Zurich

We left England yesterday on the Eurostar, connected in Paris to the TGV (tres grande vitess or very big fast train) arriving in Zurich for 3 nights. We have a nice hotel in the heart of the old city of Zurich.

As we have walked the cobblestone street today, I have been especially aware of so many languages…German, French, Dutch, British English and lots of American English – all strolling the streets, drinking, eating and enjoying the lovely day. We visited the Grossmunster which overlooks the area.

According to legend, Felix and Regula who became the patron saints of Zurich were martyred at the river and than carried their severed heads up the hill to where they wanted to be buried. The Grossmunster, centuries later, was built to honor the spot and house their relics. It dates from the 13th century. In the 16th century, the Swiss theologian, Zwingli, launched Zurich’s Reformation from here.

Just across the river is the Fraumunster. Originally built as an Abbey in the 9th century, it was closed during the Reformation. The church has recently been remodeled and is best known for stunning stained glass windows by Marc Chagall.

For obvious reasons, they did not allow pictures inside the church but let me try to paint one. Lyle and I approached the church and heard music … A pipe organ. As we got closer, the sound was stunning. We entered and light was streaming through the Chagall windows. Brilliant blues, ornate oranges and yellows. Greens that literally embraced us. Reds that rose to heaven and warmed the dampness in the room. We sat and listened with eyes and ears. I moved around the chapel to better see each window. The organist continued for at least a half hour and we did as well. It was worship for us this morning!

We finally emerged to sunlight. It had been overcast when we entered. I looked up to the Grossmunster and pondered for a moment just how much history was here – and how much of it was violent…people killed for faith and country and culture. Such dissension continues, of course, in much of the world. That’s why it was so nice to walk the streets of so much culture and hear the many languages and think “we can do better!” And, in fact, we KNOW better than this guy…

That’s Old Charlemagne…I found him in the crypt of the Grossmunster…he had been outside, overlooking the river…there is a copy there now – but this is the original. Trying to bring peace through violence and beheading and conquering is not the best way, right? So Charlemagne is in the crypt … And up above people stroll, speaking many languages and at least for now, getting along rather well on the banks of the river…

Happy Sunday!

Remembering William Wilberforce

I think the thing I will miss most when I leave the Gladstone’s Library on Thursday is the celebration of the Eucharist each weekday morning. I have been sharing the leadership of that service with Peter Francis, the Warden of Gladstone’s. At first, becoming familiar with the liturgy of the Church in Wales was a challenge but my Roman Catholic background helped greatly as I familiarized myself with the service. The liturgy itself is poetic, simple and restful. It has been a privilege to lead the service over the past month. Yes, I will miss that.

Today, the celebration of the Eucharist invited a reflection on William Wilberforce, that great 18th century Member of Parliament, Evangelical Christian and Activist who worked tirelessly to end the slave trade. I like the fact that the Church in Wales invites a liturgical recognition of the ‘big official saints’ as well as the ordinary saints. Today was William Wilberforce; tomorrow is Joseph of Arimathea.

As I prepared for the celebration today, I did some reading and reflection on Wilberforce and I wrote a series of intercessions to use during the Eucharist. I share that with you tonight as a way of inviting you into the spirit of the day. It occurs to me that we continue to need the kind of relentless work for justice that Wilberforce so clearly engaged. And so, I invited you to pray as our small group prayed this morning:

Prayers of Intercession
written for July 30, 2013 by Marianne Niesen

“You may choose to look the other way but you can never say again that you did not know.” – William Wilberforce

And so we pray for the courage to say enough! May our leaders rediscover the art of working together for the common good. May we cultivate a willingness to speak up for those who suffer and to speak out against the systems that create suffering, inequality and pain. May we choose to see the change that is needed and work for good.

