Poor St. Hugh

Lincoln Cathedral seen from outside
Bailgate at the top of Steep Street..

On my way back from York, my pilgrimage took me to the Cathedral at Lincoln, once one of the tallest buildings in the world.

St. Hugh's saga began with the pride of King Henry (that’s Henry II). It’s well debated what he really intended by the oft quoted line “Will no one rid me of this meddlesome priest?” but most agree that it led to the murder of Henry’s Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Beckett. What followed was the need for Henry to demonstrate remorse and repentance proportionate to the crime committed. As part of that effort, Henry determined to build a Carthusian monastery dedicated to continual prayer. Things weren’t going well, so Henry appealed to the abbot of the Grand Chartreuse in France that Hugh, who was head of a daughter community of that monastery and whose fame had reached him through one of the nobles of Maurienne, was made prior of the faltering English community.

The ornate shrine where the
reliquary containing St. Hugh's
head once was displayed.
Fortunately, his head is now
with the rest of his remains.

Hugh’s success and personal integrity in standing up to the king (shadows of Beckett?) eventually led Hugh to be appointed bishop of Lincoln, and under his direction, set about rebuilding the noble cathedral at Lincoln, which had been badly damaged in an earthquake, this time in the “new” Gothic style. He lived only to see part of the quire (choir) rebuilt. After a remarkable career serving both the crown and the church, Hugh died in in 1200. Within a relatively short twenty years the Church named him a saint and his cult spread through England.

The long and short of it was that poor Hugh was even more popular after his death than before. The simple burial he requested was insufficient for the powers that be, and a grander place of visitation was planned, so his body was exhumed and translated to a special chapel built in his honor. When a second quire section (The Choir of the Angels) was completed, authorities planned a still more ornate resting place for the saint and his bones had to be moved yet again – and this time, regrettably, he literally lost his head – during the exhumation and translation to the new shrine it fell off! So, thought those in charge, all the better, now poor Hugh would be buried in two parts – so pilgrims could pay homage twice in one pilgrimage – and of course, donate twice to the upkeep of increasingly expensive grand cathedral. So, poor St. Hugh’s head was in one place, and his body in another, at least until they were finally reunited centuries later when he was reinterred in his final, final resting place.

Steep Street 
Note the angle of the curbing
to the right.

Apart from that strange and gruesome story, which certainly befits the medieval context of this place, the cathedral at Lincoln is a marvel to behold. Like so many others of its age, it was founded upon an ancient Roman encampment. High atop a hill to which access is made up a street befittingly named “Steep Street,” (at an approx. 16 deg. incline). 

Remigius de Fécamp, became the first Bishop of Lincoln, sometime between 1072 and 1092 under the patronage of William the Conqueror, and laid the foundations of the Cathedral though he could not complete the whole of it before his death. Like his successor, Hugh, St. Remigius is also buried here.

Note the lack of alignment in the ribbing
of the two sections of the nave. Done in two
historical periods because of a massive roof
fire, different building techniques resulted in 
a gigantic, "oops."  Could modern people 
tolerate that today?

The cathedral at Lincoln is a precious place. While we moderns are often obsessed with architectural purity, we find in a place like Lincoln a history of imperfection – not born of disrespect but symbolic of the progress of learning. As architects, masons, and other master builders learned the secrets of building these massive edifices, the mistakes inherent in the learning process become clear over time – and the cost involved of “erasing” previous ignorance make the appearance of perfection impossible. So, a building like Lincoln, begun long before the pinnacle of gothic knowledge and skill had been reached shows us a “learning curve” through history and gives us hope that we, too, can learn from out mistakes.

The nave looking back from the
altar at the crossing

That lack of perfection can speak of spiritual realities. For example, whether by design or by happenstance, the south wall of the nave, "God's wall" has even, symmetrical arches, beautifully decorated. The north wall, on the other hand, is called the "Devil's wall." It's arches are irregular and plain. The embedded stone bench is low and uncomfortable, unlike the one on the south wall. More than likely this was because of a need to account for the uneven stone foundation (there is no undercroft at Lincoln - the building is built "on ground"). A clear message is sent however, in the design of the walls. There is no need for "perfection," since perfection resides in God alone and a building, even though erected to the honor and glory of God is but an imperfect monument made by human hands. Its imperfections can tells us more about ourselves than about God.

See the imp seated at the base
of the arch point cross-legged
and impertinent.

And then there is the infamous Lincoln imp. Legend has it that one day the Devil was in a frolicsome mood and sent two naughty creatures to cause mischief on Earth. After allegedly stopping at Chesterfield, twisting the spire of St Mary and All Saints Church, the two imps went to Lincoln to wreak havoc in the city's Cathedral. Upon arriving, the naughty imps went inside the cathedral and started to cause mayhem, knocking over the Dean, smashing the stained-glass windows, and destroying the lights. In a bid to put a stop to their antics, an angel was sent to warn the imps off causing any more chaos. One of the imps hid underneath a table, while the other started throwing stones and rocks at the Angel in an act of defiance - “Stop me if you can!” In a moment of anger, the Angel turned the Imp to stone. He has remained in the same spot ever since, sitting cross-legged on top of the pillar overlooking the Angel Choir – a constant reminder of how good will always triumph over evil.

St. Hugh's Quire, looking 
toward the nave

The "beating heart" of any cathedral is the choir. Here each bench is occupied a "canon" - a member of the clergy appointed by the bishop for special work within the diocese either to care for a particular region and its parishes, some special ministry within the diocese, or within the cathedral itself. Here is the location of the "cathedra" or bishop's chair along with the dean's stall and the stall for the canon precentor, the clergyperson assigned to care for the liturgical needs of the cathedral. Of course, if the cathedral has a "proper choir" or "canons regular" (a sort of monastic community dedicated to the prayer life of the cathedral), these, too, have assigned stalls in the choir, which are occupied for the praying of the daily offices, especially evensong on the appointed days. 

