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![[Photo of York Minster]](york_minster.jpg)
When I go into the centre of York I often visit York Minster. I find the atmosphere to be peaceful and meditation is easy while I am there. There is a small chapel hidden away, that is reserved for quiet prayer from the hordes of sightseers and tourists. Since finding this oasis of peace I have often retreated there when I have needed a few minutes alone with God. Last half term I was at Kings Manor for a tutorial and decided to stop by the Minster on my way back. With it being holiday time the peace and tranquillity of the Minster had been shattered by hundreds of tourists. It was with great sadness that I watched so many people wander around talking about the architecture and the history. So few seemed interested in it as a house of prayer, as a place where God has been worshipped for a thousand years. I quickly decided to retreat to the chapel where I hoped to find peace. As I entered I heard a priest intoning the Anglican liturgy. It was a communion service and there were quite a few people there.
I had hoped to find the space to pray quietly but a communion service was good too. I took a seat at the back and just listened. It was heartening to see that even with all those tourists in the Minster there still was an oasis of prayer. There were maybe twenty people there at three in the afternoon on a Tuesday. They looked like they came from all different backgrounds and walks of life. When the priest called them to come forward some knelt before the altar and some didn’t. My heart was warmed because for me this was true ecumenicalism — common believers in the saving power of Christ coming together to worship him. It didn’t matter what traditions each had grown up in because all came in the name of Christ and the cross was central. All of this was deeply encouraging to me.
But at the same time my heart was grieving. The liturgy was a monotone and it carried no feeling. The priest intoned the words as he had done a thousand times before. He even seemed to be in a hurry to leave. The service had an air of death to it not life and the Holy Spirit if not absent was perhaps an unexpected visitor. I couldn’t speak for a single person there and I don’t know if any or all had a true faith in Christ. But that service was not leading them to know Christ but only to respect Christ. Jesus can’t just be a cross on the wall or the pages of a book. He came so that we could know him personally; he came so that we could be close to God. But in that chapel on that day Christ was being locked behind tradition, behind dignity and behind religion.
As the service ended I sat in silence. I hadn’t gone forward. I would have been a hypocrite to take part. They all left, even the deacon waving her metal chain, the role of which I didn’t want to know. As I sat there my mind churned until only one thought was left. Is this what we have come to? Hiding God so that we can all get along? Is unity important enough that the very cross itself should be submerged and diluted, to allow there to be peace between us? Our society seems to have reached the point where only one thing is unacceptable: an unwillingness to be accepting. I am told that I must respect false faiths, homosexuality, arguments for abortion and even blasphemy. But to respect these things is not the same as to accept them. To be a Christian is to stand clear of evil, to deny falsehood, to resist temptation. No matter what society tells us or what it demands of us we have to be true to God’s will. We will get it wrong because we are human but if we believe in Jesus Christ then we have to try. To accept Christ as God means that what he has said to us is true and authoritative. Well Jesus said; “If you love me, you will obey what I command.” (John 14:15, NIV) I know of only one place where I can learn securely of God’s will and that is the Bible.
As I sat alone in that chapel I picked up the prayer book that was in the pew and I opened it randomly. The passage that I read was Luke 14 and it finished; “Salt is good, but if it loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is fit neither for the soil nor for the manure heap; it is thrown out. He who has ears, let him hear.” (34–35) We are in danger of losing our saltiness. There is a line between truth and falsehood; there is a standard that is set. We do not show people Christ by smudging that line. That is what God told me, in that chapel, on that Tuesday. He who has ears let him hear.
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Issue 73 carries responses to this article from:
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Last modified: 25th November 2005
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