“If to be feelingly alive to the sufferings of my fellow-creatures is to be a fanatic, I am one of the most incurable fanatics ever permitted to be at large.” – William Wilberforce

We pray for all who are judged and labeled as ‘too involved’ or ‘too concerned.’ The bleeding hearts. Even the hopeless romantics. Give us eyes to see what we need to see and hearts willing to reach out with relentless enthusiasm for what is right and good. May more people of faith have the courage to quest for justice and to work for peace – even when such work is unpopular. May courage temper the timidity and reluctance to change too often found in our churches and our communities and our halls of power.

“No matter how loud you shout, you will not drown out the voice of the people!” – William Wilberforce

Give us, O God, ears to hear what we need to hear. Open us to the many ways you speak – through scripture, the still small voice in our hearts, the whisper of wind at the entrance to the caves of our lives – and yes, your voice in the cries of the world around us. Help us give voice to the voiceless, comfort to the grieving, hope to the fearful.

“And still, after all the badges, the petitions, all the speeches and the bills, ships full of human souls, in chains, sail around the world as cargo!” – William Wilberforce

We are grateful for courageous and visionary leaders – like William Wilberforce, Thomas Clarkson, Abraham Lincoln and so many others who have given heart and soul to make a difference. Adapting the the words of St. Francis, They have done what was theirs to do, may we come to know – and do – what is ours. Give us courage, wisdom – and the amazing grace that will lead us – and your world – home.

A teen poet from Ohio wrote a simple but poignant poem reflecting on Wilberforce:

No Matter What

I have sacrificed my health and my youth
For a powerful thing I like to call truth
Banishing slavery in my beloved England
While others wish it to expand
Do I undertake politics or religion?
If I take up one does the other become my aversion?
I soon take up both
And making an oath
To once and for all
Make slavery fall
I will fight this battle with everything I got
Not giving up no matter what!*
* http://teenink.com/poetry/all/article/108232/In-Remembrance-of-William-Wilberforce

May glimmers of grace shine in us and through us, empowering us to perceive our own cobwebs of fear and opening us to be instruments of warmth and grace in our day as people like Wilberforce were in theirs. Amen.

Random Thoughts

As I write tonight’s blog, the bells of St. Deiniol’s are ringing again. I believe tonight is the night they ordinarily practice the bell ringing – last week, the practice rang on for hours as the royal birth was announced. On the other hand, the ringing may also be related to a group that is presently staying at the Gladstone’s Library: The Cycling Bell Ringers of Great Britain. Actually, I am not sure that is their official name. However, I do know that yesterday some 35+ people, mostly young adults, checked into their rooms here. They are, literally, a group of people who ring church bells. I am not sure if it is an association or a club or a professional organization. I do know they ring church bells and they ride bicycles. So this week, they cycle their way from community to community and ring the church bells of the places they visit. They had five stops today and returned to the Library quite exhausted . . . from the cycling or from the bell ringing or both. They also drink a lot of beer – but they seem to do that mostly after they have cycled and bell rung – which is probably a good thing!

Saturday morning, I took Lyle and Nancy on my favorite walk through the Bilberry Wood. We passed the Old Hawarden Castle and continued through the area marked ‘permit holders only.’ that led us through a shaded walk that opened on to a field. That day, unlike days past, the field was full of cows. Lots of them. We proceeded over the cattle guard, staying on the path – which the cows also seemed to be doing! The idea was to make it to the other cattle guard and go over it to the awaiting wood and path. The cows were not going over that. When we got to the other side, I noted this sign . . .

We did not have a dog and so there was no chase and no excitement. I think the cows were happy about that!

And this one in particular seemed to give the message: …and let’s keep it that way!

And then there was this bit of sidewalk art I found just outside the library. Amazing, isn’t it, what beauty there is in the simplest of things? A few twigs and leaves and stones and stuff – and a vision for the beautiful and look what can happen!

May the simplest of things brighten your day today. May you delight in a roadside sign or meet a cycling bell ringer . . . one just never knows what surprises await!

