England’s ancient cathedrals have always been special places for me.  Salisbury, Ely, Winchester, Wells, Lincoln – each so distinctive but all suffused with the same ineffable spirit.  Places of worship and prayer for those who worship and pray.  Objects of wonder for the more secular-minded who love these soaring spaces and the art and music that fills them.

Stepping through the west door and into the nave of the cathedral at Canterbury is an overwhelming experience.  So much sheer beauty and so much more besides held within the giant and ancient stone space – ingenuity, aspiration, devotion, longing, humility, hubris, creativity.  Centuries of human feeling of every kind held in place by the arches, pillars, and walls of this glorious building and absorbed into its stone, wood, and plaster. And centuries of action, from coronations to murders.

Seeing Canterbury Cathedral for the first time through the eyes of one of my sons was unforgettable.  Its recumbent statues marking the resting places of long-dead kings, queens, princes, and archbishops; stone steps polished by the feet of centuries of pilgrims; brilliant stained glass; the 12th century wall paintings of St. Gabriel’s chapel, the music from the giant organ.  Don’t let anyone tell you that the young can’t be awestruck or that these beautiful buildings have lost their power.