When I have the pleasure of being in a cathedral, I am amazed at the spiritual profundity of the experience. The patina of holiness is expected in the cathedrals of Europe. Washington, DC has its own cathedral, which although a newcomer to the cathedral business (being built in the 20th century) has much the same effect upon me as the great cathedrals of Europe.
This revelation came to me during two recent visits of my sister-in-law, Beth, who is an Episcopal priest, when she requested that we accompany her to worship at the National Cathedral. It was a profound experience.
This past Sunday, I woke up with the intention of going to the National Cathedral for church again, and Eric opted into my plans. Due to logistical problems with our departure from our house, we walked into church just as the processional was starting, and squeaked into a back row. Happily, this gave us a more comprehensive view of the congregation and the nave.
There is a lot of diversity among attendees of the National Cathedral's services, often including tour groups visiting from out of town. This Sunday a group of five people were seated a few rows ahead of us. They seemed to be related, all adults, ranging in age from their 20s to senior citizens. During the hymns, they would raise their hands in old-school charismatic style, and they joined hands during the Lord's prayer. Observing the relationships of those seated ahead of me deepened my own feelings of fellowship as we passed the peace, and progressed through the liturgy.
I was not too concerned with following the liturgy closely, or even singing during all the hymns. I was trying to soak up whatever it was I was feeling in this place. During my youth, we made much of such statements as "The Church is not a building," or "Saying you're a Christian because you attend church is like saying you are a car because you spend time in a garage." Yes, the Church is the people - but bypassing the entire question of what makes one a "Christian," I will say that there are places - buildings - that are the abode of holiness, dedicated to the glory of God. Walking into such a place, even when services are not going on, one feels the mystery of God's presence. I won't try to explain this capital-M "Mystery".
After the service, I wandered about the sanctuary, looking at the stained glass windows, and observing the way the light flowed through them, illuminating the stone walls and the floor. I was entranced, not by looking at the windows themselves, but at how the light transformed other objects.
Light is merely light. According to my junior high school science teacher, one cannot see light, until it hits a physical object which reflects it. Rays of light are merely light hitting dust motes or water vapor, because for light to be manifested, it needs to strike a physical object. In the case of these divinely inspired windows, the light is manifested by whatever else it falls upon.
Stone gray walls dance in a riot of color, Window frames are illuminated in gold. The aisles running the length of the nave become a journey from one window to another, from glory to glory.
No comments:
Post a Comment