A Spring of Water

My Sunday reflection quite literally springs from the garden courtyard of the Chester Cathedral. Encircled by the towering thousand-year old cathedral, the garden is a lush and beautiful place. It invites quiet reflection. At the center of the garden a sculpture draws your attention:

Around the base of the sculpture are etched the words from John’s gospel: The water that I give will become a spring of water always welling up to eternal life. The artist, Stephen Broadbent, explains

The water supply in the garden was pumped by monks to the Abbey and drawn for centuries from an ancient well: this led to the theme of the sculpture.

The woman’s encounter with Jesus transforms her life.

The sculpture portrays her being joined and springing out of Him signifying new life . . . shame is fallen away . . . she is reconciled to her community.

At first, the sculpture seems out of place. After all, the cathedral is a very old building, holding a history that dates to the 11th century, built on the site of an even older church that honored St. Werburgha. How does a contemporary sculpture ‘fit’ in that?

Then it becomes so obvious to me . . . this story of Jesus’ encounter with the Samaritan woman was all about doing the thing that didn’t fit, saying the thing that didn’t make sense in the culture in which it was spoken. And it begs the question . . . does it ever make sense? Is that the point? The ‘Jesus message’ has always been out of place, if we take it to heart. And it will transform. It even now transforms a medieval courtyard in Chester.

The part of the sculpture that a picture does not capture is the sound of the water . . . it is indeed a fountain and the sound of running water is part of the experience in that courtyard.

I have come that you may have life and have it in abundance!

The message of Jesus is a timeless one that challenges our most firmly held beliefs and prejudices. And no where was that more evident than in the cloister garden in Chester, UK as the sound of running water summons attention to an encounter between Jesus and a woman whose tattered life was transformed. It was an awkward moment that became a blessing for her and for all who heard of it. (Remember, she became the first preacher of the good news!)

I think the initial sense of the out-of-place-ness of the sculpture in the ancient garden is part of its power. Nothing – not old structures, or old prejudices, or worn out rituals, or firmly held beliefs or tired hopes or hopeful visions – are beyond the power of Jesus to transform and make new. That’s good news for all of us who see what is possible and wonder how to get there. Or those of us who have lost the vision entirely. And everyone in between.

Cathedrals

Cathedrals – churches – abbeys . . . The landscape is dotted with the evidence of faith through the ages. In Wales, one finds many words, towns, and place names beginning with the term ‘llan.’ It has come to mean a ‘place with a church’ or a ‘place of a saint.’ Thus Llandudno means the place with the church of St. Tudno.

Having a church or an abbey or a cathedral was important for a community. If that place actually had the relics of the saint involved, all the better. It would become a place of pilgrimage. And pilgrimages were both good for the soul and for the local economy! Being a site of pilgrimage meant people came to your place and while there they needed housing and food. Thus, traditionally, pride was taken in the preservation and promotion of one’s saint and the particular church or cathedral.

Of course, things have changed over the past thousands of years . . . still, I have found, especially in this area, that, frankly, though there don’t seem to be a lot of people attending church, there is still a sense of pride in the church itself.

The Church of St. Asaph is one such place. Small by cathedral standards, it is incredibly well cared for.

And I even had got to hear the organ played! Dave and Fay would have loved it!

Yesterday, I got back to the Chester Cathedral. It is dedicated to St. Werburgha, 7th century woman, born to royalty who gave it all up to become a nun.
.

She lived a long and dedicated life and, after her death, was declared a saint. Eventually, to protect her relics from invading armies, they were moved to Chester where a church was built and where they were protected and honored (and provided a great place of pilgrimage). The Cathedral we see today was constructed between 1092 and 1220 on the site of this church. It originally served as a Benedictine Abbey and was raised to cathedral status in the 16th century.

I was struck with how well cared for the place continues to be. It is truly a refreshing place to visit.
This is the nave of the church.

And the West Window:

I continue to marvel at the incredible craftsmanship – and faith – so evident in these buildings. This poem by Welsh poet John Ormand made me smile. I share it with you as well as a final picture of the Chester Cathedral.

