A Coronation Pilgrimage

Guy Hayward leads off
our journey by singing
"As the green blade riseth"

Pilgrimage is a journey, often into an unknown or foreign place, where one goes in search of new or expanded meaning about one’s self, or others, or a higher good through the experience. Pilgrimage can lead to a personal transformation, after which the pilgrim returns to their daily life. That’s one reason I chose “Walk with Me” as the title for this blog about my sabbatical. In many ways, it is a pilgrimage – a journey to an unknown place …

On Tuesday, I undertook a literal pilgrimage with the help of the British Pilgrimage Trust. Under the leadership of Guy Hayward, just over thirty fellow pilgrims gathered at All Hallows Church near the Tower of London to begin a trek following an ancient route retracing the steps taken (as best as one could after centuries of development) of the coronation processions of old. As we begin, we are asked to be still and to consider what we hope to gain from this quest, what question we seek to answer, what void we seek to fill.

The nave of All Hallows
mostly destroyed in The Blitz
but rebuilt.

For hundreds of years the monarch stayed at the Tower of London two nights before the coronation. Preparations included the creation of the Knights of the Bath – the monarch’s special escort for the coronation. A chosen selection of young squires were ritually bathed before spending the night in prayer. The next day they were dubbed by the monarch before escorting them in the procession. In display of pomp and pageantry the monarch processed through London to Westminster the day before the coronation. Along the way they met a series of pageants – theatrical performances on elaborate stages in the streets. The last of these coronation processions from the Tower of London was that of Charles II in 1661.

The gardens at St. Dunstan's
 in the East. 

Our second stop was The Church of St Dunstan (in the East). Originally built around 1100 it was severely damaged in 1666 by the Great Fire of London and again in the Blitz of 1941. Only Wren's tower and steeple survived the bombing. During the re-organization of the Anglican Church after World War II it was decided not to rebuild St Dunstan’s and in 1967 the City of London decided to turn the remains into a public garden, which opened in 1970. Dunstan worked as a silversmith while a monk at Glastonbury. As the story goes, he nailed a horseshoe

The single remaining
arched portal entrance
to London bridge

to the Devil's foot when he was asked to re-shoe the Devil's cloven hoof. This caused the Devil great pain, and Dunstan only agreed to remove the shoe and release the Devil after he promised never to enter a place where a horseshoe is over the door. This is claimed as the origin of the lucky horseshoe! Pilgrimages are times to tell stories - personal and otherwise. Recall Chaucer's Canterbury Tales. Many such stories (and legends) were shared by the of our times together.

Next, we walked along the Thames. As we walked, our leader regaled us with musical tales of ferrymen and maidens, lost love and medieval love redeemed, until we came to that most famous of places no longer there - London Bridge. 

Well, there is a London Bridge but it isn't the one of our nursery rhymes. The pilgrim stop was its tower gate, which still stands and is the portal entrance to St. Magnus Martyr Church. The story of St. Magnus of Orkney is too involved for this short blog, you can find it at the church's website. The history of the parish, however, is entwined with the history of the bridge and the river and is almost as long as the history of London itself. Like so many other churches in this area of London, St. Magnus Martyr was severely damaged by the Great Fire of London in September 1666. By the end of the fire only about one-fifth of London stood. Innumerable homes, civic buildings, churches, guild halls, and civic buildings had been destroyed or stood as mere shells. 

The next stop on our pilgrim way was the monument erected to this tragic event. Here, in the shadow of The Monument to the Great Fire of London at the junction of Monument Street and Fish Street Hill, 202 feet tall and 202 feet west of the spot in Pudding Lane where the Great Fire started. It was built on the site of St Margaret, New Fish Street, the first church to be destroyed by the Great Fire. Hayward led us in a four-part round of the nursery rhyme that Londoners have learned through the centuries:

London's burning, London's burning.
Fetch the engines, fetch the engines.
Fire fire, Fire Fire!
Pour on water, pour on water.   

