Today was our free day – really free afternoon – of the pilgrimage. After morning prayer, Eucharist, breakfast, and a visit with the Canterbury Cathedral stone masons, several of us set off for adventures in London.
When we arrive at the St. Pancras station, some headed off to museums, others to visit friends, some went off to the theatre, and I – along with one of my dearest friends – set off on a different adventure. We went on a journey of vestments and books. (Really are you surprised?)
We effectively did a 10.5 miles loop around the city of London. We walked from the station to Wippells and Watts. We went to the Church House Book Stire. We treated ourselves to a gorgeous lunch at the Goose & Pig across from the Royal Courts of Justice; just a few blocks from where Kaytee got her masters. We rested in the steps of Trafalgar Square gazing out of the city bathed in the emerging light of the sunset. We visited a handful of second hand bookstore and poured over theological and liturgical treasures, poetry, rare first editions, and whatever other oddities we stumbled upon. We wandered the streets of Soho and settled in for a pint whilst discussing Triduum liturgies and ordination.
The city was amazing as always. The conversation was rich, and the company was beautiful. Today I am thankful for the gift of adventures with a sweet and gentle soul. I am thankful for the gift of wandering and seeking out the delights of our peculiar world.
One of the treasures I picked up today was a late 19th century (1897) book titled Lays of Iona and other poems by S. J. Stone. While flipping through the pages in the stone I was in the fence about getting it until I saw a poem titled, “A Hymn Candidates for Ordination.” This peom is a beautiful expression of what has been one of my biggest struggles through the ordination process. (The whole of the poem can be read in the pictures below or on page 262 of this website).
O my LORD, most Holy, / Summonest Thou me, / Lowliest ‘mid the lowly, / As Thyself to be? / ‘Yea, because I call thee, / Take thy priestly place, / Front what may befall thee – / Hast thou not My grace?
. . .
FATHER, SON, and SPIRIT, / ‘Tis Thy call of grace, / Thine election’s merit / Seals to me my place: / Lowest ‘mid the lowly, / Yet I call Thee mine: / HOLY, HOLY, HOLY / Thine, and sent to Thine. Amen.