Quire area at Bristol Cathedral, Bristol England
(On their website: "From the Twelfth Century this has been a place of daily prayer, and an extraordinary building, created for the glory of God.").

The latter part of May, my wife and I enjoyed a nine-day tour in England. The tour was arranged by our church's rector, and featured visits to sites important in our Anglican tradition. Our church, The Church of the Good Samaritan is an Episcopal parish in the Anglican Communion. The excursion was billed as the Bishops and Breweries Tour, with Bishops signifying cathedrals, and Breweries should be obvious.

My previous Reflection, Old Sacred Places (I), details where we went, what we saw and learned, and what we experienced. (Reading that Reflection may put this one in better context.)

I left that Reflection with a number of questions generated during the experience: The cathedrals were built "To the Glory of God!" Do I do anything To the Glory of God? Those zealous Protestants who destroyed or defaced many of the cathedrals were my spiritual ancestors — can I reconcile that? Did the tight connection between Church and State contribute to much of this death and carnage? Might Christians in the future look back at us and scratch their heads? "How and why did they ever think like that?"

I call these my Wonderings. I've had several weeks to ponder these questions. As with most wonderings, I've not come to any conclusions. (Another of my wonderings is whether we should even form final conclusions?) But, I do have thoughts to share.

Leaving England and back home in my church:
This isn't as much a wondering as a realization. At each cathedral we took part in some type of worship service: Sunday and Noon Eucharist services as well as a couple Evensongs. Worshiping added a meaningful dimension to our trip beyond learning and looking. Not only did we see and learn and stand in awe, we also worshiped. In all cases the liturgy was similar to ours, but with just enough differences to cause me to stumble. In a few places there were worshipers from other countries. Worshiping with people different than I am always feels special, but in the cathedrals I also felt the presence of worshipers who had knelt as I did but over the span of centuries. As an Episcopalian, it was extra-special to be a part of Sunday Eucharist at Canterbury Cathedral with the celebrant none other than the archbishop for Anglicans around the world.

Sanctuary: Church of the Good Samaritan, Paoli, PA

Those images and experiences were still vivid my first Sunday service back at Good Samaritan. Our building is quite nice and tastefully done; but, as a building cannot compare to the cathedrals where we worshiped. However, it felt special be back in my spot alongside the aisle and to kneel on the kneeler cushion I always use (the one with the sea shells signifying St. James).

It wasn't Archbishop Welby who placed in my hands The Body of Christ, but a priest and friend I've had beers and meals with. It felt good to share nods of recognition or handshakes with the many people I know ... and who know me. How can church and Christianity be all that it could be — perhaps intended to be — without the bonds of community? Is it really Christian worship in the absence of community?

Those carvings, statues, and figures no one sees:
In Part I, in describing all the ornate artwork, I mentioned the back of the seat benches filled with carvings as well as similar ornaments hidden on roofs human eyes would rarely see. Why the ornate and creative unseen? The builders' answers would have been simple: "God can see them." Their work was for the Glory of God!

As I go about trying to live a Christian life, do I do so with a mind that I hope others will see my works? Would I be satisfied to serve if my service was known only to God? Or does all my affirmation come from the positive comments of others? Would I want to continue writing these Reflections if no one read them? Satisfied if my only reader was God? If I knew no one else was reading, would I spend so much time researching, spell-checking, getting resources correctly noted, reading/editing sometimes three or four times? Or would I think that if God is the only reader, I can short-cut things: "He'll know what I'm trying to say?" ... What does "To the Glory of God!" really mean to me?

I'm still left pretty much wondering about this "To the Glory of God!" stuff. But, it is still very much on my mind. ... Maybe it's clearer to you.

Site of Thomas Becket's Tomb
At Canterbury Cathedral. Tomb demolished during protestant reformation.

The destruction in the cathedrals during protestant uprisings:
Those protestant zealots who destroyed much in the cathedrals, such as the tomb of Thomas Becket and threw his bones to destroy stained-glass windows, were MY ancestors in faith. I also have to acknowledge that those on the earlier Christian Crusades to the Holy Lands who killed and raided were also my Christian ancestors. Today, we hear of those atrocities and think how misguided they were: "They believed they were doing the will of God?" Most likely they thought they did, and believed strongly in their destruction.

