Farewell, Canterbury.
What better time for me to write a blog, than at 12:52, at a Costa Coffee that is open 24 hours a day, at the London-St. Pancras International station? I can't think of one.
My train boards at 4:30, but you have to show up early if you have any intention of getting here via train from the place I'm staying. It's a long story, but the end result is that if you want to spend under about $75 to get here, you show up early and blog.. at Costa.. right now.This blog should catch you up. Now, the Canterbury experience is over, and I'm headed to Paris to see one of my absolute best friends. The last time I blogged, it was the eve of my journey to Lambeth and my meeting the Archbishop of Canterbury (which will be, from now on, referred to as "the Hinterland," thankyouverymuch).Lambeth is beautiful. What a magical place! I feel like every room that I enter in England has a history. Now, truly every room has a story, and as such, a history.. But it seems that every room here has a story that began with the journaling of a patristic father, or something. Anyway, back to Lambeth, we ate lunch in the garden while Rowan Williams made bishops. We could literally hear the reception after the bishops were consecrated, while we sat outside, waiting.We met together, in a circle, and Canon Ed (I'm just going to call him Ed because he said "call me Ed") told Rowan what we were studying -- ordination vows -- and we each said where we were from. Ed asked Rowan to tell us what he thought we may need to hear, as aspiring priests or people already ordained, and there he went.You'd think he was reading from a book he'd already written. It was brilliant. He spoke eloquently, passionately, and honestly. I don't know that I've ever met someone so genuine, and with such a genuine humility. When he spoke about what it means to be a priest, he didn't talk about the various religious mouse traps that some people would expect you to set (i.e. the ploys to get more people in seats), or any of the peaching how-to's that are so common, or anything like that.Rowan Williams spoke to us about holiness.He said that priests are called to be watchers in towers. Looking out to the horizon, then speaking to the congregation and telling them what they've seen. I've really never heard such a poetic, and seemingly "correct" definition of the priesthood.After speaking, we were able to ask questions, and you would have thought every answer began with "well, let me get my book here, yes here's the page, it's like I said in this chapter...." followed by a quote from something he'd already written. His dealing with the entire situation makes me want to read every book he's ever written, because I think he believes every word he writes, which is something that I cherish, but I cherish it knowing how rare it can be.After Lambeth, he and I spoke, and naturally I made silly comments, and he laughed. I told him we read his books, and the man literally blushed. I would kill to have the humility he has. But I was too busy taking pictures with him, being the vain person I am. Holiness is something we are transformed into, right? Baby steps.. ;) Kidding.Lambeth was fantastic, but it was only one part of the two week journey. I wish I could tell you, with words, what it was like, but it will just never cut it. And that's coming from a lover of words. Really though, tell me, how could you sum up an experience that involved cultures from almost every continent? (I don't think anyone from Antarctica applied this year.)If you could find the words, you'd have them constrained by one language. And if you translated them into all the different languages, you'd miss the expressions of love, joy, sadness, pain, and compassion that are only perfectly said in the moment that they were said first.It seems terribly vague, but I hope that tells you - in metaphor, really - what the experience was like. I will always think of Canterbury as some part of what I mean when I say "home." Not only in the sense that I'm pretty sure I'll never pay for a hotel there, but also in the sense that this is a place that my faith calls home.One night we walked through the boarding school to get to St. Augustine's abbey, and it was one of the many moments that took my breath away. The ruins were filled with the life that was once divided by walls. In each nook and cranny of the broad space, there were altars. Altar after altar. When I wasn't praying at an altar, I was walking over Anglo-Saxon graves, pronouncing names on headstones, and admiring the persistent weeds that grew from rocks.Finally, I found the crypt that is for the second, third, and fourth Archbishops. I looked, read every name, but I was so surprised that I could not find the grave stone for Augustine, in his own abbey.I was standing on it.If you're wondering what this experience is like, it's so many things. It's the very things I stand on, as well as the things I feel like I have to travel across the world to see. It's wrapped into the sayings I've learned in various languages, and it's kept within the pages of a journal that I covered with words from first to last page in less than a month (that's an Erin Jean Warde record, mind you).This experience is wrapped in the potential I have to keep living into my ordination vows, knowing that there are very special people I know - across the world - who will be struggling to live into the very same vows. The experience will be wrapped in the histories of the saints who struggled with their ordination vows, reminding me (more often than I care to count) that even people who screw up are called to be saints. This experience will be wrapped in what I mean when I say the "Our Father" and the faces I say when I think of the saints.I love experiences like these, because they remind me of how wonderful it is to be alive, for me. These experiences remind me how much I love myself. Mostly, they remind me of the Author of Love and Life.Now, I'm done with studies at Canterbury, and it's hard to believe. Let's see, I arrived on May 15, knowing that my trip to Paris was "near to the end of my entire journey," and here I am waiting on my train to Paris. I guess I'm nearing the end. What is it, 11 days now? None of this would be honest if I didn't say that I miss home. It's very difficult for me to have fantastic experiences without the people I've loved for so long, with me. Every day something happens, and I want there to be more people I love around, so that they can share in it with me. The good thing is that there is very little that I did alone, so there are always people I can "remember when" with, and the experiences that I had alone will simply be mine and God's. And that's okay.In eleven days time, I'll be ready to be going home. I know it. The only thing preventing me from being ready right now is my desire to see Joseph. I'm calling this trip "Postulants in Paris."I miss my friends, I miss Mexican food, I miss Easter Kitty, I miss my bed, I miss being away from people who already know basic things about me, I miss my family (biological/church/seminary family), I miss my Alabama loves.And as soon as I get to Texas I will miss everyone I've met here. That's just how it goes.And it is always worth it.