Cathedral Builders

They climbed on sketchy ladders toward God,
With winch and pulley hoisted hewn rock into heaven,
Inhabited sky with hammers, defied gravity,
Deified stone, took up God’s house to meet Him,

And came down to their suppers and small beer;
Every night slept, lay with their smelly wives,
Quarrelled and cuffed the children, lied,
Spat, sang, were happy or unhappy,

And every day took to the ladders again;
Impeded the rights of way of another summer’s
Swallows, grew greyer, shakier, became less inclined
To fix a neighbour’s roof of a fine evening,

Saw naves sprout arches, clerestories soar,
Cursed the loud fancy glaziers for their luck,
Somehow escaped the plague, got rheumatism,
Decided it was time to give it up,

To leave the spire to others; stood in the crowd
Well back from the vestments at the consecration,
Envied the fat bishop his warm boots,
Cocked up a squint eye and said, ‘I bloody did that.’

– John Ormond (1923-1990)
Welsh poet and film-maker

The Trees, Oh the Trees!

I am not sure what it is, but I have been quite taken with the trees in Wales. The seem so big, grand, sweeping, lush, green. The words themselves can’t hold it all. I admit, however, that I don’t necessarily think they are better – or even bigger – than trees at home. Think, Glacier, the mountains around Helena, or the Redwoods in California. We have lovely trees in the US for sure.

So, perhaps it is simply that I have had the time to notice what is around me. Perhaps it is because I am attuned to the newness of it all, the freshness. Whatever the reason, I have tried to capture some of the beauty in pictures.

Like this tree on the path in the Billberry Wood. Doesn’t that arm just seem to welcome a sit?

And here is a tree I met while at the Old Hawarden Castle. I actually ducked under the draping branches. It wasn’t a ‘weeping willow’ – at least not like any I have seen. But it made a kind of tent from which I was shaded from the sun . . .and from anyone walking by.

Here are some of the others . . .including just some lovely greenery that abounds everywhere one looks!

It all led me to begin reciting that poem we probably all learned as children: Trees by Joyce Kilmer. It is simple – and, remember, it goes like this – say it with me!

TREES
by: Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918)

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

And, of course, not too far from where I now sit, the Welsh poet and priest, Gerard Manley Hopkins, wrote his poem God’s Grandeur.

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

There lives the ‘dearest freshness deep down things’ . . . and, if the truth be told, it is all around us. If we but look. I go out now expecting to find a surprising tree, an inspiring shrub. That’s a nice way to take a walk . . . strolling through the world noticing. Even something as commonplace as a tree or a flower or a shrub – a kind of divine reminder that life is good and abundant. May your day be filled with an abundance of life and love!

The Bells of St. Deiniol’s

Well, can you tell I’m on a ‘bell’ run? I met a woman here at Gladstone’s Library who began following my blog and sent me this link about the bells of St. Deiniol’s. I thought others of you might find it interesting. So check this out for a good picture of the church and more than you probably want to know about bells – how they’re made, how they’re rung, how they’re inscribed – and on and on! It’s worth a read. St. Deiniol’s Bells, Hawarden

Then I thought a poem on bells would be nice. Bell ringing just seems to be a kind of poetry in tone. At least that is how last night’s bells sounded here in Hawarden, Wales. So I did what any self-respecting bell poem researching blogger would do – I googled :)! And I found this poem by Wayne Visser of London. It was on his blog and was first posted in June, 2010. I give him full credit and encourage all interested readers to check out his website. Wayne Visser website

Let Bells Ring Out

There are bells for weddings, bells for births
And bells for calls to prayer
There are bells for mourning, bells for mirth
And bells for freedom’s dare

There are bells for fire, bells for floods
And bells for threatened shores
There are bells for silence, bells that thud
And bells for music scores

So why no bells for Nature’s ways
No bells for dusk or dawn?
Why no bells for dying days
No bells for breaking morn?

And why no bells for summer sun
No bells for winter moon?
Why no bells when autumn’s come
No bells for springtime bloom?

Let bells ring out for living things
All creatures small and great
Let bells ring out: with beating wings
Our messengers of fate

Let bells ring out from mountain peaks
And toll from valleys low
Let bells ring out: Creation speaks
And all the world should know.