Lincoln has two choir areas: St. Hugh's choir (pictured here) and the Angel Choir behind the high altar that comprises a special

The "Word Made Flesh"

chapel that is the burial place of St. Remigius, St. Hugh, and several other bishops, deans and other notables. St. Hugh's Choir is the "working choir" and centers the prayer life of the cathedral.

Like at York, there are still catholic sensitivities alive and well in this northern fortress city. The cathedral is dedicated in the name of the Blessed Virgin Mary of Lincoln. A haunting contemporary icon of the Virgin with Child (by Aidan Hart) occupies a place of honor just off the Angel Choir. Carved from solid native limestone and decorated with egg tempura, its features invite one into a contemplative dialog with the Word Made Flesh, to whom the piece is dedicated. The gaze of the virgin looks down the length of the magnificent south aisle toward the 12th century baptismal font, near the entrance to the cathedral. As she holds the Word Made Flesh, the

The baptismal font

Christ Child, the connection is made between our baptism and the life we share in Christ. So at one end, an object carved from Belgian stone in the 1100s connects with one carved from Lincolnshire stone in the 2000s at the other - and we stand in between through the ages.

The two and a half days of pilgrimage to York and Lincoln proved more than I could ever image or condense into these two brief blog posts. There is much food for thought and more than likely, you'll here more about it as time goes on. 

So Many Bones

Sarcophagi and burial plaques along the north transept
of York Minster 

Bones. Bones. Bones.

Everywhere you turn there are plaques telling you there are bones. But you can’t help it when the heritage you are exploring extends over centuries and the core tenet of its culture calls for a belief that these dry bones will breathe again.

The tomb of St. William, patron saint of York in the 
crypt chapel

A place like York Minster, though points mostly to the bones of the rich and famous – lords and ladies, dukes and duchesses – or the well placed – bishops and deans, canons and benefactors of note. Their bones are everywhere to be seen – well not their bones actually, but certainly reference to them: “Here lie the mortal remains …” usually in Latin, sometimes in English. The one notable exception is reference not to the place of rest but a plea for memory for those who gave the ultimate sacrifice of life and limb for their country. Chapels and memorials recall battles and wars, soldiers and their leaders and the ultimate sacrifice they made for “king and country” – more here than in any major church I have seen in this fair land.

The West Entrance of York Minster

Of course, York Minster is the second most important church in England. The seat of the Archbishop of York, it is the metropolitan capitol of the Church of England in the north of England, second in honor only to Canterbury, so it makes sense that it holds these calls to honor the memory of those dear to the country, especially those from this region of the nation.

Beyond that, there is just so much here it is hard to take it all in. It was here, in this northern fortress town, that Constantine received word that his father had died and was declared to be emperor of all Rome. Of course, there was no minster, since Christianity was still a persecuted religion, but it was Constantine in time that would sanction the Christian religion as a binding power for the empire. Much would happen. Christian missions. Norse invasions. Culture wars that dug deep. It all mixed together to create that unique blend of Christianity that we have come to know as Anglicanism. And it is on full display here in York.

The magnificent reredos from the Lady Chapel
behind the High Altar at York Minster

The north of England has always had a distinctly catholic flavor, so it tends toward Anglo-Catholic sensibilities. That is clear in the open appreciation of the Virgin Mother and other devotional practices clear at York Minster.

There was so much here, I could scarcely take it all in. There will be more on this blog about this magnificent place – pictures and even a video montage. It will, I am sure, remain a highlight of this pilgrim’s trek.

God's Language on Pentecost Eve

The porter's gate to St. John's College

Low voices.

That was the posting for Evensong at St. John’s College on Saturday evening. My third time at St. John’s was again an experience of intense appreciation for the beauty of music as it enhances our prayer life. My time here in Cambridge has only strengthened my conviction that there is no better way to pray and to worship God than through the use of music – certainly with the sound of “lyre and harp,” namely through instruments made by human ingenuity, but more importantly through the use of that instrument made by God – the human voice.

The ”low voices” Evensong featured the men’s sections of the usual men and boys’ choir – no trebles in view. When high range was required, a counter tenor provided the pitch, but this was only seldom. The psalms were prayed with the restraint of the festal tones of Gregorian chant – plain, simple, exquisite. The anthem was solid, fulsome, strong. A perfect setting for the eve of Pentecost.

Last Tuesday I was again at King’s College. That evening, prayer was led by the “King’s Voices,” a choir of mixed voices of men and women – a rather modern innovation for King’s. But again, the varied timbre, the style of music employed, and the ambience that resulted all produced an experience of prayer and meditation that was thoughtful and filled with meaning as we together reflected on the nature of Christ’s post resurrection gifts of peace given to us through those first disciples. Interestingly, the second lesson was not taken from scripture but was a portion of Dr. Martin Luther King’s Jr.’s Letter from a Birmingham Jail – poignant and revelatory as it tied together the words we so easily toss about as Christians – salvation, life, justice, love, and peace. They are all of one piece and they come together in the spirit of the Risen Lord.

And still, the noble music of these longstanding colleges is not the only expression of musical prayer freighted with such meaning. The modern praise music of Ridley Hall also touches the heart in unexpected ways, especially when wedded to the words of Samuel and Charles Wesley who through their poetic hymnody sought to warm the hearts of believers in an Anglican church that had grown overly rationalistic and even cold in its approach to the divine mysteries of God's love for the world.

