I haven’t posted in ages, mostly because I have been trying to readjust to living back in the UK, trying to emerge from lockdown, meeting people from my churches, and in general, surviving a global pandemic. Since returning to Watford in June, I’ve preached twice in person and several times on Zoom. I’ve been to Cliff College for an overnight retreat. And I have ventured to one of the most well-known medieval pilgrimage sites in England, beautiful Canterbury Cathedral.
All graduates of Meredith College are obliged to learn a good chunk of poetry by heart, including the first several lines of the Prologue to The Canterbury Tales in Middle English. Upon my arrival I called out, “Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote,” but nobody answered, leading me to conclude that I was the only Angel wandering the medieval streets this week. I also spent 45 minutes on the River Stour, which required everyone to duck into the bottom of the boat to avoid banging our heads on the bridges. I don’t think that did my arthritis any good!
John Wesley was a frequent traveler to Canterbury, visiting some 40 times, according to his journals. He suffered a fall from his horse on one trip, but cheerfully recorded that he was given a glass of water by a barber, a restorative which apparently instantly gave him “ease.” Other journal entries indicate his concern over the spiritual coldness of the Society and his personal examination of its members. He also appears to have frequently visited his friends from the Perronet family.
While in Canterbury, I wandered the cathedral for a couple of hours, marveling at the ancient stone crypt, the soaring Gothic arches, and of course, the quietly chilling spot of Thomas a Becket’s murder, instigated by Henry II. And I stood in front of St Peter’s Methodist Church, not the “Pepperbox” building Wesley dedicated and visited, but a newer place where his spiritual descendants still gather for prayer and worship.
It was hard to find a quiet spot in the cathedral, and unfortunately the Methodist chapel building was not open, but I was grateful for my mini-pilgrimage and for the opportunity to reflect on the example of the Archbishop who defied temporal authority even at the cost of his life.
l was also reminded that the cathedral would have been full of hustle and bustle in the Middle Ages and that peace and quiet would have been hard to come by then, too. I found more of that while walking in the Franciscan gardens and sitting in the lovely chapel.
The heart of this ancient city is still beating, and I can’t wait to be able to return and experience more of its history and beauty.
And here endeth this brief Fowler’s Tale.
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