Do I say, "Well that was hundreds of years ago? We may be ashamed of all that; but, that was then. We know so much more today. We believe differently; we believe we know more about God and the Divine Will." I wonder. I wonder what people a hundred years or more from now (or maybe only 50 or 10 years from today) will think about us Christians in the early 21st century. "They believed that?!" "Christianity had how many denominations? How nice today in 2203 we Christians really are one body." "They argued about who could marry whom? Even split their denominations over marriage rules? Weird." "I heard that back then in some denominations, women couldn't become priests or pastors. Now that is weird! ... But, that was then," I can hear them say. I wonder. Might people like me, a few hundred years from now, be thought of as I think of those zealots who threw the saints' bones to destroy those beautiful windows?

Another thought related to this "I Carry The Spiritual Blood of My Ancestors":
I rarely think about my ancestry — seems like something that should be higher in my thoughts, but it's not. I consider my cousin, Tim, our family historian. Before leaving for England, Tim reminded me that King Henry (he couldn't remember which one) is somewhere back in our family's linage. Nice to know. Feels good to think that maybe a strand of king's blood is part of mine. (I never did follow up on that in England, though.)

But I also recall Tim's research revealing that another ancestor was a slaveholder. I know I am not, and hope I carry none of the attitudes of those who could have owned slaves. While it does feel kind of special to have a bit of kingly blood running through me, it doesn't feel special at all to know that I also carry that slaveholder's blood. I had nothing to do with holding slaves ... but I still must realize that part of that slaveholder is in me. That fact doesn't feel like something I can simply dismiss.

As I wonder on this, I can't help thinking about the current talk of reparations for the sin of slavery. I really don't know that much about the topic and it seems that actually making reparations would be a nearly impossible task to even figure out, let alone administer. However, I don't think I can take the position of many of my white brothers and sisters: "That was long ago — I had no involvement." I don't think I can be as cavalier as those folks who totally dismiss the topic. I know I cannot. Along with that little bit of blood of a king in me, that slaveholder's blood continues to run alongside. Somehow, I am involved.

That blurry, if any, line between Church and State:
It seemed while visiting and learning about the cathedrals, that to a large extent the church and the state were one. "The Divine Right of Kings". Often bishops, the important ones, were appointed by kings. The goals of the state became the goals of the church, such as The Christian Crusades. There are examples where a few bishops might challenge the power of royalty; but, even with many of those, the goal was political power, not furthering what today we might think of as the goals of Christ's Kingdom. I may be oversimplifying, but it seems that the uniting of church and state (first started when Emperor Constantine's made Christianity the official religion of the Roman Empire) has brought about destructive periods in our faith traditions that today make us wonder, "How did they ever think that way?"

I find it very disturbing that in our country today, many Christians think that meshing with the power of the state is the only way to restore the influence of our Christian faith in what many view as an anti-Christian environment. For me, it takes only a little reflection of the church/state environment in the middle ages to think this a wrong path. My many years as an American Baptist also reinforces this concern. A key emphasis in the Baptist tradition is the separation of church and state. (I discuss much of this in my 12/6/13 post "Christmas and the Public Schools".) If our Christianity is something real and something we joyfully want to share, we surely do not need the often-corrupting arm of the state to further our cause. As I quoted Julián CarrónDisarming Beauty (Essays on Faith, Truth, and Freedom), by Julián Carrón, University of Notre Dame Press, 2017. Carrón's book is a series of essays by this Spanish Catholic priest and theologian related to how Christians can convey the "message of Christ" in a positive and hopeful manner in today's diverse world. (Catholic theologian, priest, and leader of a movement called Communion and Liberation) (my post 6/20/18): "The authentic Christian is not afraid of having to live in today's cultural pluralism without special legal privileges to do so."

This is not to suggest, though, as Christians we shouldn't be involved in politics or try to influence law-making and administration of justice. We do have a message and viewpoints to make known. But, how do we carry out the Christian role to speak Christ's Truth to power if we have wedded ourselves to that same power structure? While we are to respect our government officials, we should not look to them — or any one in governmental authority — as our champion. "Our help is in the Name of Lord; The maker of heaven and earth." (A common refrain in The Book of Common Prayer.)

I'm sure my wondering about these topics will go on and on. I look forward to continuing to wrestle with these types of issues and questions. For me, that's how my faith grows, matures, and is stimulated. For many, faith may reside in assurance of certainty. My faith, however, seems to grow in the living, nuturing, but sometimes rocky, garden of uncertainty. For me, that is faith.