At the same time, in the secular world, we heard news of the death of Tina Turner – a giant not only in the industry but among human beings. Someone who certainly was able to persist in what was clearly a “man’s world” even within a relationship filled with pain and abuse, Turner was able to use music to overcome pain and sorrow and to demonstrate the resilience of the human spirit. Music has this power in and outside of the Church. It can be and is often one of our most effective tools for proclaiming good news. Let’s not forget that. Let’s never think of it as expendable or as something nice but non-essential. It is the universal language of the human heart. It is for that reason, the language of God among men.

Gifts are everywhere to be found

You never know.

As I was walking past Great St. Mary’s on a sunny afternoon, the faint sounds of organ music wafted through the front doors. The doors are usually open beckoning tourists and passers-by alike in to visit the gift shop and take “tower tours” to see Cambridge from heights not available anywhere else open to the public in the city.

Something else pulled me in, however, as the music seemed more than the usual kind of noontime recital repertoire. What I discovered on entering was that it was “jury day” – the time when organ scholars from the university were sitting for what were essentially their term exams. It’s a time for them to demonstrate to their professors that they are worthy of the credentials they seek from this prestigious university. Here is but one of the pieces heard that noontime (secretly recorded - don't tell anyone).

It was a wonderful opportunity to experience the prodigious musical talent on display.
  
I have no way of evaluating the relative talent of the various scholars as they went through their paces, but it was an unexpected pleasure to be able to walk into this magnificent space and enjoy talent that most likely would only be otherwise available in a concert hall – or after long travel to a designated church or cathedral in a distant city. And here it was, right here. All one needed was to mindful of one's surrounding and paying attention to the gifts that are being given without our even knowing they are there. 

Cottenham

Approaching All Saints Church on 
High Street, Cottenham

Wednesday’s journey was by bus to a village on the outskirts of Cambridge. My destination was just a bit beyond walking distance for a day trip and the city bus system will take you there – just barely – it’s where the line ends. Cottenham is one of the larger villages surrounding the city of Cambridge, located around five miles north of the city. My pilgrim destination there was All Saints Church, the largest landmark in the village of neatly arrayed English cottage homes interspersed with some larger houses of some pedigree. “Why?” you might ask, “did I go to Cottenham?” What is significant there?

That’s a simple point. All Saint’s Church is where my dear friend Robyn Szoke was wed to Philip Coolidge several years ago. The people of St. Luke’s are getting to know Robyn Szoke-Coolidge very well these days, since she is one of the priests that is taking services and providing advice to the wardens and vestry while I am on sabbatical. That fact alone made All Saints a “must see” during my time in Cambridge.

The journey gave me a glimpse into the simpler side of life around this sophisticated university town with all its cosmopolitan hustle and bustle – even more so than little Grantchester to the south. Because it is just a little further out and opposite the direction of London, its surroundings are a bit more rural (although urban encroachment is evident). Life in Cottenham is very different. I arrived just before noon and trekked my way to the church – about a mile from the bus stop. Nary a pub or coffee shop to be seen. What was there would not open until closer to supper time. This was a “stop by the house” for coffee town. There weren’t a lot of visitors like me walking the streets.

The "lounge" area in All Saints Church

Once at the church, the peaceful churchyard beckoned a time of quiet reflection in the noonday sun. The church was open (another sign beckoned a visit) and in what I have already observed is the style in these parts, the substantial parish church (larger than the one on Grantchester) used just about every square foot for some activity space from children’s play to a lounging area! There was of course the area for worship. No pews here – moveable chairs that provided, I am sure, for flexible use of space in the nave and a décor that reflected the many historical periods through which this worship space has endured.

Looking down the nave at All Saints Church

All Saints was probably founded sometime in the tenth century (late 900s) and fragments of the present structure date from the thirteenth. A storm destroyed all but the base of the original church steeple, but that was rebuilt between 1617 and 1619 – a relatively new part of the church! Elements of the interior décor date as late as the twentieth century giving clear evidence of a living parish community, not merely a relic of history.

Another interesting fact about this little village is that it is the home of John Coolidge, who was born in Cottenham, baptized at All Saints' Church in September 1604, and emigrated to the American colony of New England. Among his many notable American descendants is one J. Calvin Coolidge, former President of the United States. Of course, another relative, though I am not familiar with the exact degree of heritage, is Phil Coolidge, spouse to The Very Rev. Robyn Szoke-Coolidge mentioned above. So … now we have come full circle!

Pilgrimage is not always about the famous and the notable. It is often about roots and rootedness. In a similar way, I have the hope of ferreting out the place where a certain “Samuel Blanchard – Soldier in King Phillip’s War – June 24, 1676” might have originated before emigrating to the colonies. Indications are that this would have been near Goodworth Clatford, England. The degree of putative relation? 8th-great grandfather! Hardly a close relative – and the only clue to relation at all is work on ancestry.com and their DNA database. But that is a story for another time.

We, too, must persist

The main gate at Westminster College, Cambridge

In a recent blog entry (“In a Sea of Faces,” May 21, 2023), I mentioned Dr. Jonathan Soyars, a fellow Episcopal priest and member of the Society of Scholar Priests. He currently holds a position at Westminster College here in Cambridge and was kind enough to invite me to lunch at the College on Tuesday. Westminster College along with six other religious colleges (of which Ridley Hall is one) forms the “Cambridge Theological Federation” (CTF). These colleges are not part of the University of Cambridge but are affiliated with the university. They concentrate principally on teaching disciplines related to training clergy and, in this, are in some ways closer to the original conception of the main university colleges when they were founded centuries ago.

