Continuity and Universality in New Places

It has been far too long since I put fingers to keys. This is due to the busyness of the end of term, a broken wrist, and a lack of impetus to artistically and articulately recreate some of my experiences. Term has technically been finished for three weeks, yet I feel in many ways that I have now more projects to complete than I did during term.

At the beginning of my "holiday," I travelled north to St. Andrews, Scotland to meet my good friend for her graduation. I had never been to St. Andrews before, but had heard enough description from my friend to have formed a rough mental image of this ancient university town. Yet nothing really prepared me for the beauty situated on the shores of the North Sea. Entering St. Andrews, one is immediately impressed by the awesome ruins of the old monastery and cathedral which were destroyed during the reign of King Henry VIII. However, the beauty which confronted me was that of wind, sea, rock, and sky. The contrast between the ruined masonry of centuries past, and the powerful blue sea, and white waves, rolling into and crashing upon the sand shores at the foot of the crag, on which a castle once stood, reinforced to me the fleetingness of our existence in relation to creation and eternity.

This momentary recognition, which hit me as I stood on the cliffs overlooking the sea, was not depressing, but rather invigorating. Being but a vestige of their former glory, the ruins of monastery and cathedral powerfully called attention to the glorious powerful structures they once were. Man, so long ago, with such limited technology, created such glorious works of art and yet, they still pale in comparison to the view of God's nature in whose imitation they were made. This realization is overwhelming: what a beautiful world we live in.
I don't know why but the sea seems to have a way of drawing thoughts such as these out of me; perhaps its the vastness of it, or the power, I am not sure which, but there you have it.

Today there stands in St. Andrews, overlooking the sea, a little Catholic church, which I attended on Sunday with my friend and her mother. It had been her parish when she was studying there. Through the process of writing this, I have been struck with the continuity of God's beauty and the Church throughout the ages. In spite of trials and persecution, there remains in St. Andrews, materially demonstrated through this parish church, a remnant of the past glory present in the monastery and cathedral ruins. This beauty, constantly manifested in the sea and the stone, is the glory of God's creation and a glimpse of the beauty promised in the New Creation.

Similarly to the continuity demonstrated for me in the beauty of St Andrew's, I was a week later struck by the universality of the Catholic Church. While attending Our Lady Seat of Wisdom Academy I was introduced to the tradition of the Rorate Mass. It became one of my favourite traditions. The mass is celebrated in the early morn in celebration of the Blessed Virgin and is prayed by the light of candles. As the mass progresses, the sun begins to rise, and the church brightens signifying the light of Christ coming into the world. The symbolism and the simplistic beauty of a church lit only by candlelight has an emotional appeal to me. On the second Sunday of Advent my parish here in Oxford announced that there would be a Rorate Mass celebrated during the following week. I was so excited and struck be the extreme gift of belonging to a universal Church: home is anywhere in the world.

As it happened, I was out till the wee hours of the morning the evening before the Rorate Mass; before my head touched the pillow,  I set my alarm for three hours later to walk to the mass. As my alarm went off, what felt like seconds later, I was extremely tempted to turn it of, flop over, and get some more much needed rest. However, the thought of missing the beautiful Advent celebration provide enough impetus for me to jump out of bed before I was able to shut my eyes again. I walked to the church in the stillness of the early morn with the birds singing. The bustle of Oxford life had not begun yet and I entered the candlelit church and was filled with peace.

“Rorate, caeli, desuper, et nubes pluant iustum,” ~ “Drop down dew, O heavens, from above, and let the clouds rain down righteousness.” - Introit from Rorate Mass