Monday, December 1, 2008

Cathedrals


Earlier tonight I attended a cathedral tour with some other people from Chad's college. It was led by the Dean of the University, who is also some sort of important priest (I don't recall his exact title). This wasn't the first time I've been in the Cathedral, but it was the first time I've had an actual tour. The first time I walked into the Durham Cathedral, I was overwhelmed with the similarities to the Bryn Athyn Cathedral; when they say it was modeled after Romanesque architecture they aren't kidding. Right down to the little relief arches down the sides, the tall stained glass at the back, and the circular stained glass at the front. Most of the columns are the same style (if bigger and more varied in the Durham cathedral), and the stone is the exact color and texture. This all washed over me again, as I walked for the third time into the beautiful cathedral. But soon, what also became starkly apparent were the differences.

It fascinates me, how to be involved in religion you must know history. The Dean in particular, though, portrayed an intense sense of awe at the legacy embodied within this place of worship. Not all of this legacy is nice - one of the first things he said was that both the Cathedral and the Castle (right next to it) were a way of saying "Hey Saxons, we're here, get used to it" (I'm paraphrasing, obviously), and was accompanied with intense violence, particularly in this part of England. Personally, I would (and do!) have trouble ascribing to a faith that has been the tool of oppression - but I find it inspiring when I see people acknowledging the dark side of their faith's past (or even present), and still hold it apart, as something to be salvaged, changed, and cherished. At the west end of the cathedral there is a line in the floor made of a darker marble. This was the line separating where women could go, and the main part of the monastery. The Dean talked about how when the monastery was transformed into a place for public worship, a woman would have crossed that line for the first time - and whether or not she new its significance, he likes to think of that moment. When the Anglican church allowed women to be ordained as priests, he thought of it as crossing that line; when and if (he hopes they do) ordain women as bishops, it will be the final crossing, and finally women will be fully included into the church structure. Another neat tidbit is that the bit of darker marble has fossils in it - and when we talk about all the people and cultures commemorated in the building, the oldest is the organisms in that stone; a "reminder that God's plan spans eons, and is not confined to the duration of the human species".

Also, speaking of where women could go, there is a small chapel behind the line, where services that women could attend were held. That, my friends, is where the Venerable Bede is entombed. Yes, that's right, the Venerable Bede.

Anyway. Back to the differences between the Durham Cathedral (built in the early 11th century) and the Bryn Athyn Cathedral (built in the early 20th century). There is the continuity of history, yes. The Bryn Athyn Cathedral does not have the stark contrast of elaborate later woodwork or victorian metalwork against the solid stone; Bryn Athyn seems more whole, in a way - simpler, not as much of a conglomeration - clearly it is not shaped by nearly the same weight of time. But also, in a way, it's more complex. I think the differences, for me, come down to differences regarding the separation of the sacred and the profane (and how those things are defined). It's strange to me to have memorials to bishops and saints and real people right in the cathedral. It's strange, but it's also quite beautiful. There's this one memorial that was put up earlier in this century, to the people who lost their lives in the mines "and those those toil in danger today" (or something like that). Apparently, people from all over county Durham (really a very big place) would travel to Durham city to worship in the cathedral, and pay their respects to the monument; they would bring their "brass bands and miner's banners", and listen to important political speakers in the square. As the Dean said, it shows us just how integral the mining industry was to this part of Northern England - not just economically, but as a very central and lethal challenge to the lives of everyday people. It also shows that they saw the cathedral as a symbol of hope or peace or political action, or at least a fitting place for remembrance. This particular memorial is also striking in that it's in the same style as those to influential bishops or priests, but it's to the everyday people of the congregation. It lists all the names of the people who died in the mines, in a book next to it. And it's in a church, a place of worship.