Lewis and Gibson
Founders of Westminster College

Westminster was founded in London in 1844 and only moved to Cambridge in 1899 following the gift of a prime site of land near the center of the city by two Scottish sisters, Agnes Smith Lewis and Margaret Dunlop Gibson. Although Lewis and Gibson were exceptional biblical scholars in their own right, they were never fully accepted by the Cambridge establishment. Two things stood in their way – they were not Anglicans, and they were not male. Nonetheless, to use a contemporary phrase, “they persisted.” Following an appeal for funds from the wider Presbyterian Church, the college commissioned a new building designed by Henry Hare, which was built between 1897 and 1899. In 1967 the college began to amalgamate with Cheshunt College, Cambridge, foreshadowing the eventual combination of the Congregational and Presbyterian churches that would form the United Reformed Church (URC) in 1972.

In our conversations, Jonathan noted how the situation at Oxford University differed – how colleges like Westminster became part of the university structure. Interestingly, he pointed out that those same colleges have pretty much disappeared. It seems that what might appear to us today as elitism and an attitude of exclusiveness, in the end, proved to be the motivation for the colleges of the CTF to maintain the independence of their respective missions – and their path toward continued survival. However, we also discussed how these same colleges are struggling, as are the seminaries of The Episcopal Church in the US. Just how we all respond to these challenges is part of what I have been reflecting upon during my sabbatical, and our discussions on Tuesday gave us both food for thought – and a motive to look for a time to “share a few pints” in the coming days!

The lesson for us in all this may be that God blesses us with resources for the day (not a literal day, perhaps). But when that day is complete, we are called to move on, to new horizons, to new destinations within God’s kingdom. Scripture tells us plainly, “My ways are not your ways, says the Lord.” (Isaiah 55:8) Our task is not to change God’s mind about that. Our ask is to discern just where God will lead us … and then to follow. Like the sisters who founded this college, we, too, must persist.

Still Walking with Me?

I arrived at Ridley Hall four weeks ago. I know it sounds hackneyed, but I’ll say it anyway. In some ways, it seems it was just yesterday. It is hard to believe that nearly a month has passed since I arrived bleary eyed and exhausted after a grueling twenty-something hour journey. I’ve more than made up my rest, to be sure. I’ve acquired some good habits, too. I am to bed at a decent hour – sometimes it is still light out, sort of. (It gets darker later here since we are at a higher latitude.) I walk – a lot – 10,000 steps no longer seem like an unreachable goal. In fact, I surpass it quite frequently these days. I read. And read. And read. (Did I tell you I love to read?) And, yes, I pray, too.

Something happened this morning that hasn’t happened in a great number of years. It was 4:35 a.m. I was suddenly wide awake and needed to get up, boot the computer and start typing. I had an idea – a creative thought. That kind of thing hadn’t happened to me since I was writing my doctoral dissertation over twenty years ago. Reading it this afternoon, it probably wasn’t as profound as I thought it was at that hour of the morning. But it did give me joy that creativity was still possible, that I wasn’t merely a hack stitching together strings of other people’s thoughts, that I could have thoughts of my own. Even if they were not going to change the course of time, they were still my thoughts – God’s gifts - something for which I am grateful.

It has been a great gift being here in Cambridge these several weeks. There was a time in my life when I really desired a career in the academy. However, it was not to be for reasons I will not describe here. And now, that opportunity is well past. But the taste of it that this time has afforded will be fondly remembered. And the best part? It isn’t over yet. There is still more to come. Stay tuned. I only hope I don’t’ need to be up at 4:30 too often to have more profound insights!

In A Sea of Faces

Sunday was a most interesting day. As usual, I awakened and prepared myself for the walk to St. Bene’t’s for the 10 AM Eucharist. I was running just a few minutes behind my usual schedule having gotten distracted by an unusual email in my inbox. But no matter, I got there in plenty of time to collect myself and prepare for worship. It was nothing out of the ordinary and was everything I have come to expect from this lovely little parish in the heart of Cambridge – until communion. I had gone up to receive, as usual. I returned to my place, as usual. I knelt in meditation, listening to the anthem, again as usual. And then I looked up and to my left coming down the aisle, I saw someone I swore looked just like someone I knew from the US.

Jonathan Soyars at the Annual Meeting
of the Society of Scholar Priests in Toronto - 2016

I looked again. It was uncanny, but no, it couldn’t be. I went back to my meditation. The liturgy finished as usual and as we were dismissed. The postlude concluded. I turned to my right and at the very rear of the church there he was. He was chatting with someone, but as he looked up, he smiled and waved as he continued chatting. Clearly he recognized me, too. In the end, it was indeed someone I know. It was a colleague from the Society of Scholar Priests of which I have been a member since its beginning. It was Jonathan Soyars.

At the time I met him in SSP, he was just finishing his doctoral work at the University of Chicago. In the present encounter he has now been a tutor at Westminster College, part of the same theological federation as Ridley Hall, for four years! He introduced his two young sons, the elder of which certainly trades on his father's same sardonic wit. As he introduced me, Jonathan said, "He is a priest, too, like me" to which the young lad answered, "You're a priest?" We traded contact information and will no doubt spend some time trading stories over the next couple of weeks over coffee and maybe a “few pints” more than likely sans the comic commentary.