Trekking on, we next stopped at St. Mary's Abchurch.

First mentioned in the late twelfth century, it was one of the many churched destroyed in the Great Fire. Rebuilt under the design of Sir Christpher Wren, the congregation sits beneath a great dome, leading one to feel great expanse in little space. Regrettably, the church was again damaged in the bombing raids of World War II but was yet again restored.  

 

With no time to waste, we moved on to our next pilgrim stop, St. Stephen's Walbrook. Again, an ancient site rebuilt from ashes of fire and war, one can see the increasing skill of Wren's design techniques in his use of space and light - all of which would culminate in his masterpiece, St. Paul's Cathedral. 

St. Stephen's is of particular note on our journey not only because of its long pedigree in the city of London and its architectural beauty and pedigree but also of its pastoral innovations. It was here that the Samaritans organization was founded to provide support to anyone in emotional distress, struggling to cope or at risk of suicide, throughout the U.K. and Ireland, often through its telephone helpline. The first telephone used in this work is displayed here. 

While in St. Stephen's, Guy tells a story in song taking advantage of the spectacular acoustics of the Wren design.  

And while the song gives us a moment of respite, we soon are again walking. This time now just a short way from a journey into the nether regions of time and history - into London's pre-Christian legacy in the London Mithraeum. Situated on the site of Bloomberg’s new European headquarters, we find ourselves in an ancient temple, found during the excavation to prepare the this building, and a series of contemporary art commissions responding to one of the UK’s most significant archaeological sites.

Soon enough we find ourselves in the shadow of Wren's masterpiece, St. Paul's Cathedral. This massive church is the first church built for purpose as a cathedral church after the Reformation, and so seeks to enshrine its theological principles within its architecture. Regrettably, we were not allowed to go in (that's another interesting story for another time) but one cannot help but be impressed by its mass and its design. You can almost see where Wren had been testing his ideas in designs like St, Mary's Abchurch and St. Stephen's, Walbrook. 

One of the best views of St. Paul's Cathedral, London

Onward! The pilgrims move on!

We make our way to our next destination, St. Bride's Church, Fleet Street. Guy takes us behind the church to a forbidden place (will we be scolded?) to touch an ancient tree whose roots descended deep into the soil to a well far below the surface. He tells us of ancient customs where water is drawn from such wells in olden times as good omens for the new year, for good harvests, for health, for fertility in the fields. This ancient tree stands as a
continuing sign of our connectedness to the earth in the midst of this concrete forest near a church dedicated to St. Bride (St. Brigid of Kidare). 

The Memorial to Missing Journalists

We eventually go around to the entrance of the beautiful interior to find a church dedicated to the art and craft of journalism and the proclamation of truth. (It IS Fleet Street, after all.) Of particular beauty and solemnity is a shrine dedicated to the memory of journalist dead or missing in the pursuit of truth throughout the world near the place where the sacrament is reserved, placing them under the watchful eye of the divine presence. "The journalist's church" St. Bride's is a place of prayerful remembrance and a continual witness to the importance of truth in a free and open society. 

A wayside stop toward our next destination takes us to the only known statue of Elizabeth I that was made during her lifetime. By this fact, we can have some assurance that it is a somewhat accurate portrayal since no medieval monarch ever allowed any unflattering or inaccurate portray to exist if they knew it existed. Also, it is placed at one of the spots where once of the many morality plays was performed on Elizabeth's own coronation progress to Westminster, so it is a totally appropriate stop for our pilgrim way. 

Ironically, at this same point we also have an homage to the deep English monarchy's deeply pagan mythological origins (yes, there is some). 

This is St. Dunstan's in the West. Not much is left of its facade as much of its entrance was lost with the expansion of Fleet Street. Once would miss it if it wasn't for the giant clock over which the giant figurines of Gog and Magog stand guard!

