Part 1 - Sure foundations: Stability in the crypt

As we begin St Benedict Week, Esther de Waal shares a series of reflections. In this first one, she invites us beneath Canterbury Cathedral into its ancient crypt, where the strength of hidden foundations speaks powerfully of the Benedictine vow of stability. In this reflection, she explores how learning to "abide" – to be rooted in God and at home within ourselves – becomes the essential starting point for every spiritual journey.

---

Place matters. Buildings and landscapes stay in my memory, to sustain and nourish me

with images that can be more powerful than words. I have a store of places that I can re-

visit, thinking with gratitude of time spent there, accepted as a sister in Christ – places of

hope and encouragement to lighten a dark world. I have a deep love for the Community

of Bec-Hellouin in Normandy, as I have for the Anglican brothers of Holy Cross, at West

Park, up the Hudson River beyond New York. I love the modern building at Wass in

Yorkshire, where the Stanbrook community have made their home; I think of the many

connections with St John’s Collegeville, and not least an honorary doctorate for

contributions to monastic studies. Here, and elsewhere, although I am an Anglican lay

woman, I am received as a sister in Christ. Here I was shown how to listen, how to

exercise loving relationships, to live with change, to face death – all lessons which bring

hope in a dark world. They did.

And now in old age, and unable to travel far, I turn to memories, vivid memories of the

place where I first encountered the Rule and where St Benedict began to change my life.

That place was Canterbury, where I lived for ten years, with four growing sons – my

husband having become the Dean of the cathedral. Our house, the Deanery, was

overshadowed by Bell Harry, the great cathedral tower, which dominated my horizon, as

though seemed to crush me with its ancient beauty. At first I did not feel at home in the

cathedral itself – it was after all the mother church of the Anglican Communion,

thronged with visitors and tourists. But gradually I discovered another perspective: my

home had been the prior’s lodging in the Middle Ages, and all around me in the

precincts were remnants of monastic buildings. I decided to read the Rule, and now

there began a dance between the written word, my own life, and the buildings around

me. everything was changed. Now whenever I went into the cathedral, I saw it as a

monastic church, hallowed by the life of prayer over many centuries. I thought of its

monastic community, coming seven times a day to celebrate what lay at the heart of

their life, the opus Dei, the work of God. I knew that I was in the presence of something

powerful. Because I had been given a key I could go in wherever I wanted - I could go in

whenever I wanted, by day or night. And so began the practice of going in alone at night,

either with a candle or a torch. Occasionally there might be an organ scholar playing the

organ, generally there was a palpable feeling of silence and stillness.

And so, I would enter through the door on the north side which took me directly down

to the crypt. There in the darkness I was met by the solidity of its Romanesque pillars. I

would touch them and feel the strength of the stone, knowing that it was upon that

strength that the whole great edifice above me depended. They were the sure

foundation which made possible that glorious handiwork above. Then I would turn my

attention to the highly decorated capitals, seen through the flickering light of my candle:

grotesques, jesters, animals playing musical instruments, a creature half man, half beast.

What was happening? What did this mean? It seemed to me that here, in this undercroft

I could see an analogy for my own self. Unless the foundation of my interior self was

firmly and strongly established, I could not hope to build or to move forward safely and

strongly – and that meant coming to terms with the strange and threatening elements

of the unconscious. I thought of the vow of stability, and of the wisdom of St Benedict in

making it the cornerstone of his Rule, of his monastic life, and how much it had come to

mean to me. It is about my inner disposition. It helps me to ask myself where my roots

lie, whether I am steadfast and unwavering in my search for God? Or whether I am

running away - into daydreams and escapist fantasy. Stability asks me to stand still, to

belong in one place, to abide. Only then, when I am at home in myself, can I bear fruit,

can I journey on.