Cathedrals and Chapels

I really like cathedrals, and every chance I get—-whether in Covington, KY, in the Big Apple, or in Winchester, England—I get myself inside one. Having recently read Ken Follet’s two epic-sized novels (The Pillars of the Earth and World without End), I'm reminded that pilgrimaging to and worshipping in great cathedrals (my favorite is Salisbury) is a provocative metaphor for what we do in prayer and worship--even when we're not in one of those magnificent homes of God.

Let me develop the metaphor. As you know, the great nave of a cathedral is where we gather together for Eucharists and Daily Offices. Here, week upon week, day after day, we present ourselves before the Most Holy Trinity. In the nave we listen to God’s word in the reading of Scripture and in the sermons and homilies of pastors and priests. During the Liturgy we confess our sins, receive absolution, and gather at the Table to welcome the continuing incarnation of our Lord as he shares himself intimately within His meal. We sing, listen to choirs, enjoy music, chant psalms, make gestures with our bodies, kneel, bow our heads at the name of Jesus, and bless ourselves with the sign of the Cross. We do this Sunday after Sunday and on special days, like Christmas, Epiphany, Ash Wednesday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday, Easter, Pentecost, and the Feast of Christ the King (the last Sunday of the church year). Then, dismissed in peace, we go out into the world to serve the Lord, especially among the poor, the imprisoned, all who are marginalized, the lonely, the depressed, the angry, the forelorn, the sick, the dispossesed; in short, to serve anyone who has a need for healing and mercy. And while we're at it, we try to promote justice and speak Truth to the Powers.

The great nave of a cathedral (and of any church, for that matter) is the sacred space wherein we live much of our Christian lives, especially the critical events of life: holy baptism, confirmation, marriage, ordination, anniversaries, healing, absolution, among others. Situated in the center of a village, town, or city, the cathedral represents the center of all living, whether that be in family, education, politics, neighborhood service, one’s vocation, or leisure activities. As Christians, we are never too far away not to be aware of the cathedral spire and the bells reminding us where the Jesus is to be: at the center of our lives.

The great room or nave of the cathedral reminds us that our great room of our life is for God. In addition to the nave, most cathedrals also have extra rooms located here and there off the transcepts and down in the undercroft. Around the apse of bigger and larger cathedrals you’ll often find small chapels, sometimes known as “Lady Chapels,” that is, smaller places for smaller (though no less important) times of prayer and worship.

When June and I were in Ireland and Scotland with our friends, the Smileys and Rogows, last May, now and then we found ourselves in such smaller chapels. On May 14, we found ourselves in one memorable chapel, that within St. Patrick’s Anglican Cathedral near Armaugh, Ireland. The cathedral itself was beautiful, but equally so was the chapel where the six of us with a priest and deacon celebrated a Morning Eucharist. Such a chapel was small enough, just right in size, to accommodate us, to help us create a good sense of community, to help us not feel so overwhelmed by the great nave of the cathedral.

All of us need, in addition to the Great Room, something akin to chapels, little spaces where alone or within a small group may go for prayer and fellowship. For me, Morning and Evening Prayers are those “chapels” that provide the small shelters in which that God helps me manage the day to his glory.

Cathedral chapels are often dedicated to various saints: to the Blessed Virgin Mary, to St. Francis of Assisi, to Julian of Norwich, and others. Each in its own way emphasizes a certain sort of spiritual welcome. A chapel dedicated to the memory of St. John of the Cross places an emphasis on silence and contemplative prayer; a chapel marked with the spirit of St. Francis lends itself to considerations of the natural world and the great variety of life among birds and animals God has created; a chapel honoring the witness of Dietrich Bonhoeffer underscores the sometime awesome necessity of martyrdom as Truth speaks to Power.

Perhaps you would like to think about and consider the sort of “chapel” you are building to house your spiritual life. My own chapel tends, as best I imagine its floor and walls, to look like a quiet cell of the fourth-century desert Abbas and Ammas; it’s door is open primarily in the pre-dawn morning when God invites me to sit with him in the Great Silence. There God meets me, as spiritually naked as I can be, coming to Him without words, simply being still in the spirit of Psalm 131. That’s not to say that I don’t visit other chapels and enjoy their beauty and company. I certainly do! But for me the Holy Spirit has kindly fashioned a small room, a bit off from the nave so that I may enter the austerity of near absolute Quiet, a good chapel for my needs, my history, my temperament, my sensitivities.

I hope the same Spirit is fashioning a chapel for you, a spirituality that heals your hurts and strengthens your passions to His service. May God bless the building of that chapel, the next room down from the Great Room.