Sunday, September 28, 2008

A Pilgrimage: From Grantham through London to Canterbury

What does it mean to Pilgrimage? Is this a medieval phenomenon that cannot be repeated by those of us that go today? Is it negated by not slowly going on foot from one place to a distant other? I am not sure, but I do know that I found myself making my own pilgrimage, in mine own way. And God met me there.

So. The start of this wonderful journey began with a rail trip to London on Friday morning, September 19th, where I was able to make it into the most phenomenal performance of A Midsummer Night's Dream that I have ever seen--and it was in the Globe Theatre. It was definitely lucky. The show was already all sold out, but since tickets are often returned, I waited in line and eventually gained the second to last ticket available. It was amazing. The changes between the fairy world and the waking one was done so well, and the play within the play impressed me most of all. I loved how well that part was done and how the rest of the characters became part of the audience so easily. It was... magical.

Afterward, my friend Emily and I went to a quaint, old bookstore. While I was there, I absolutely fell in love with a book of short stories by Rudyard Kipling published in '72. I also found a good deal on a three-in-one star wars book, so I had to take it, thus beginning the small library that I put together over the course of the weekend. I've realized that my love of books has stronger pull over me than I over it....

Anyway, after dinner and a nice theological conversation with my friend, we eventually made it to the hostel where we spent both evenings on the trip. It was not exactly my favorite place ever, but I had a bed and got to sleep, despite some confusion of which bed was mine.

So, the next morning I began the final stage of my pilgrimage. We hopped onto the first train into West Canterbury station and sat back for a fairly long trip, on which I was thankful to have just bought my new star wars book. So, once we finally arrived, I stood out on that street and was just overwhelmed with thought. I was standing in the town where Thomas Becket was martyred, the place of perhaps the most amazing story of dedication to the church that I have heard.

Soon after stopping by Costa Coffee to grab a muffin and some hot chocolate, we made it to Canterbury Cathedral, and split up pretty much immediately. The moment I walked into the cathedral complex, I found myself standing there in awe staring at it. In so many ways it could have been considered just another cathedral in another town, but there was just something about it. Each one speaks to me. In this one, through this one, God spoke to me. Clearly. I cannot describe it, and it left me at a loss for words even then. I lit three different candles, one at each of the places available. One in the area where Thomas Becket fell, one in the crypt, and one at the end of the nave where his shrine once stood. God was there. I met him in a cathedral, a huge monument standing for His glory. Oh yes, I also bought a copy of the Canterbury Tales at the shop within, finding myself unable to resist its pull.

From there, I alone then went to the remains of the Augustinian Monastery, another amazing place. Likely the birthplace of Christianity and England, and consequently for America, this monastery is the place that At. Augustine established while on his missionary journey to Britain. It was an absolutely beautiful day, and the moment I got there, I just wanted to sit and relax, drinking in the sun, the wind, and the area. I felt like the area was exuding peace, saturated in it. The couple of hours or so I spent there was far too short for so wonderful a place. I drank in the remains of the cathedral, the crypt, the cloister, and the chapter house. I turned my back on the place and left regretfully. It was wonderful.

Yet again, another two and a half hour train ride back to London and then a quick stop for dinner, we made it back to the hostel for the evening. Unfortunately, our morning plans were dashed. We made it to Westminster just in time for the eleven O'clock service, and just in time to hear that they were having a special service in honor of those that served for the military. So, we continued onward to Trafalgar Square, and though it was initially closed, we walked around and returned to Waterstone's Bookstore.

After grabbing a quick, inexpensive meal at Costa inside, I made my exit toward the National Gallery, but not before grabbing a copy of Brisingr, the third book in the Inheritance Cycle by Christopher Paolini, for an amazing price. The National Gallery was amazing--I got to see so many pictures by so many artists that I cannot begin to number them. I saw works by Constable, Monet, Manet, Van Gogh, and Turner, only to mention a few of my favorites. I escaped with only a couple of prints dangling at my side, as I turned to make it home. It was a good trip.

I completed a pilgrimage to a place that so often received pilgrims in the past. I left a piece of me in that place, but I feel like I brought back within me something so much more.

Pictures:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2039228&l=5b1b0&id=50403476
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2039229&l=b6940&id=50403476

1 comment:

Kindall said...

I feel like everything you've described is everything I've been reading about this semester. I'm just super jealous that you get to experience it in real life, and I just flippin' read Chaucer. :)

Asking for time to decipher the signs...

What is there to know? I'm just another guy trying to figure out what it means to truly love, to truly live, to embrace life to the fullest. If I ever get some answers, I'll let you know. "So live on, / Breathing in every sigh / Hurt and joy / Truly living life to its fullness / Leaving no dream unturned / Or unfulfilled / Live on / Life awaits" -excerpt from "Nostalgia" by me.