In “Cathedral”, a short story by the American novelist Raymond Carver, the main character tries to describe a cathedral to man who is blind. “They’re really big,” he explains. “Massive. They’re built of stone. Marble, too, and lots of polished wood. In those olden days, when they built cathedrals, [people] wanted to be close to God. “Draw it,” the blind man asked, “Draw it on my hands.” With his finger the narrator sketches out the plan of a cathedral on the palms of the man’s hands. The blind man then says to him, “I think I can see it now but there is something missing.”
For many people, cathedrals, churches and chapels, mosques, gurdwaras, temples and shrines are sacred space - holy ground. Even those who don’t think of themselves as being particularly religious often expect to feel something other or different when they visit a place of worship, particularly, if it has some history attached to it. For people of faith this sense can be amplified still further, irrespective of the creed or particular religion they follow - whether they be papists or pagans!
I have a friend who is a Jain and in May this year we visited his community’s Temple at Potter’s Bar. Constructed out of pink sandstone and set in 80 acres of parkland, and within a formal garden, the temple is a wonder to behold. Even more so when you discover that this incredibly intricate and ornate building was hand carved in India by over 200 traditional stone masons and then shipped to the UK to be assembled on site like a gigantic jigsaw puzzle. As is the Jain custom before entering the Temple we removed our shoes as a reminder, that like Moses on Mount Horeb, we were about to step onto holy ground. If I were to describe the interior of the Derasar with its sanctuary and shrine, or even show you a picture, there would be something missing from the experience of being there which, like Raymond Carver’s cathedral, defies description.
“There is something missing”, said the blind man. Then, he has a moment of inspiration. “Put some people in there now,” he shouts. “What’s a cathedral without people?” Equally, one could ask what is this Meeting House without us, whom St Peter refers to as: “The living stones, which are being built into a spiritual house.” 1 Peter 2:5
A year ago, at the rededication of Newcastle Cathedral, following its extensive restoration, the Dean wrote: “Today we are both grateful, proud hosts and at the same time guests, for in what we offer and what we receive, we participate in the radical hospitality of God.” In other words, places of worship come alive when people inhabit them. Only then do their stones resonate and their rafters sing praise. Only then do they buzz and hum with sounds of life and only then can their walls absorb and echo our laughter and our tears, our anxieties and our hopes, our past and our present, our hopes and our dreams.
As luck or providence would have it, Kamal and I arrived at the Potters Bar Temple just as a wedding ceremony was finishing, and as a joyful and colourful throng of family and friends emerged, led by a smiling bride and groom. Once the wedding party had departed and all was silent it felt as if the Temple still resonated with their love and joy.
Even this wealth of human experience only takes us part of the way to understanding what makes a place numinous and sacred. All religions have places of pilgrimage and retreat which were considered holy ground long before there were temples, churches and mosques built on them. As a student I worked as a guide on the Island of Iona which George Macleod, the founder of the Iona Community, described as a: “Thin place, where only tissue paper separates the material from the spiritual.” Holy or thin places do not originate with the building of great edifices but in encounters with the living God. The composer Anton Bruckner’s motet Locus Iste, which is often sung at church dedication festivals, translates: “This place was made by God, as a sacrament beyond price; it is without reproach.”
A sacrament is an outward and visible sign of The Divine Presence, pointing us towards the God who meets us in myriads of unexpected ways and places. The Book of Genesis speaks of this, not only in the case of Moses and the burning bush, but also in the story of the fugitive Jacob falling asleep and having a dream. Jacob’s vision of angels ascending and descending a ladder suspended between heaven and earth was such an awesome experience that, despite his predicament, gave him courage to carry on. “Surely the Lord is in this place – and I did not know it.” Jacob declared: “How awesome is this place. This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.” Genesis 28:16-17.
This provides us with an insight into why certain places feel so spiritually alive. They are sacred because people have prayed there, there found comfort, discovered hope, been inspired and experienced joy. They provide us with the space for our human struggle to meet divine grace. And that holy ground can be a temple or a cathedral, it can be a great shrine or where lay lines meet such as at Avebury and Stonehenge. And it can, equally, be somewhere very personal and individual – perhaps known to us alone.
I have been fortunate to go on a number of pilgrimages to holy places: to the Holy Land, to Rome and Assisi and to some lesser-known shrines too. I have even been to Nettuno where the statue of Our Lady of Ipswich ended up – having been smuggled out of the country by Italian sailors during the Reformation! Pilgrimages to Holy Places, like that currently being experienced by Muslims taking part in the Hajj, are not ends in themselves - rather, their lasting spiritual value lies in what happens next, when the pilgrim returns home: That having had a heightened awareness of God’s Presence in a particular place they/we might be more sensitive to that same Divine Presence anywhere, indeed everywhere. If you can touch holiness in a religious building or on a sacred site – you are just as able to experience holiness at other times and in other places too. “Tread softly!” urges Christina Rossetti, “All the earth is holy ground.”
I wonder where is holy ground for you? As I have said, it doesn’t have to be somewhere conventionally religious: a place of worship or a shrine. It could be a somewhere associated with certain memories and experiences. It could be a landscape, the view from a mountain, down a valley, by a river, or out to sea. Covehithe Beach does it for me! It could be anywhere. If, that is, we are open and sensitive enough, if we are spiritually aware and prepared to live for the moment.
To sum up, I want to read to you The Bright Field by the priest and poet, R.S. Thomas, in which he speaks of his own experience of Holy Ground:
I have seen the sun break through
to illuminate a small field
for a while, and gone my way
and forgotten it. But that was the pearl
of great price, the one field that had
treasure in it. I realize now
that I must give all that I have
to possess it. Life is not hurrying
on to a receding future, nor hankering after
an imagined past. It is the turning
aside like Moses to the miracle
of the lit bush, to a brightness
that seemed as transitory as your youth
once, but is the eternity that awaits you.