy Controller of the Royal Household. These are good people, but they should be the skilled operatives, not the controlling minds. If we are not careful, any change will be a fait accompli, arranged without proper reflection.

Is it obvious, for example, that the congregation should be cut, as is being stated, from 8,000 in 1953 to 2,000 today? Before, what is known as ‘the theatre’ – raked seating on numerous scaffolds – was built so that representatives of the whole nation, the Commonwealth and the world, could take part. Thanks to the intervention of the young Prince Philip, the 1953 service was televised. This great cloud of witnesses made a global impression. Thanks to modern media, Charles III’s coronation will be an even more global event. Is it automatically right to shrink it – or are we trapped in the dismal realm of ‘health and safety’?

Obviously, the King is the key figure. While the late Queen reigned, her eldest son rightly thought it disrespectful to air plans for his coronation, but that was the more reason for leaders to have been privately ready with what is called Operation Golden Orb. It feels as if they aren’t, though it is comforting that the King himself is taking a strong interest. Those who know him well admire his instinctive understanding of the sacerdotal nature and traditional language of the event.

Of course, Britain in 2022 is not the same as in 1953. Besides, the King has come to the throne nearly 50 years older than did his mother, so the tone will be different. Also, of course, cost is always an issue. Extravagance, like penny-pinching, would be a mistake.

But we should learn from the extraordinary events of last month. Not only was the mourning over a much-loved and long-reigning Queen profound, so was the impact of the ancient ceremonies which marked her demise. As, indeed, in 1953, people were not put off by multiple and occasionally obscure ceremonies. Hundreds of millions were fascinated and instructed by traditions that had the sparkle of goodness about them. The hundreds of thousands who queued for long hours for the lying-in-state were as diverse as could be – the more so because they came naturally, uncontrived by quotas.

Perhaps the best words spoken on all this were those of the 27-year-old Elizabeth II, who broadcast to her people hours after she had been crowned on 2 June 1953: ‘The ceremonies you have seen today are ancient, and some of their origins are veiled in the mists of the past. But their spirit and their meaning shine through the ages never, perhaps, more brightly than now.’ So it should be on 6 May 2023.