Our second day in Bath, the weather was nicer. E finally got to do his walking tour (while the kids and I explored on our own), and then after lunch we headed off by car to see one of the world’s most recognized wonders.
Stonehenge rises up out of the broad face of the Salisbury plain, its lichen-covered stones in the midst of a sheep pasture. The sun is bright but the wind sweeps the sky and threatens to blow us away as our scarves flap and our hair whips around our eyes. The spring chill barrels through our jackets, and Stonehenge sits unmoved and unmovable as it as has for at least 4,000 years.
The monolithic stone circle we see on this sight isn’t the first monument that was built here. Archeologists say there were others before it, dating back 5,000 years. The windswept plain spreading for miles under endless sky was once wooded, and perhaps Stonehenge was surrounded by forests.
The stones that tower above the ground were quarried in Marlborough Downs which is 19 miles away, and the bluestones below came from the mystical Preseli Mountains in Wales, 240 miles away. Exactly how the stone was transported is unknown. Why bluestone was chosen is also unknown. How the builders erected single slabs of stone that weigh more than 40 tons each is a secret buried with the builders. The lintels that crown the stone slabs aren’t just set on top, but are fitted using joint and tenon construction. Each pillar is positioned with precision and special stones mark the position of the sun at the various equinoxes of the year. There is an altar in the center and a tall stone that acts like the spike on a sundial. There are round burial mounds within sight of the circle.
Its exact origins and purpose remain a mystery, but it’s clear this spot has been tended as a sacred place since 3050 B.C. Like the hot spring in Bath, which has been the site of pagan, Roman, and Christian places of worship, Stonehenge represents human effort to get in touch with the Divine, to connect with something greater than a visible reality, to make sense of both the order and the chaos of the natural world.
In Bath, there is a beautiful Abbey, built in the 15th century on a site that first had a Christian church that was built by the Saxons in the ninth century and later a Norman cathedral. The Abbey was site of the coronation of the very first king of England, Edgar. On Good Friday, we visited Wells Cathedral, the oldest surviving English Gothic Church, dating to the 12th century. When we toured the Cotswolds on Thursday, we visited several stone churches, built by the Saxons and the Normans, each one intertwined so intimately with English history and politics. In the dim light of one ancient church, I placed my hand on the cold stone of a baptismal font that dated back to the 13th century. It is still in use today, tying together generation after generation of Christians in this place.
It was amazing to visit these sacred places that have served believers of various religions and origins for thousands of year. How fitting to be there during Holy Week, the week Christians commemorate Jesus’ final days, his death and his resurrection.
My parents had me baptized and set me on my own spiritual path as an infant, and I’ve followed it first as a child and now as an adult. At times I’ve done so with confidence and “blessed assurance.” Other times I’ve plodded along, uncertain exactly where I was going or what my beliefs meant, but committed to accepting my doubts and questions as an important part of my journey.
I’ve seen how religion divides and unites, how it is a vehicle of love and can be hijacked for hate, how it creates clarity and confusion, peace and distress. Even as I embrace Christianity, my faith expands to consider the mystery of the Divine, the relationship mankind has sought with God from the days before recorded history, the truth we still seek to this day.
While rigid, dogmatic interpretations of Christianity grab the headlines and try to explain every aspect of life in detail, I confess I like the mystery of faith. I don’t grip my faith in my fist. Instead I like to hold my beliefs loosely in my hand and consider all I don’t know and understand. I like to ponder what has come before me and all that coexists with my faith and wonder how each of us has arrived at our place as Seekers, as Believers.
Sometimes I envision all of us as holding pieces to a puzzle, each piece a perfect but incomplete glimpse of the Divine. Some believers have many pieces, some have just a few. We gather them all our lives, we inherit them, we share them with others. Maybe on the last day we’ll bring what we have forward and see how they all fit together, all reflect something so much bigger than we ever imagined. We’ll see the Big Picture, see the Divine, appreciate our gifts, and recognize the sacred in every face, every faith, every place.
© Veronica McCabe Deschambault. All rights reserved.