Holy Ground, Part Two

One of the truly  energizing experiences during my 2012 sabbatical has been the discovery of holy ground.  Often, we only think of officially sanctioned places and times—church buildings, Sunday morning worship, and so forth.  Those are included on my list, but they’ve been other, sometimes surprising places, that have made my list:

The chapel at Iona Abbey, Scotland (especially the north choir, front row, just to the right of center).

Castlerigg Stone Circle in the Lake District, UK—a prehistoric stone circle.

Pheasant Branch Conservancy, Middleton.

Fingal’s Cave, Island of Staffa, Scotland.

The oratory at Holy Wisdom Monastery, Middleton.

Driving west in my car last week, watching the sun set.

The top of Sheepstor in the Peak District, UK.

In a shady cemetery just yesterday, standing next to the graves of long-lost (and now found) relatives.

The ruined abbey church at Lanercost Priory, UK.

The White Cliffs of Dover.

The top of Tor I’, the highest point on the island of Iona.

The sandstone cliffs along Mirror Lake and the Kickapoo River.

One of the important rediscoveries of my sabbatical has been the importance of these non-traditional holy places for me.  It’s only too easy to get sucked dry by the demands of each day.  Each of these places has been like refreshing rain for my soul.  And it’s the reminder that holy ground can be anywhere, with anyone.  Fresh winds of the Spirit may blow in the most unlikely of places.

Less than three weeks remaining until I return to work.  I’m feeling renewed and refreshed, ready to hit the ground running.  But these holy places will continue to be a part of me and a source of life as I moved forward.

“We are standing on holy ground . . .”

Holy Ground, Part One

By my informal count, I visited 28 churches during my seven weeks in the United Kingdom.  This included 17 cathedrals, 8 parish churches, and 3 chapels.  I am, after all, a real “church geek,” as well as a big fan of architecture.

There were, of course, many similarities between the churches, especially the medieval cathedrals.  But there was quite a bit of diversity as well, not only in their design but also in their purpose.  Some were meant to be displays of power.  Kings and prince bishops wanted to show their subjects who was in charge.  Others were built to be bigger and better than someone else’s.  Salisbury Cathedral’s steeple is the tallest in England—so tall, in fact, that the stone pillars that supported it began to bend!  The building had to be reinforced in order to support the weight.  Still others were built to be “tourist attractions.”  They were pilgrimage sites, attracting thousands of people each year to view and venerate some saint’s relics (and leave behind a few coins for the upkeep of the church and its religious community).

But the most compelling purpose came to light when we learned that most of the cathedrals began their lives as monastery chapels.  They weren’t built large because large congregations worshiped in them.   Their congregation of monks never numbered more than a few dozen.  They weren’t built for any such practical purpose.  They were built large in order to provide a visible reminder of the grandeur and glory of God.

Few people think that way anymore.  We think functionally, practically.  What good is an extravagantly built, overly large building?  It only makes it cost more.  But that wasn’t the attitude of the medieval builders and craftspeople.  They invested their resources to produce a building that would instill a sense of awe and wonder, that would itself be an act of worship.

Each building had its own appeal.  For sheer impact, none of them could top Durham Cathedral.  Its setting—on top of a hill, inside a bend in the River Wear—is most impressive.  You approach across a large grassy courtyard, allowing you to see its full size.  Inside, the massive decorated piers that support the roof draw your eyes upward.  The long, open nave draws your eyes down the length of the church to the high altar and the rose window beyond.  The view of the tower at the crossing was likewise impressive. 

But the one feature at Durham that most impressed me, unique among all the churches we visited, was the lectern.  All the other cathedrals we visited had eagle lecterns.  The Bible or other books would be laid upon the eagle’s outstretched wings.  There is certainly religious precedent for using eagles (“But those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength.  They shall mount up with wings like eagles.” (Isaiah 40:31). 

But eagles are also symbols of power—royal power, ecclesiastical power, even military power—something evident in the many military chapels and monuments in the cathedrals.

But at Durham, the lectern depicted something else altogether.  There, the Bible would be laid upon the outstretched wings of a pelican, shown pecking her breast in order to feed her young with her own blood.  It’s a symbol of self-giving love, of Jesus Christ, of the life he made possible by giving up his own.  Not a symbol of power, but of self-giving love.  It shall be something I always hold dear.

While we certainly walked on holy ground while visiting cathedrals, we discovered holy ground in some unexpected places.  More on that in Part Two.