Creative Commons 2010
by Wayne Visser

And, finally, a picture of St. Deiniol’s steeple from my bedroom window through the morning mist and the trees.

Boys and Bells

My last post mused about the long ringing of bells this evening…I even suggested they were perhaps ringing for a church celebration – like the feast of Mary Magdalene. (Which I still think would have been entirely appropriate!)

Of course, even as I posted, I realized the jubilant bells were celebrating the birth of the royal baby. Funny, when I first arrived here, I asked several folks about the anticipation of the birth. The comments I heard – almost to a person -were that ‘you Americans are far more interested in that than the Brits are.’

Well, I’m here to tell you that someone here was very interested in the news. Interested enough to ring bells and – well – I even met some folks coming back from a celebration at the local pub.

And, in the end, birth is to be celebrated, right? So – here’s to a healthy baby and a healthy Mum (to use some British speak). Let the bells ring! And – scones anyone?

Bells and Bridget

As I begin tonight’s blog, it is still early afternoon at home in Montana. It has been an interesting experience knowing that as my day ends, so many of the people I love are still in the midst of theirs. The bells of St. Deiniol’s are chiming. Unlike the St. Helena Cathedral, there is no particular tune to this ringing – they just ring. Different tones, no tune. It’s nice . . . a different but lovely way to end the day. It’s almost as if they are bidding the sun good bye for the day as the shadows lengthen. Still, they don’t ring every day . . . so I wonder why? Why today? I suppose one answer would be that, if you have bells you can ring them whenever you want! No reason is needed. On the other hand, the point of church bells throughout history has been to draw attention to something. Like a church service. Or a wedding. Or a death. Or a funeral. Or the birth of a child. Like IT’S A BOY! They are ringing for the new royal baby, of course . . . but they could also be ringing in honor of today’s celebration of the Feast of St. Mary Magdalene. I think I will just declare these to be the Mary Magdalene Bells of July 22nd – which also celebrate the birth of a new baby!

Tomorrow morning, I will lead the morning Eucharist. We don’t do much with saints in the United Methodist Church, but since we follow the liturgy here of the Church in Wales which is part of the Anglican Communion, saints are part of the deal. Today was the Feast of Mary Magdalene. Tomorrow is the feast of St. Bridget of Sweden. She is certainly not as well known as Mary Magdalene but my Catholic history makes me saint-sensitive and I confess to being partial to women saints. After all, there aren’t as many of them. And, most of them lived in a world and in societies that mostly didn’t recognize women much. Getting saint status is never easy but it has always been particularly difficult women. I figure the least we can do is acknowledge the ones who have been noticed – and to celebrate their wisdom and and be inspired by their vision.

Bridget (or Birgitta) of Sweden was born in 1303, died (on July 23) in 1372 and was canonized in 1391. In church terms, that is a lot to do in just one century!

I learned that Bridget was the foundress of a religious order, a visionary and is the patron of Sweden. She was also a wife – in fact she was married at the age of fourteen and gave birth to 8 children, 4 girls and 4 boys. She managed a large household and even served as lady-in-waiting to the queen. So, she was a mother who worked outside the home. A turning point in her life came when she and her husband made the pilgrimage to St. James at Compostela (Spain). It took most of a year. Her husband died soon afterwards and it was after his death that she continued with a plan they had both come to on pilgrimage – to found monasteries and dedicate their lives to service and generosity. She indeed founded a monastery and an order that became known as the Brigittines.

The fact that Bridget was a wife and a mother and a nun and a visionary makes her a rather unique saint. That’s a full life. Her prophetic visions, which began when she was just a child, continued throughout her life. Her Revelations were direct and highly critical of the church and politics of time. She took on the Pope, challenged the royalty and urged people to be more generous to those in need. Many tried to disparage her but, as one book noted, “her power of prophecy was generally recognized after her threatening visions about the state of things in Sweden proved true.”

