Cathedrals and the Forgotten

Hullo again, friends. It's been awhile. Some of you know that I'm now living in the city of York, in the U.K. I'll be here for three months; it's a gorgeous city, cram-packed with history and traditions, culture and kitchens. The alliteration works, and it's also true.

Today, I finally visited the inside sanctuary of York Minster Cathedral. It's an immense, cavernous space, filled with kings and saints keeping vigil, gargoyles clambering the channeled walls, arches meeting like the limbs of a great forest in the top reaches. A hallowed place, I thought, and surely God is pleased with it. Didn't He delight in the Israelites pouring their craft into Solomon's temple? God desires beauty. He takes honor in our art.

Sorry for the quality of my ipod photos. Fun fact about the Minster: various apprentices have been brought in on the restoration projects, and each one adds a tiny face from Star Wars or Star Trek in some out-of-the-way crevice.

But at the risk of sounding overly-millennial, what else could those resources have been used for? Who starved while the elite built their church? And, after all, were the cathedrals really built as true monuments to the Lord of lepers, or as idols to the pride of human wealth and ostentation?

I don't mean to come across as all "Churches-should-send-money-to-Africa-rather-than-buy-new-pews." I'm also well aware that the building of cathedrals probably spawned entire miniature economies and generated settlements, not to mention the education, culture, and preservation of knowledge that they provided. These are just my thoughts of reflection, and I'm glad that the cathedrals exist. If they didn't, I wouldn't have had the opportunity to visit the Minster at sunset. The light smoldered behind the stained glass; in a way, the beauty provided by God was completed by the beauty that man had created to honor Him. As I left with my friend, the organs were beginning to boom, and people were just gathering for Vespers.

Alexa​ and I wandered our way through the nearby sidestreets after leaving the Minster. She pointed out a little bookshop in the shadow of the cathedral. Several mythology books penned by Tolkien snagged my eye, which I intend to return for. There was also a copy of Neil Gaiman​'s Neverwhere! With the possible exception of Patrick Rothfuss, Gaiman is my favorite author, and the book was well-priced, so I bought it. The cashier wrapped it up in brown paper for me; I've always wanted to buy a book like that. :D

Over the summer, I listened to a story that's something of a sequel to Gaiman's Neverwhere (although Gaiman technically doesn't do sequels). It was called How the Marquis Got His Coat Back, and can be found in the Rogues anthology edited by George R.R. Martin. I listened to it as an audiobook, as I did with my first perusal of Neverwhere itself, so I'm looking forward to returning to the actual book in a written-word format. If you've never entered the world Gaiman created under London's streets, let me implore you to do so. It is the world of people who've slipped through the cracks. The Marginalized. The Lost. The Forgotten.

In a way, that is what a cathedral represents to me. It is a grand monument, a city unto itself. But in the sacrifice made for Faith and beauty, what -- and who -- were forgotten?

And who are we still forgetting?