You’ve heard me speak of St. Botolph’s before. It’s the parish church at the south end of Corpus Christi College. Later in the day, I attended a concert of the Cambridge Chamber Academy featuring three young artists playing the music of Benjamin Dale, Ernest Bloch, and Johannes Brahms. The pieces by Dale and Bloch featured piano and viola, an unusual program since the viola usually gets to play “second fiddle” (pun intended) to the glitzier, usually dominant violin. The Brahms piece was equally unusual because it was composed as a trio for piano, violin and Waldhorn. The problem is that a Waldhorn has no valves and so can sound only sixteen natural notes. It is also much quieter than its valved cousin, the French horn, with which we are more familiar. People complained to Brahms, so he rescored the piece to have the viola take the place of the Waldhorn. This was the piece we heard.

The concert itself was a wonderful way to spend a Sunday afternoon. But there was something more. In the front pew was a family. Grandma, mom, dad, two boys and a girl. The oldest of the three children could not have been more than eight. What struck me was the rapt attention that the two older children paid to the performers as they gifted us with their music. The youngest, a boy, got a little fussy, after a bit, but the elder ones were amazing. I have never seen children of that age so engaged by anything for a full ninety minutes. It was a sheer joy to behold. I only wish I could have photographed it to share with you.

So today was filled with little things. In a sea of faces, I found one I recognized from years ago. In another smaller sea, I found little faces filled with awe that inspired me. These are the little joys that make the days worthwhile. These are the blessings God gives to us each and every day, if only we take the time to notice.

Why are The Fens so flat? So God has a clear view ... (so says Graham Swift)

Ely Cathedral - as seen across the "Dean's Meadow"

Saturday was spent on pilgrimage. This time to the seat of the diocese in which Cambridge is located – the cathedral city of Ely. Ely is in Cambridgeshire about 14 miles north northeast of Cambridge (about 80 miles from London).

Ely is actually an island which, at 85 feet, is the highest land in “the Fens” in eastern England - a naturally marshy region that supports a rich ecology and numerous species of wildlife. 

Most of the fens were drained centuries ago, resulting in a flat, dry, low-lying agricultural region supported by a system of drainage channels and man-made rivers created by (dikes and drains) and supported by automated pumping stations. These are clear as you course along the rail line between Cambridge and Ely. The soil is dark and rich. It reminded me of my home, where I grew up near Lake Ontario. The term for the marshlands that were once the bottom of that glaciated lake did not sound as romantic though. Our term for it was the “mucklands” or simply, “the mucks.”

The Shrine of St. Etheldreda behind the High Altar
at Ely Cathedral

The city's origins lay in the foundation of an abbey in 673, under the protection of Saint Etheldreda, daughter of King Anna. St Etheldreda was a queen, founder and eventually abbess of Ely. She built a monastery, on the site of what is now the cathedral. This first abbey was destroyed in 870 by Danish invaders and rededicated to Etheldreda in 970 by Ethelwold, Bishop of Winchester. Over time, the abbots of Ely accumulated such wealth in the region that it became known the "second richest monastery in England."

One of the main streets
that runs through town

Because of its status as a cathedral, the municipality that surrounds it has almost always held the status of a city. As such, Ely is considered one of the smallest cities in England with a population of just over 20,000. It seems incongruous to have such a massive structure and its accompanying buildings situated in such a small city. And yet, there was something very human about the resulting scale. The Saturday Market was small and intimate, almost neighborly – not like the large and bustling market in Cambridge. The streets were narrow and populated with shops of every kind – mostly local with few of the large chains you see in the bigger towns. It was quite refreshing actually.

The nave of Ely Cathedral.
The choir and the Chancel with the High Altar
are located behind the rood screen
you see at the rear of this photo.

In a choirstall
waiting for Evensong to begin

And yet, the cathedral can sustain its ministry and outreach to the whole of the diocese in part because of the many visitors that come its way. 

The day ended with Evensong at 5:30 sung by the Choir of 16 boys and 6 men. A visiting parish group from the diocese and several other pilgrims like me made up the small congregation – along with the choir, we all fit in the choir stalls. As in every cathedral in the Church of England (mandated by canon law) the Daily Office is at least recited and is usually sung – and most sung in this style. How fitting to end the day surrounded once more with the “beauty of holiness” as God is praised. Large crowds are not necessary – just those who wish to raise their voices in praise.

You Can't Avoid Their Gaze

They peer down at you from every vantage point. Whether it is from the fading light of day through the deep resonating colors of glass tinged with careful tinctures of metals carefully chosen for their proper hue or from a perch high above the street upon a parapet or below the sash of a window – the faces of kings, scholars, bishops, saints, and sinners. They all watch you walk along as they have been watching countless others day by day, year after year, through the centuries.

Only true historians would know who the seemingly insignificant ones are. Others are plainly evident: major patrons of the colleges they founded or endowed. Others might be notable alumnae or faculty of renowned learning. Some may have literally lost their heads in religious strife. Others simply faded into obscurity as their ideas lost currency among the learned. Such it is in a community of learning.

A mentor of mine once said, “There is nothing deader than a dead priest.” That gives someone like me true pause for reflection among the many stony faces, many of them priests, forgotten in the mists of time. The way I read it is that to live the life of a priest, one must aspire to live in imitation of Christ, fully, very much in the way St. Paul describes in his Letter to the Philippians: “Let your attitude be as Christ’s, who though he was in the form of God, did not deem equality with God something to be grasped at but emptied himself.” That attitude requires one to say that one’s life is no longer one’s own, really, but belongs to God, to the other. Consequently, at life’s end, one has little left, really, if one has followed Jesus totally, because that is what Jesus had – nothing.   “… even unto death, death on a cross.”