Along the same lines, we ended our tour at the shrine of St. Cuthbert. Cuthbert was brought here in 995, before the cathedral was built. In fact, a group of monks took him from Lindisfarne (to escape the danger of the invading Vikings) and carried him around for many years, until they decided that he wanted to stop and rest. Where they stopped, they built a cathedral - this cathedral isn't remaining, but it was on the same spot as the standing one (this first cathedral is also the one that stole St. Bede - his body - from the neighboring monastery where he grew up and spent most of his life. "Sacred theft," it's called). Around this cathedral, grew the city of Durham. According to the Dean St. Cuthbert was a great man, who valued simplicity and kindness. Our guide told us he likes to end his tours there, because it brings him back to why he's here, the "heart of Christian values: simplicity, responsibility to help our neighbor, and to worship God". And it's true - the space demands a quiet contemplation in a way not a lot of places do (although admittedly I'm called to quiet contemplation in rooms of old stuff - especially if they're religious in nature - perhaps more than most).

Also interestingly, as pointed out, although a Norman structure it houses "two of the greatest Saxons" - Bede and St. Cuthbert, one on either side of the cathedral. Again, having to do with the incorporation and representations of actual people within the religious sphere, in a place where there used to be nine altars (so the monks could all have mass every day or something) the congregation is erecting new altars, to female saints of the area (some - like St. Margaret - also Saxons). There is also religious artwork from local artists - some on the walls, some standing.

This focus on real people leaves me unsure what to think. In one way, it highlights how the Church can be misused - the throne of Bishop Hatfield, for example. Although well intentioned, I'm sure, it definitely calls your attention to how the bishops (cathedral apparently means 'seat of the bishop') were not just religious figures - they could call up armies, instate taxes, and were a leader in the local community for good or for ill. But on the other hand, no matter how much we'd like to believe that religion is a purely spiritual matter, it's always going to have a social aspect - is it better to just have it out there? On yet another hand (I can have three, right?), the honoring of people who still inspire others today, like the Bede or the miners, people who were generally kind and giving examples of how to live or reminders of atrocious and still relevant hardships, that appeals to me somehow. It seems grounded in a way I'm not used to. Again, maybe it's just the history thing, but I really like thinking that 'normal' people (albeit usually elite)are seen as worthy of being incorporated in the thoughts of people when they are worshiping and thinking about their creator and world. Every time people enter the cathedral, they are not also drawn upward by the sturdy architecture to think about transcendence and a sort of cosmic comfort (at least that's how I feel when I enter cathedrals), they are also reminded - almost on the sides of consciousness - that these principles are embodied in real people.

It's also interesting to me to wonder about how the Bryn Athyn Cathedral reflects it's unique context. And I'm not even just talking about Swedenborgianism (although that clearly is a huge factor), but also when and where it was built. I'd like to look into it more, if I had nearly that amount of energy and motivation. Also, I think the simplification and the sort of focusing of the Bryn Athyn cathedral is very evident of the goals of the builders and the religion - in order to get away from the sort of secular role of the church and outside influences (such as money or power) and focus instead on an internal journey toward a personal God. In the Durham Cathedral, there is no one focus. In the Bryn Athyn one, there is a very definite focus on the altar holding the bible, surrounded by the seven lamp stands. Does this also perhaps have to do with re-visiting the different symbolic aspects of the tabernacle, and redefining those spaces of holiness in order to sharpen focus? Also, although there's significantly less large focuses going on in the Bryn Athyn Cathedral, it's also in a strange way more complex. Because it was conceived all at one time, and for the New Church, everything symbolizes something. These symbols are in the forms of numbers and colors and shapes and animals. In the Durham cathedral they would have had grotesques, along with statues of Jesus and Mary and saints and things, but they were almost all fairly understandable and anthropomorphic (at least that's the sense I got from our relatively general tour).

(also, I doubt the Bryn Athyn cathedral would serve fancy snacks and three choices of wine after a tour - which is, by the way, my official excuse for any atrocious grammar...but that's besides the point)

Ok, one last thing: the way the subsequent history shapes our impressions of a prior history. Pretty standard, but it still always gets me. It's the same thing as Roman and Greek stuff - none of this white marble, they would have been gaudily painted. The Durham Cathedral was originally painted - most (if not all) cathedrals were. I have such a hard time fathoming this, as so much of what I think of when I think of cathedrals is the color and texture of the stone. Interestingly, and not quite related, a lot of damage occurred during the reformation. The bishop at the time right before trouble really came to Durham saw what the king was doing, so took the statues behind the main altar and hid them. He must have hid them well, as they are still hidden. It is one of the great mysteries of Durham Cathedral. I will leave you with that.

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