London: day twenty-five

Before walking a block to the prestigious St. Paul’s Cathedral, Hannah and I stopped briefly at another church which was right across from the Tube station exit. This small church was one of the many buildings that had been destroyed during the London Blitz. Unfortunately the church (Christ Church Greyfriars) had been directly hit by one of the bombs dropped and was immediately destroyed by the explosion and resulting fire. Today, the hollowed out shell of the church has been left as a monument, and a garden has been planted inside to indicate where the pews used to stand. Only the west wall and the north wall are moderately intact, only a small portion of the south, and none of the eastern wall remains. What walls are left, have been scorched black as a result of the explosion. Definitely a sobering reminder of the type of destruction inflicted upon this city during WWII, and it really makes one marvel at just how defiant one little island was; standing up and holding their own against the Nazi war machine, never relenting and never giving in.

looking toward the altar (under canopy) while standing underneath the dome
Not my picture

After marveling at this piece of history for a while, Hannah and I then made our way to St. Paul’s Cathedral. Because I had already taken pictures of the outside on a previous bus tour, I did not take any today, and unfortunately there were no pictures allowed from the inside. But believe me, even though the outside is breathtaking; the inside renders one completely breathless. The marble floor seems to stretch on forever while the massive columns, which are big enough to make an elephant’s feet look daintily small, support a huge dome structure that towers high above. Incredibly beautiful and intricately carved monuments and wall plaques adorn the walls and many of the Cathedral’s corners. Immediately before the great west doors is a gigantic baptismal font carved from blue-veined marble, symbolizing the beginning of the Christian journey.

looking up at the dome (not my picture)

As true of most Cathedrals, the floor-plan is laid out in the shape of the cross, at the intersection is where the dome suddenly opens up the ceiling to an entirely new, dizzying height; decorated with marble sculptures and paintings. To the left and right are two shorter wings, each decorated with more statues and plaques, and the left wing houses a small private worship chapel that is decorated by a painting of Christ walking at night with a lantern, knocking on a closed, wooden door that does not have a handle on the outside – symbolizing that Christ may only enter into the darkness of our lives, and therein bring us light, only when we allow him in, opening the door from the inside and inviting him in. A moon and stars which decorate the lantern he holds represent the various other religions of the world, that faith is universal and comes in many different forms, but still, faith is only beneficial when one has an open heart. I found this image particularly striking, and it marked a musing that lasted throughout the rest of our time there. I am not so certain that my heart has been “open” for quite a long time. I find myself severely questioning whether or not I can believe in and trust God. I want to believe. But lately, I have been having a very difficult time not being a completely pessimistic cynic whenever I hear a sermon. I walk into a church ready to analyze the words being said, and I am on edge waiting for something offensive or degrading, or to find something I don’t believe was approached in the proper academic way. I question everything, and now I don’t know what to believe. Additionally, the inner struggles I have are growing increasingly worse the older I get, and it is getting harder to fight this war that seems to always be raging in my mind – so to let anything or anyone “in” has been extraordinarily difficult lately – even God – because every truth I hear, a thousand lies are whispered into my ear. I know life is incredibly fluid, I’ve seem things change that I thought were rock solid, and I am afraid that my faith is going to join the list of many things which have changed and then shifted out from under my feet. Or that I will change so much that I am the one who shifts away – which I feel, is possibly happening. The confidence I had in my faith seems to have had holes shot through it. I want to open that door in my heart, but I am not so certain I can anymore. I feel like I am trying to reach the door, answer the knocking, but there is something inside with me, and it is holding me back, keeping me pinned to the floor, and I haven’t been able to overpower it yet.

"Light of the World"
(not my picture)

The east corridor which houses the altar, the organ and the choir banisters is even more ornately decorated than anything seen previous. The entire ceiling is covered in sparkling mosaics, and the white marble altar stands beneath a carved canopy which features a statue of a victorious Christ at the top. Everything is trimmed in gold, marble, mosaic, and paintings. More monuments decorate the walls and floor.