The only remembrances, then, are names scratched next to other names in baptismal registers, on marriage certificates, and burial records. Perhaps there will be a plaque – or like the grotesques that loom over the streets of Cambridge, a face now worn by rain and wind. But the real memorial is in the lives touched, the souls salved, the sins forgiven. These are the places where priests’ spirits live on. “So, gaze on good bishop, soon I’ll see you, too.”

A Darker Side

It might be too easy to fall in love with the almost “Disneyworld” version of Cambridge. The sheer volume of history can easily swallow you as you wander the streets. Architecture, traditions, stories, and even ghosts (yes, there are ghost tours, too) make this city a sort of wonderland. But it has a another, all too real side.

My afternoon walk on Sunday took me into a less than picturesque part of the city. Still populated with university related buildings, it was much less storied. More modern residence halls interspersed among aging nineteenth-century college lodges and lecture halls formed the landscape – if you could call it that. It was more concrete than cobblestone; more motorbikes, cars, and buses than bicycles. There were few tourist types. There were fewer people. They were students – and people who lived and worked here. The fare at the cafes was simpler, and a bit cheaper (though not much), which probably accounted for why there were fewer of them and fewer customers in them.

At the corner of Manor Street and Jesus Lane (ironically) sits the majestic All Saints Church.

All Saints Church, Cambridge

Built in stages between 1863 and 1871, by 1973, the church had outlived its usefulness and was closed. Changing demographics and the encroachment of the university itself caused what the Church of England calls “redundancy.” It was entrusted to Churches Conservation Trust and is currently used for special events and the like. However, a quick survey indicates that it isn’t being used very much at all. In fact, a sign posted outside invites visitor in to see a “remarkable example of mid-Victorian architecture and decorative art. Open.” But the gate was locked and hadn’t looked open for some time.

Spent needles outside All Saints Church,
Jesus Lane, Cambridge

Education at a prestigious university like Cambridge is both expensive and tough. On the train ride back from London on the day of the Coronation pilgrimage I overheard a conversation between a student from China and her friend. She was deeply troubled. Her parents were arriving in just a few days expecting her to graduate with honors with a degree in biochemistry. How would she tell them that she barely made the grade – and that she would not be admitted to the PhD research program that was their dream for her. Not only would they be disappointed in her, but she would bring shame on her family for having failed in their eyes.

Even here at Ridley Hall, a ministry student is a “leaver” – the final year of study – and still looking for a “curacy” – that precious first ministry placement that will lead to ordination as a deacon and then as priest. Without that, in a few weeks, he may, in his words, “not know where he will lay his head.” He is not alone in this worry.

Pressures like this are intense and can have devastating impact on young lives. Some of this pressure leads students to try what are called “study drugs” – substances that allegedly improve focus, or stamina, while studying. This can sometimes open the gate to other drug use, although there is a strong anti-drug culture afoot throughout the university, it simply cannot be totally avoided. More tragically, mental health issues surrounding chronic stress like depression and, regrettably, suicide also find their way into student life at every level. In 2022 alone, the suicide rate at Cambridge jumped 3-fold from the previous three years combined.

The Church of England promotes effective help networks for people in crisis. You may recall my visit to St. Stephen’s, Walbrook in London (Coronation Pilgrimage, May 3, 2023) and the founding of Samaritans. You will see information about the work of the Samaritans all over the university. The core of Samaritans' work is a telephone helpline, operating 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. Samaritans was the first 24-hour telephone helpline to be set up in the UK. In addition, the organization offers a drop-in service for face-to-face discussion, undertakes outreach at festivals and other outdoor events, trains prisoners as "Listeners" to provide support within prisons, and undertakes research into suicide and emotional health issues. Since 1994, Samaritans has also offered confidential email support. In 2011 alone, Samaritans received over 206,000 emails, including many from outside the UK. It aims to answer each one within 24 hours.

It seems to me there is no more fitting work for the Church to be involved in than the support of the emotional and mental health and well-being of not only its members but also of the community at large. Regrettably, there is still a great stigma attached to issues of mental and emotional health, perhaps the gentle approach and cloak of spiritual guidance and assistance can help remove that fear and assist people get the help they really need. What can we do to help? What resources do we have or can we offer to bring the healing touch of God to those who hurt so deeply that their wounds cannot be seen?

What’s Old Becomes New Again

Scaffolding begins to surround the exterior of
Kings College Chapel. The billboards describe the
integration of architectural and environmental 
research being undertaken at the university.

After supper at Ridley Hall, many of the students usually repair to the Common Room just opposite the Dining Room for tea or coffee and a bit of conversation. Just as we entered, however, it was clear that this would not be the usual relaxing time as water poured through the window casement on the north end of the room. A thunderstorm had just passed. My guess is that a maintenance crew had pieced through a lead gutter during a clearing process and the great downpour was now making its way inward rather than to the downspout. My rector’s heart immediately felt pangs of compassion for any administrator who had charge of centuries old buildings as these were (relatively the same age as St. Luke’s). Cruel as it might be, there was great relief in that there was nothing I could do about it – it was clearly someone else’s problem. All rallied, however, to gather receptacles to minimize the damage and gather the incoming flood. The dehumidifier would run for days afterward to dry the carpet. I’d been down this road before.

One of the first things I noticed upon arriving in Cambridge was scaffolding around the chapel at King’s College. I didn’t think too much about it until I was in the queue for Evensong on Friday of that first week. Soon, I discovered that this was the beginning the replacement of the 150-year-old lead roof the chapel. The process involves stripping off the lead, melting it down, and reusing it over the next few months to rebuild the roof’s coating. Once the lead is fully removed, the roof timbers will be inspected to ensure they are in good condition. The new roof could also support discrete solar panels, if pending plans are approved. However, any such plan would need approval from several organizations before being installed. However, there is no guarantee that such approval would be forthcoming and any one of the organizations involved (municipal or ecclesiastical) could refuse such permission. 

