A Sacred Stone Edifice

In 2014 I walked into my first cathedral. It was my first trip overseas and I had no idea how impressive a cathedral could be, or how much crossing its threshold would affect me. I wasn’t prepared for how deeply I’d feel the impact of this sacred space.

Without much forethought I found myself standing inside St. Paul’s Cathedral in London. This iconic landmark is a treasure of historical significance. It’s where, in 1897, Queen Victoria celebrated her Diamond Jubilee, and where, in 1940, its survival through the Blitz emboldened a whole nation bombarded by war. It’s where, in 1965, the world gathered to mourn the great statesman, Winston Churchill. And in 1980, where Lady Di married Prince Charles, another world-gathering event which I watched on a very small TV across the very big pond.

To me, St. Paul’s is the most beautiful cathedral in England. It was originally built in 604, destroyed in the Great Fire of London in 1666, and then meticulously rebuilt by the English architect and mathematician Christopher Wren beginning in 1668.

What I was totally unprepared for on that early fall day was the fact that every element of the cathedral’s perfectly symmetrical design carries spiritual symbolism. It’s not an exaggeration to say I was blown away - totally awe-struck, speechless even - by Wren’s genius and the spiritual substance of St. Paul’s.

I remember standing on its cool tile floor, looking up into the massive dome. The beauty was stunning, yes, but it was the weight of St. Paul’s history that held me in place, preventing me from wandering through its halls like so many bored tourists (of whom I saw more than a few).

Woven into the fabric of the cathedral were centuries of worship - church rites, hymns, and preaching. I felt its spiritual history lingering in the air: the footsteps and prayers of pilgrims and parishioners; saints and sinners; teachers and tourists. It felt holy. It seemed other-worldly.

That day I learned that many cathedrals in England took centuries to build. Generations of craftsmen - stone masons, carpenters, sculptors, painters, and blacksmiths - devoted their lives to an endeavor they knew they’d never see completed. Standing there I could almost hear their legacy echoing through the walls: Stay. Linger. Listen.

And I did. Standing in this place allowed me to hear the sacred. The quire’s “moving” ceiling, with its 600 million pieces of glittering glass catching the light as if it were riding a wave, proclaimed the ancient Biblical stories in grand detail. The pieces of glass shimmered with anticipatory delight.

It reminded me that I am, too, a temple of God’s Spirit moving in me through millions of pieces of brokenness, proclaiming a personal story of God’s redeeming love. In that particular quire, the presence of God felt tangible. My speechless worship seemed to reverberate off every surface. Everywhere I looked, I saw light and joy moving through the space, catching me up in its beauty.

I stayed for evensong - a beautiful, intriguing blend of prayers, choral music, and poetic Scripture reading - and I felt connected to something far larger than myself. I sensed the hallowed weight of centures of spiritual life there.

This past Sunday - 11 years almost to the day after that experience in St. Paul’s - I felt something similar. Not in London, but in my hometown. Not in a cathedral, but in a church building just two decades old. And yet, it still felt holy. It seemed other-worldly.

For the first time in a long time, a church service felt like coming home. For the first time in two years, I sang with my whole heart. For the first time in what seemed like forever, I was able to sit and receive something bigger than my hurt.

I was able to see that the Lord has been faithfully working in my own cathedral-heart these past two years. The Master Craftsman has been chiseling and reforming my heart of stone into (what I hope will eventually be) a cathedral of His grace and mercy. After a long season of internal reconstruction, I feel joy bouncing off this ol’ cathedral-heart of mine.

All that glitters is not gold. Sometimes it’s spiritual renewal.

The Stone Edifice Calls
     The stone edifice
     calls to each visitor: stay,
     linger and listen.
     Most only hear the
     echoing footsteps of lives
     hardened by time's woe
     as they wander through
     dim corridors, failing to
     see grace still lives there.
     But I hear - and see -
     joy bouncing off ancient stone
     walls, ceilings, columns:
     a symphony of
     history and drama, a-
     wakening my soul.
     God's Spirit still speaks
     in this place where hearts submit,
     inviting holy
     wonder.