Wandering in a cathedral

       There is a peace in this cathedral that I have found nowhere else on earth. The cares and clamors of the world are muted by its stone walls, and glorious cascades of light fall through rows of arching windows. This is a trinity chapel, one that has three complete rows of windows running the length of the nave. I trace the play of light upon each arch, my eye rising ever upward to the full height of the cathedral. The very air is expectant, waiting for the time when a church will no longer be the only outposts of refuge and peace. For in this place, all is changed. The stranger on the train tells me of the times she comes to light a candle for her father, and to sit for a while in a peaceful place. Here stonecutters and artists labored for days over intricately carved statues, which would be placed high in the arches above. Such statues cannot by seen by visitors, but are for the eyes of God alone. Many of the stones bear the signature of an artist, a simple mark made on the top of each stone, invisible when the stone is put in its place. Upon this foundation this church was built. That God alone sees our hearts. That our striving must be to bring Him glory, not ourselves. That He deserves the best of our talent, our artistry, our worship.
       We are ushered into a small chapel set along the side of the nave, a small group of early morning worshippers. The ceiling in the chapel follows the arch of the nave in smaller form, and muted lights illuminate the dimensions of this chapel. We sit in rows of chairs, rereading the booklets handed out to remind ourselves of the order of the service. The priest leads us through the service, and we respond as the booklets prompt us. British and American accents mingle as we recite the Lord's Prayer, and the walls echo with our voices. I am a part of the innumerable Christians who have worshipped here since this church was built, and I hear the words of the Anglican service as if for the first time. I step forward to take communion, having confessed my sin, and asked for the strength to start anew.
       I leave the chapel silently, stealing a last glance at the rows of arches illuminated by the rising light of the day. There is much to ponder here, but for now I am strengthened, joyful, sent out to the challenges of this day. Outside, the morning clouds are lifting, and patches of blue sky are visible. A quick walk to the Underground station takes me by a stretch of the Thames glinting in the sunlight. Then a flight of steps down into the station, where a violinist in the winding corridor is playing Vivaldi, music which dances and sparkles like sunlight playing on the small waves on the Thames. The sonata follows me down the hall, and long after I lose sight of the musician I can hear the violin pouring forth its music. May the peace of this cathedral follow me all the paths of my day.