The entire process simultaneously seeks to attain several goals. First, it hopes to assure that a building dating from 1446 continues to have a viable and integral roof. Secondly, to do so in a way that is sustainable and uses resources efficiently. Beyond that, the process looks to the future hoping that new technologies can make this historic building an even richer resource for the community not only by demonstrating its continuing viability but it’s enhancing its value to this and future generations.

As someone who for several years was deeply involved in the work of historic preservation, I can attest that this is the value of such work. The days of “tear it down and build something shiny and new” (as we did in the 1970s with what was known as “urban renewal”) taught us some important lessons, not the least of which was that a disregard for the historic fabric of our communities cuts us off from our history and severs important ties with our roots, with our identity as a social community. On the other hand, preservation for its own sake can deprive future generations of important resources for their growth and development. The great value of historic preservation is to allow the past to inform us in the present in ways that move us forward.

St. Luke’s will soon undertake a capital campaign to make some much needed modifications to its physical plant. Each of these changes and improvements is designed to preserve treasures received from those who have gone before in ways that will help us serve our community better and will enable generations to follow fulfill the mission entrusted to them by Jesus by being an active and welcoming presence in the wider community.

In some ways, this mission has never changed. It is still the mission of the gospel. But now that mission has transformed to meet a new generation in a new and ever-changing world and we need different tools to meet its challenges. Truly, what’s old must become new again.

Make A Joyful Noise

Saturday morning is usually “market day” for me – a day to walk into town to the market square a partake of things that delight the senses – the beautiful artistic crafts available from local artisans tease the eye, aromas of meats and vegetables grilling in any cuisine you could imagine – Iberian paella, Venezuelan Arepa, halloumi wraps from Cyprus, fresh baked breads of every sort, croissant, bagels, smoked meats, fresh fish and seafood, German sausage sandwiches to go, shall I go on?

And then there are the ears. At every corner of the square are performers. Some of them are artists from local venues promoting their shows. Others are students from the university. All this working together to create a feast of sight and sound and smell to help you understand that God made a wonderful world – a world of tremendous diversity.

All one needs to do is stand here for a moment and experience it all. Not just the art and the crafts and the foods and music, but the people – the diverse sounds of their voices – languages from every corner of the world – English, German, Italian, Polish, Spanish, Urdu, Mandarin, Arabic, Malay, French, Afrikaans, Dutch – those were the ones I could identify. I don’t know how many more I could not hear or pick out. And to think, all this compressed into this little market square in this little city.

It makes me wonder what it might have been like on that first Pentecost Sunday so long ago, when, as it is recorded in the Acts of the Apostles, those standing about wondered aloud

Then how is it that each of us hears them in our native language?  Parthians, Medes, and Elamites; residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt, and the parts of Libya near Cyrene; visitors from Rome (both Jews and converts to Judaism); Cretans and Arabs—we hear them declaring the wonders of God in our own tongues!” Amazed and perplexed, they asked one another, “What does this mean?”

What an experience that must have been. What an impression that must have made – to have all those differences fall away in an instant. How marvelous it would be if we might have such an experience ourselves – to have our differences fall away suddenly, so that we could the experience of a fuller understanding of what it truly means to be part of this human family – to understand how much we really share in common and that the things that we see as differences really have no need to be a cause for division, but can be things that delight the senses – and can bring joy to the soul.

Corpus Christi - A Seat for All within the Body of Christ

The Courtyard of Corpus Christi College

I’ve mentioned St. Bene’t’s Church many times in my reflections, largely because I’ve taken to attending services there on Sunday mornings. It’s a wonderful small parish church filled with kindly, welcoming people. What I haven’t noted, however, is its connection to Corpus Christi College – one of the older colleges that comprise Cambridge University.

Corpus Christi College, unlike many of the others, was founded in 1352 by Cambridge townspeople. Perhaps, in modern terms, it might be considered a “community college.” Ironically, although it has one of the smallest enrollments of the many colleges in Cambridge, it has been one of the more academically successful, and is one of the wealthiest Cambridge colleges in terms of its fixed assets.

The college's formal name is the “College of Corpus Christi and the Blessed Virgin Mary in the University of Cambridge,” usually abbreviated simply to "Corpus Christi College." From the early 16th century, it was also known as Benet or St Benet's College, from the nearby St Bene't's Church, associated with the founding Guild of Corpus Christi. Both the college and the church stand on Benet Street and until the late 16th century, St Bene't's Church served as the college chapel (although St Botolph's Church, right next door, was also used for some services).

The college has many notable alumni among which are: Elizabethan playwright Christopher Marlowe (rival to Shakespeare), Samuel Wesley, poet and writer (and father of John and Charles Wesley, the founders of Methodism), Christopher Isherwood, novelist, Hugh Bonneville, actor (of Downton Abbey fame) to name only a few among many government officials, internationally recognized research scientists, mathematicians, musical composers, and world explorers.

One of the landmarks associated with “Corpus” (the abbreviated name for the college) is the “Corpus Clock.” The clock, unveiled by Cambridge physicist Steven Hawking in 2008 features a grotesque giant grasshopper perched atop the clock face that keeps the clock moving and is known as a “chronophage” or “time eater.” The message of the clock is the passing of time – so one should live every moment to the fullest. Unfortunately, I cannot show you this monstrosity of a timepiece because a hammer-wielding vandal attempted to damage it but succeeded only in damaging its protective glass casement. However, the clock has been temporarily removed and is undergoing examination and repair before being restored to its place of prominence at the corner of Benet Street and King’s Parade.