When we felt as though we had sufficiently seen all the monuments and gotten a good look at the dome, we then entered the staircase and began to make our way up to the “whispering gallery.” We wound our way up the spiral staircase until we were out of breath, dizzy and our legs were burning before we made it to the balcony which stretched around the inside of the dome (at the level of the ceiling  and at the very base of the dome). Here, it is possible for someone to whisper against the wall, and for someone sitting on the other side of the dome to hear them perfectly clear. It was an incredible trick. From there, we went up some more stairs before being able to go to the lower outside balcony, also known as the "stone gallery". The wind was gusting so hard that I had to keep my hat in hand or lose it over the banister. London stretched into the distance, beyond sight, eventually fading into the grey of the sky and rain. The city is extensive. It is incredible how huge it is, you really get an idea of it for the first time when you are towering above its skyline. In all directions, there is nothing but city. Perhaps a little to the north, one could see the start of the countryside’s rolling hills, but even then, they were still sufficiently freckled with concrete buildings. Ducking back inside, we went up an even narrower spiral staircase which made us even dizzier, and which grew claustrophobically tight – even I had to duck at one point. This led us to the upper outside balcony, or the "golden gallery". This balcony gave an even better idea of how big London is. We towered over the Thames, the London Eye, the buildings of the City, and were pretty paired up with the Shard across the river (though the Shard is most definitely the tallest building in London). Unfortunately, shortly upon arriving at this upmost balcony, my camera battery died – but Hannah was able to procure enough pictures for us both. 

view from the Golden Gallery

The journey back down form this sickening height was even more disorienting than the first. The downward descent if faster, thus one grows very, very dizzy very quickly as one goes down the tight a narrow spiral staircase. Additionally, we were quite cold – fingers absolutely pink due to the biting wind. Seeking warmth, once we reached the bottom, we descended further into the crypt where in addition to the tombs, there is also the café. So we sat for a bit with a bite to eat and hot chocolate, getting warm, before we then toured the crypts. Buried in St. Paul’s Cathedral are innumerable national heroes and important persons. Central to the whole thing is the tomb of Admiral Lord Nelson which is set upon a high pedestal and commands the most attention of any other tomb. Coming in second though is the tomb of the Duke of Wellington, which, while more humbly decorated, does match Nelson’s tomb in size and height. Most of the names, I did not recognize, not being fluent in British culture. But it was really interesting to listen to the audio tour and learn a thing or two about some of these influential people; war heroes, politicians, scientists, musicians, artists, writers (Lord Byron being one, did recognize that name), architects, and so on.

After completing the tour, we walked down a block and spent a brief amount of time looking through the London Museum. We saw artifacts and bones from prehistoric people and animals up through Roman times. There was even a Mammoth jawbone. From this museum, one can also see a segment of the old London Wall that was destroyed in the fire that wiped out much of the city. We did not spend long here however, because at 5:00 we made our way back to St. Paul’s to attend the “Evensong” which occurs every evening and is a brief lesson (just ready from scripture, not really a whole sermon), as well as performances by the boys choir (consisting of the boys who attend the school there). The sound was indescribable. Those voices echoing through the corridors and rising to the top of the dome, really did sound, well, heavenly. They were no more than kids, but my God, they could sing. I just sat and listened, sometimes head bowed with eyes shut, sometimes peering up to the glittering gold and mosaic ceiling. And in that moment, I could not blame people for feeling such a strong connection to God in a place like this – it is hard not to feel as though there is something entirely ethereal about it. Even though it is probably true that God works more miracles outside the walls of ornate churches like this, a building so majestic when filled with such a sound of heavenly music that pierces to the heart, it makes it easier to believe in God in a way. Something greater and bigger, and stronger, and more beautiful than us seems more possible. And I again thought about my own doubts, a little bitterly. I imagined what it would be like to be in the cathedral in the dark, kneeling alone on the cold marble floor before the altar, fearing the dark corners, vast emptiness, and trying not to think about the dead underneath the floor. In some ways, it is a scene like this that I have imagined when feeling most mentally isolated. I am trying to reach out to God, I am trying to believe, and am praying with everything I have. But it is hard not to ignore the vast and frightening empty darkness that shrouds my soul on many occasions. I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know what to feel. And I am massively lost.

