Have you ever done it? Looked up high at the spire of a cathedral and exclaimed, “Let’s climb to the top!” Up you go, dragging your feet over the endless stone steps, clinging to a centuries’ old railing, glancing down from dizzying heights, and gazing upward to see how many steps remain to climb.
Before the building of the great European cathedrals, mankind looked up to the hills and mountains extolled by the Psalmist (Ps. 121).
I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.
My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.
But once the building fever began, first in the Romanesque style and then pushing to unfathomable heights in the era of the Gothic cathedrals, only the limits of architectural physics limited the race to the top!
Today you can climb the towers of many such miraculous structures. Some, like the Cathedral at Ulm, boast a spire that stretches up 530 feet. Step by careful step, you make the ascent, until finally arriving at the top. You edge yourself out on the platform, gasping at the marvelous panorama that once only birds could see. Inevitably, you are awed by remembering the thousands of anonymous men who cut these massive stones, dragged them across the miles, and somehow hoisted them into the skies.
Yet, standing at the “top” you may not yet be at the top. For atop these cathedral towers often is the spire itself. Yes, the real top is a “delicate” spire carved out of cascades of sandstone or webs of wrought iron. A cross glistens at the spire’s point, or perhaps, in the medieval tradition, a rooster pivots, symbolizing the cock that crowed when Peter denied Jesus.
Gazing at cathedral spires can cause us to reflect on our own aspirations. The noun “aspiration” is rooted in the Latin verb “to breathe upon” (aspirare). Yet as related as the words initially seem, the noun spire comes from a different root: the Old English spir meaning a sprout, shoot, blade or tapering stalk of grass.
Still, the symbolism of a spire atop a church has much in common with the concept of human aspirations. Our highest desires always stretch beyond what we seem to be able to achieve. We climb as far as we can, but still may not realize our aspirations. Yet even if we fail to achieve these aspirations, it is so important to have them and allow them to guide our lives. This mysterious aspect of our human hearts fuels far more good than we realize. We were, after all, created by God with the capacity to conceive and attain lofty goals. Aspirations are spiritual sparks that ignite and energize our daily paths.
A great danger in life occurs when people lose their aspirations. I see this problem frequently leading tours where many of the travelers are senior citizens. It is easy at an advanced age for people to feel lost, often due to the death of a spouse or to the difficulties of adjusting to retirement. Older people have to grapple with the onset of physical limitations that inevitably alter one’s ability to climb the cathedral towers of life. Far too easily, they lose sight of the spires that once guided their aspirations.
Meanwhile, here we are deep into the Advent season. Perhaps some of your Advent aspirations have been fulfilled, such as baking cookies from a family recipe (in my case, it’s the powdery Swedish Heirlooms cherished by my mother). Another of my aspirations is to write Christmas cards to friends who still value the beauty of this tradition.
These, of course, are the easy aspirations of life. Other spires far more difficult to mount include finding a way to help warring family members restore their bonds, especially now when the fabric of our society is torn by ideological battles. Or guiding a troubled teen through the thorny problems that derail and destroy youngsters today. Or, maybe the most difficult of all, carving out a time and place for daily individual prayer and spiritual renewal.
Still whether we ascend to the top of a tower, or not, we gain incalculable value putting one foot in front of the other in our attempt. Even gazing at a spire can fill our eyes and souls with beauty. Without these spires, our roof is flat and the silhouette of our life loses focus.
One more thing. For me, the most impressive thing about climbing up a cathedral tower is not the ascent, but the descent. Particularly if it’s a cold, windy day, the air gradually warms your face as you draw closer to the ground. Once on solid ground, the tension of the climb releases with a sudden rush. Your knees can quiver from exertion of the climb. Your head may feel light, particularly after you look back up to the spire and realize how close you came to the top!
Thinking about spires led me to discover an insightful poem by a 19th-century African-American poetess Henrietta Cordelia Ray (1849-1916). While not specifically a seasonal poem, it encapsulates our aspirations during the Advent season.
We climb the slopes of life with throbbing heart,
And eager pulse, like children toward a star.
Sweet siren music cometh from afar,
To lure us on meanwhile. Responsive start
The nightingales to richer song than Art
Can ever teach. No passing shadows mar
Awhile the dewy skies; no inner jar
Of conflict bids us with our quest to part.
We see adown the distance, rainbow-arched,
What melting aisles of liquid light and bloom!
We hasten, tremulous, with lips all parched,
And eyes wide-stretched, nor dream of coming gloom.
Enough that something held almost divine
Within us ever stirs. Can we repine?
Through these final days of Advent, take time to look up, “eyes wide-stretched.” Climb higher in pursuit of the divine and, with “eager pulse,” seek to reach the spiritual spire where the angels rejoice at Christ’s birth.
Is this not the Ulm Munster? Like York, perhaps a big church but not really a “cathedral”
Am loving these Advent posts – thank you!