The choir and chancel of St. Botolph's.
Notice the rood screen at the front of the choir.

I mentioned St. Botolph's Church above, which lies at the south end of the college. This church dates from the fifteenth century and was built near what was then known as the Trumpington Gate to the City of Cambridge. St. Botolph is known as a patron of travelers, so it was a fitting dedication. Along with St. Bene't's and Corpus Christi College, St. Botolph is known for its rather close adherence to the more catholic traditions of Anglicanism as is evident in the architecture, art and furnishings of the church. Interestingly, it is one of the only churches in the region where the "rood screen" survived the purges of Reformation (see the photo). The rood screen (a.k.a. choir screen or chancel screen) is a common feature in late medieval church architecture. It is typically an ornate partition between the chancel and nave, of more or less open tracery constructed of wood, stone, or wrought iron. The rood screen is usually surmounted by a "rood loft" carrying the Great Rood, a sculptural representation of the Crucifixion. You will see a more modern version of this in the Cathedral Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, PA. The notion of the rood screen is the architectural basis for the masonry division between the choir and the nave in our own parish church (St. Luke's, Lebanon, PA).

So, from the contemporary worship we experience here at Ridley Hall, with television screens and electronic music, to the ancient traditions of medieval Anglo-catholicism, the full spectrum of Anglican thought is not only on display but can be experience here. It is the treasure of our tradition, that there is a seat for everyone at our table.

Wounds and Scars

The WW I Memorial in the Churchyard
at St. Andrew's & St. Mary's
Grantchester

It is hard to avoid. In nearly every town and village of any size, any traditional there is in a public square or in the churchyard a monument to “The Great War.” That phrase has a particular meaning here in Great Britain. It refers to World War I. Here that war began in 1914 and lasted for four horrific years. The United States did not enter the war until 1917, and while America's participation may have played a significant role in bringing that war to an end, the allied nations of Europe paid a terrible price. The United Kingdom alone lost 744,000 combat dead with nearly twice that number wounded. The war touched nearly every town, every family in the nation. The moral wounds were deep and were only beginning to heal when yet another war threatened the very existence of the nation itself.

As Americans, we often debate “existential threats” to our own homeland. Here, in Britain, the scars of these kinds of wounds dot the countryside and mar elements of its cityscape. Reflecting on scars like these, however, helps us remember hard-fought battles and provide a lens that allows us to see that people can find strength within even when they may not have recognized it was there – strength that usually emerges from a sense of solidarity – a sense of common purpose.

We have our own national scars and our memorials – a civil war – two world wars – Korea – Viet Nam – 9/11 – Shanksville – the list goes on.

When our scars start to become stories that we can tell, they can offer hope to those who may face similar struggles. When people facing difficult situations can see the wound that healed in healing in someone else's scars, it can become a powerful source of strength for them. That’s why it remains important never to forget our struggles, never to hide our scars. Rather, it remains always important to share our stories, and to listen to the stories of others who have struggled, of those who have gone before us, that we may learn that we to can survive - and heal. Knowing our history - the good and the bad - is important to that process - otherwise those wounds may just fester. For us to heal truly, let's be honest first with ourselves and then with those around us. The scars may form. But they will bring a beauty all their own. 

Church Open, Come In

The Tower of the Church of
St Andrew & St Mary

Grantchester. 

There really is such a place. It’s about 4 km (1.6 mi.) south of Cambridge. A brisk walk through the Grantchester Meadows, trails through farm fields where signs warn of possible encounters with cattle (and how to cope), brought me into the back yard of The Red Lion, not yet open for business, and soon to The Green Man, just opening its doors. Tempting though it was to stop for a bite and a drink, I sauntered just a block further to the Church of St. Andrew and St. Mary.

There it was. It’s funny how things always appear slightly different in real life than they do on the television screen, but there it was, clearly identifiable. Fortunately, there was a sign that beckoned, “Church Open, Come In.” That’s one thing I’ve found here. Regardless of whether it is a big city or a small town, church doors are nearly always open, ready to receive visitors. There is seldom (if ever) heavy security apparatus apparent. I wonder if it is necessary. Perhaps there is an inherent respect for these sanctuaries that is lacking in our society. One can wonder.

The south side rear

Another thing that I have noticed is that because these churches are often very old, space is at a premium. There is no compunction to use every bit of available space for some activity or another. At St. Bene’t’s on Sundays, for example, coffee and cakes are served in the North aisle. The equivalent at St. Luke’s might be to have coffee hour in the Lady Chapel! 

Children's area on the north side 

In St. Andrew's and St. Mary’s in Grantchester, drawings about proposed modifications to the church entrance (and the accompanying capital campaign) are posted near the massive and ancient baptismal font, near table and chairs that serve as a meeting and discussion area. On the side opposite is a children’s area near the narthex. Every square foot being put to use.

It reminds me that church isn’t always “neat and tidy.” In fact, messy church (which often means noisy church) can mean a church that is alive and thriving. Several years ago, I remember standing at a pre-convention meeting during a rather heated debate to remind some folks that the mission of the church was to make disciples and not simply to sustain museums. What good were our lovely and beautiful buildings if they are empty and devoid of worshipers? Holding on to the past for its own sake - keeping things neat and tidy - at the expense of the Church's fundamental mission is a sure path to decline and is, I believe, contrary to the will of God. Everything we do, every change we make must always keep that mission in mind.

“Church Open, Come In” -- I think it’s time we made that our motto, too.