An interesting thing about the Order of St. Bridget was that it was a ‘double community’ – including both men and women. They lived in separate quarters, of course, but came together for prayer and worship. Interestingly, the Lady Abbess was head of this double community. In other words, the female leader chosen by the women was the one in charge. Even of the men. And besides their regular alms-giving and charitable work, once a year, on All Saints Day, inventory was taken of the monastery and anything not needed was given to the poor the next day – All Souls Day.

They also say that it was partly due to her that the first attempt was made to translate Bible into Swedish.

So tomorrow, as we celebrate Eucharist, we will remember – and give thanks for the inspiration of – an amazing woman – a working Mom who also worked outside the home, a woman not afraid of her vision and insight even when it was critical of the powers-that-were in church and country, a generous advocate for the poor and most vulnerable and the founder of a religious order that broke new ground, uniting men and women in prayer and service.

By the way, the bells are still ringing! That’s almost an hour of intermittent bell ringing. For a royal baby. And for Mary Magdalene. I think they should ring the bells tomorrow too. I’ll let you know what happens.

This is a picture of the chapel where we will celebrate tomorrow.

Valle Crucis Abbey

Today I had the amazing opportunity to visit one of the best preserved medieval monasteries in Wales: Valle Crucis Abbey located in Llangollen. I will not try to instruct you on how to pronounce ‘Llangollen’ except to say that the accent is on the second syllable and the ‘double L’ in Welsh is pronounced as a soft ‘F’ sound, except at the beginning of a word where it is a sound made at the back of the throat. So, just try it . . . Llangollen.

In any case, this abbey was founded in 1201, although much of the building was not completed until the 14th century. The monastery was dissolved by Henry VIII in 1537 with the Act of Dissolution – although, by then, there were few monks left.

The day was lovely for our visit – in the upper 20’s (celsius) or 80’s (fahrenheit). The name of the monastery means ‘valley of the cross’ and refers to a stone cross erected near this location. The monks were Cistercians and followed the rule of Benedict. You can read more about the abbey by following the following link: Valle Crucis

As we walked through the grounds, I found myself wondering – and marveling – at the mystery of faith. Of course, if we are honest, the monks weren’t only about faith and good deeds and prayer. They were human and they participated in their share of intrigue. Still, somehow, despite human limitations – someone among them conceived of this structure and built it!

And the lay brothers (who, honestly, did the manual labor that enabled the monks to do the praying) worked the land and made a living for the community. And I am confident that many many faithful and holy monks spent their days in prayer and austere living, believing it could make a difference – for themselves, their community and the world. It was known to be good for the local economy to have a monastery among them – and some of that was economic but some of it was the presence of holiness.

It was absolutely lovely there today – but I am constantly told this weather is very unusual. Wales has more rain and clouds and wind than lovely sunny days like today. And those men lived in that place – amid drafts and rain and wind and some days like today – to give honor to God and to sacrifice themselves to make their corner of the world a better place. The fish ponds of the abbey still exist.

The church itself rises in a splendor that is still evident.

They have identified the monk’s dormitory, their dining room – and even the latrine. And, perhaps most amazing was the chapter room below where they gathered each day and heard a chapter of the Rule of St. Benedict read, confessed their faults and received their ‘punishments’ from the abbot.

After taking our time, wandering the grounds, marveling and, yes, pondering and praying, we stopped for a cappuccino at a small coffee shop near the entrance. The area around the monastery is now a campground. People bring their campers and leave them as a ‘getaway’ destination and other pitch tents and set up camp for a period of time. One woman talked for a bit with us. She was was from another part of Wales and had never been to Valle Crucis before. But she found that she loved the peacefulness of the place. She said she and her husband decided to look into renting some space there. I observed that, perhaps, the monks knew what they were doing when they chose that place. She smiled. Yes, she said, I think that may be true! This is a good place!

Maybe, just maybe, the prayers of the monks continue to bless that space. Which makes you think that our prayers and deeds of love will bless others long after we are gone too. Good to know, don’t you think?