Effigies of knights buried
in Temple Church

Next we are invited in the sacred precincts of the Knights Templar. The Temple Church has a long and storied history extending back to the time of the Crusades. Its ideological roots extend deeply into the mystic origins of English mythos - Arthurian legends, chivalry, and more. Modeled on the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem, it holds a special place in the hearts and minds of the English nation. It is a thoroughly appropriate stop on our pilgrimage as we near its end. Appropriate, too, was our leader's invitation for us to gather under the circular dome under which many of the knights templar are buried to sing the unofficial national anthem of England, the hymn, Jerusalem. This we did. Even as an American, I could not help but be moved by its lyrics and its melody in that acoustically perfect and historically fraught setting. (We know the tune in the 1982 Hymnal as O Day of Peace, you may also recognize it as the choral piece sung so beautifully in the film Chariots of Fire, from which the film takes its name).

The day draws on. We are getting closer to our final destination. We move on from Temple Church to take a way stop at a point of interest - ancient Roman baths. Down an alley in the midst of King's College, London. an attendant of the Preservation Trust allows us in a small access point. It's damp. It's a small ante chamber then a small room with a rail and a brick pool - about two meters wide and four meters long and about a meter deep. The water is fairly still but is spring fed - it's cold. Guy is off in the corner singing again. This time about water, how water brings life, how water brings healing. As I took my moment to experience this (we've only a moment in groups of four or five), I am put in mind of the story of Jesus and the man at the pool of Bethesda. How the man waited for someone to lift him in. How the man wanted the healing water. The thoughts kept flooding over me as I waited quietly outdoors for the others and I thought of those in my life who need this healing. I prayed for them. Bring them healing waters, O Lord. bring them healing waters. I cried. 

We turned onto the Thames walkway and soon the towers of Westminster were in view. Our destination was in sight. Guy was concerned, though. It was late and the final preparations for the coronation were underway. We already knew we would not be admitted to the abbey since that had been closed for days. But they had begun shutting down the area around it. We all agreed to venture forth anyway. Let's see how far we would get. Onward!

The statue of
William Tyndale

Closer and closer. We walked. The sun, which had been absent most of the day emerged. An omen? Perhaps. As we drew closer, we realized there was now no vehicular traffic. But pedestrians were being allowed through. We were in luck. At least the Victoria Embankment Gardens were open. Onward! Past the statues of Prime Ministers. Past manicured gardens of the best of spring flowers. Plenty of people - staff and civilians alike. We were getting closer. We gathered at the end of the park. There we gathered to regroup once more. There I realized that among of the statues of great statesmen, the first in line of these great men was the figure of William Tyndale. He was not a statesman but a linguist who dared to translate the bible into English. He eventually suffered a martyr's death for his positions during the tumultuous and confusing times of the Reformation. He was first among these great ones.

Across another set of streets down Horse Guards Avenue toward Whitehall. We were getting closer. It was open. We could go to the abbey after all. There was much activity. Moving vans. Armed guards. Barricades. To the left were the buildings Parliament. We had made it.  St, Margaret's Church was before us. Just a bit farther. Soon, we saw the North entrance and the pilgrim's door. That's where we would have entered had we been allowed. But preparations were in their final phases and we knew we would not be able to go in. That will be for another day. For now, we know we had made the trek on which set out.  

We started at ten in the morning and now, at five thirty in the afternoon, we were at the gates of Westminster Abbey. We had trekked almost seven miles through the streets of London. 

We had visited churches and sites that had seen countless generations before us. We had touched stones touched by people that had lived a thousand years ago. We had connected ourselves with the earth, with water, with fire, with air. All of which have the power to heal and destroy. Most of all, we connected with one another starting as a group of strangers but now have the common bond of having walked miles with one another. We may not meet one another ever again, but in this, we will be forever connected.  

My "buddy" Elizabeth from Sydney
her daughter Maye from London
and me in front of Westminster Abbey.

For more pictures see my Facebook page. 

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