view from Stone Gallery

One of the things that hit me when the priest was reading, was when he said “…and love thy neighbor as thyself” – reading from Leviticus. But what happens when the problem is the other way around - that you cannot love yourself as you love your neighbor? What then? When the encouragement that others pass to you falls upon deaf ears and gestures of love and care are rejected as lies by the thing living inside your mind. You give all you have to others, and admire their grace, faith, hope, and love; giving everything to ensure that none other knows what it is like to be in your position and wishing you knew how to find peace within yourself. Worship songs feel flat and unrelatable because you don’t feel any of the things being sung about, sermons are regarded with academic skepticism and you can’t remember the last time that something just “felt right and true,” and the interactions of the congregation seem rehearsed and shallow; everyone pretending as though they know they are undoubtedly “saved” and that they have the qualifications to intervene on your behalf and tell you what they think is right; “well, I don’t know about that…” or “Keep trusting God, you’re His child and He’s looking out for you…” or “God has great things in store for you, I just know it!”  Come on, none of those things are certain, and they come across as flat and condescending in the face of real and present pain, NOW. Don’t tell me He has great things in store for me when I don’t even know if I have a future; so much is uncertain and the lights could go out at any second, I can’t wait around forever. Don’t tell me to keep “clinging” to God and His word when it doesn’t feel as though anything is tangible anymore. And don’t shoot down my words when I am honest enough to express them, that takes a lot, and I am already all too aware that I don’t fit in, that I don’t fit into the church community because, there, so much of who I am is looked upon as being sinful or in need of being changed, healed or fixed. I know I don’t fit in.

 I cannot change myself. I can’t change that I hate worship music and love hard rock because I find it significantly more relatable in my soul than any worship music out there. I can’t change that I have tattoos and that I love them (I feel like they are quite spiritual to me because I am infusing my inner self with the outer by means of art) even though they see it as “defiling God’s temple” and plead with me to not get them, saying “You’ll regret it” and “Why would you want to do that? You’re beautiful already,” – saying these things even though their opinion wasn’t asked for and before they even asked me about my beliefs on it. I can’t change that my family don’t consider themselves Christian and I wasn’t raised Christian but, honestly, I am glad I didn’t grow up in the church because I am damn proud of my family and history, even if the others look at me with pitying looks obviously thinking that my family is going to hell and feeling sorry for me. I can’t change that I love people of all kinds – different religions, orientations, races, etc. – and that I don’t think anyone is utterly damned, and yet, from those whom are supposed to be the most forgiving, loving and unconditionally accepting, I have heard some of the most appalling and staggering expressions of hatred, intolerance and judgment. I can’t change that my biology and the inner struggles I have make it hard for me to find peace and hope and to feel faith, I’m seen as broken and sometimes even as “sick,” but frankly, this is who I am and I really have a hard time believing that I can be or want to be completely separated from my afflictions because by now, they are so infused into my identity that without them, I wouldn’t be myself anymore. Additionally, I wouldn’t have the compassion, power of empathy, humility, insight, and attention that it causes in me.

Frankly, I’m tired of church. It’s why I haven’t gone in a long time. The only community I’ve been able to stand is Lighthouse, any of my other churches have made me feel like nothing more than a damned outcast who isn’t capable of fitting in and thus is incapable of entering heaven. Frankly, though, I have come across some people in the church that make me think, “if God is the way you say He is, and if I am supposed to act like you in order to get into Heaven, then PLEASE just send me to hell now.”

I am tired of arguing, of defending, of trying not to offend; it’s part of the reason I have enjoyed being in such a secular city so much, because as I said before, nobody cares. Similarly, it was refreshing to sit through a church service where there wasn’t actually any preaching – just reading scripture and singing, no opinions, no citing the bible as you try to prove a point, no analyzing the message. Nothing more than allowing one to sit quietly in the presence of God; no words necessary. It was probably one of the most spiritual experiences I’ve had in a long time.

Afterward, Hannah and I split a pizza before heading in for the night. And I’ve been sitting here for much longer than I expected to be, working on this long-ass post. Don’t know if anyone will actually read it all the way through and reach this point; but gold star for you if you have ;)