13 Blog Post 13, September 15, 2024 "Choirs of Angels"

Alistair and I pulled into the City of York, England, late and bad-tempered on Sunday afternoon. Our goal had been to make the Evening Prayer Service at York Minster, one of the largest Cathedrals in Northern Europe, dating to the 14th Century, but a slow-moving van in front of us for the final 30 miles of the drive slowed us way down. I tried to do that whole ‘sabbatical’ thing: “No worries! This is all part of the journey, right?” but even I wasn’t buying it. I was disappointed because this was our Sunday Service plan, attending an actual York Minster service with full choir.

We managed to park, use the parking app and galloped down the street, raincoats billowing behind us because of course it was also raining. But which direction to go in? Our trusty GPS has had some challenges navigating in a strange land, as I realized on my run the other day. So we headed off towards a medieval stone archway that looked promising and rushed through, and there was the Cathedral, constructed of cream-colored magnesian limestone that seemed to almost glow on this cloudy day-- but we were late—no time to appreciate something like beauty—and ran to the front of the Minster (which means large church), only to be directed to a side entrance. Running again, because we were now 15 minutes late—gasp!—we got to the South entrance and walked in. Another person gestured to us and suddenly we were in one of the most impressive and beautiful cathedrals in England, if not the world. A hush came over our hearts.

We were ushered to arguably two of the best seats in the choir area (or quire, to be correct), behind the rood screen, which separates the nave from the choir and sanctuary areas, just behind the centrally placed eagle of proclamation, where we could see the Men and Boys choir clearly, and in full view of the high altar. The place was packed because it was a service of Commemoration of the Battle of Britain in the WWII. While we’d missed the opening parts of the service, we heard the readings, all led by dignitaries such as the Chaplain of the R.A.F (Royal Air Force) and the “Right Honourable Lord Mayor of York, Councillor Margaret Wells” (basically the Mayor with a much fancier title and a very impressive outfit to go along with that title that includes a staff, a three-pointed velvet hat, a ruffled frontispiece and a flowing robe decorated with honors.)

But for me, it was the choir that stilled my heart and let me breathe deeply. If you have not heard a professional choir in the Anglican tradition, these voices are pure, precise, clear and they harmonize and play against one another in ways that blend beauty and prayer seamlessly. I know, not everyone loves choir music, but I really do. (Tom Bell—I was thinking of you!!) They sang a muscular Magnificat (Song of Mary) and much of the service was sung, but it was the familiar “I Vow to Thee, My Country” that chilled my heart. For those who watched Princess Diana’s funeral, this hymn was a centerpiece, and it speaks of a love for an earthly country that is pale beside the love for ‘another country’ which is, of course, heaven. Britain is clear about their allegiance to country and king, but they always point that love towards heaven as they worship.
We also sat right across from the high pulpit in the choir area so we could clearly see and hear the preacher.

Alistair was singing each song in full voice, clearly pleased to be in the position of supporting the commemoration of his country, but I was careful to sing only those hymns that I could rightly sing. When it came to the National Anthem, “God Save Our Gracious King”, I remained silent and watched as almost everyone in the gathered space sang it by heart, without glancing at the words.

Cadets, soldiers, tourists, residents, politicians, children—one woman swayed with her baby in the back of the choir area throughout the service—local residents and people from far away, like me, we worshiped together on a rainy Sunday afternoon in a city where I had never been, and yet where I was welcomed into the body of Christ as part of the church family, if only for an hour.
In fact, we plan to go back today, Monday, for the noontime Eucharist. Afterward we’ll walk the walls of the fortified city that date back mostly to the Middle Ages, but which were originally constructed by the Romans in 71 AD. My attempt this morning to get out early to run the wall, which is permitted, were foiled by challenges figuring out the washing machine/dryer combo in our Airbnb. I’ll try again later.

Today is absolutely cloudless (although raincoats are in the backpack!) and nearly 65 degrees—so warm! My hope is also to have high tea at Betty’s Tea Room, one of the best known places in York to have tea, scones, pastries and the all-too-delicious clotted cream.

The nourishment today is multi-layered. I realize that we got our wonderful seats precisely because we were late, so we can be oddly grateful to the rodent-prevention van in front of us on the way. Sometimes frustrating things happen the way they are supposed to for our benefit—sometimes—and this was one of those times.
I realize that worship is essential for me, but I have no need to be the person in charge. I simply need to be fully present to God’s spirit in the gathered Body of Christ and appreciate the ‘meal’ that is being offered.

I realize that traveling requires so much flexibility, and it would be best if our attitudes were flexible as well.

What I did not write about today is another Cathedral we also visited yesterday—Newcastle Cathedral—which was less architecturally beautiful but which had some of the most visible and committed social justice programs I have ever witnessed in a Cathedral. I pray that our own Cathedral might understand the importance of this kind of commitment. So I’ll post some pictures below of what I saw in Newcastle as well.

Be nourished this day and work hard to nourish your neighbor.