Westminster Cathedral, London
It is so very easy to get caught up in the heady experiences of self-importance when living out an ultimate dream. Being granted a gift of seeing the entire world from the vantage point of the heavens and then being asked by a large prestigious ad agency to talk about it on camera is heady. It puts one at risk for the unbecoming self-polishing of halos.
After four hours of intense work, going out for a long walk along the Thames made good sense. Despite dozens of languid happy wanderings around Westminster over the past twenty-five years, I had never even glimpsed Westminster Cathedral. It happens to be in the next block from where I am residing. In late afternoon the three hundred foot Byzantine bell tower of terra cotta brick was afire with that glorious aureate light of last sun. In proper reactive tourist mode I pulled out cameras and ‘collected’ the ascendant images before me. A powerful feeling of goodness washed over me. Something important was about to happen.
I walked around to the front entrance of this most imposing cathedral and found it open, wandered in, realized a mass was in progress, and immediately put away my cameras. Almost at once a men’s choir erupted into ethereal melodies that set up shimmering waves of wonderment in my soul. In an instant I was transmuted from gawking tourist into expectant pilgrim. Instantaneously, I was back in the imposing Durham Cathedral at sunset nineteen years ago when the same transformation occurred. The sanctuary I found in St Stephens in Vienna on a hot summer day twenty five years ago crystallized in my consciousness. In a flash, I was reliving St. John’s Passion in the grand St. Catherine’s in Eindhoven.
I walked a bit more than halfway down the center aisle to find a seat. Suddenly I was back in my own dear church, walking down its aisle for a hundred different reasons, all leading to the Altar that offers promise of light at dawn. Quietly, I took a seat. An old arthritic woman in front of me was on her knees on the hard floor the entire service. Immediately, I was back in the Cathedral at Avignon eighteen years ago where I had been astounded with a profound display of devotion - one I have tried to emulate over the years, never with much success.
An extraordinary life review of some kind was underway. I found myself breathless; gaining a small understanding of why it is told in scriptures that we cannot in our present form withstand exposure to the full glory of God. I was rather overwhelmed. At the appointed time, I joined hundreds of others on the journey across those old worn floor boards to the altar to take the sacraments that can give true refuge from the hunger and thirst of soul. No longer a fifteen-minute celebrity or tourist, I was merely a member of a holy community joining others in a fine meal at sunset.
Following the mass, I felt a strong urge to ‘collect’ the interior with my cameras but successfully fought off the urge; feeling it would be sacrilegious to the numinous experience just granted to me. I was not there to photograph ancient buildings. An old man standing next to one of the great columns supporting the vast structure was wearing a small yellow flower and gold cross.
John Casano, seventy-nine years old, from Malta, devout beyond measure, took me on a journey through his sacred world. Long after the parishioners and stray tourists had departed, this gracious diplomat and ambassador shared his love for this holy space. I was no longer photographer, writer, or the quick-grits celebrity - just a seeker looking for the Bread of Life. I listened. He taught. An hour later, two hours, we stood. I paid attention.
John didn’t give me architecture or art lessons. Yes, he did make some rather well-informed comments about the building and its art, but mostly he told me about the wondrous beauty to be found in personal relationships. John never preached to me. He lives a life of attraction rather than promotion. In describing his experiences with his brothers and cousins, an admixture of priests, prime ministers, deputies, and educators, I was easily convinced John knows what matters in life. Beneath the fabric of this terra cotta edifice is an enduring strong foundation of community. Watching John’s interactions with others who make this cathedral home, I knew that a gracious respect and love for each other gave these men and women a profound sense of belonging.
Finally, the compulsion to ‘collect’ night images and an ever more insistent appetite had me excuse myself. I told John I would see him tomorrow in the cathedral. A small gathering of octogenarians shared mutual farewells. It is grand to be off the tourist grid and part of a community that will endure for eternity.
Talk to old people. They might just take you on the journey of a lifetime.
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