We saved a visit to St. Stephan Cathedral for our last day in Vienna. Why, I have no idea. We had walked past it at least a half dozen times every day during our stay as we criss-crossed the city and popped in and out of the U-bahn. The tall, brightly lit church was a wonderful navigational landmark by day and beacon by night, guiding us "home".
It was obvious that the exterior had been undergoing a restoration for several years, as large portions of the church had been cleaned of centuries of dirt and grime. The industrial age, and the advent of gas powered automobiles, have been particularly hard on the old buildings of Europe. At the time of our visit, St. Stephan Cathedral was still partially shrouded in scaffolding, but the fruit of the long labor was visible. Perhaps my fascination with the outside of the church curbed my enthusiasm for seeing the inside. Each morning we would commit to "doing St. Stephan" at the end of the day, but each evening, we were simply too exhausted, and the church, well, simply too imposing.
Suddenly, it was our last day. We made St. Stephan "first" on our list, instead of last. We paid the admission fee, and declined the complementary "audio guide" . Within minutes, we were back - yes, we would like the headset!
It was quiet inside. Although there were hundreds of visitors, each was absorbed in their own experience. Our little group dispersed almost immediately, and I was glad - this was to be a truly personal experience. I listened to the headset, mesmerized by the history. I played a few of the narratives over and over as I wandered through the immense space, captivated by the stories of anonymous architects, sculptors and philanthropists who contributed their time, talent and treasure over the ages, ensuring their gifts would survive, but not their names. Some of their stories were told in stained glass, others were etched in stone. But all was for the glory of God, not man.
This year, from Ash Wednesday until Whit Monday (Pentecost Monday, the day after Pentecost) the entire central aisle of St. Stephen's Cathedral is filled with 1332 paper-made objects shaped like stones that float above visitors heads.
The stones were lighted in purple during lent, gold at Easter (during our visit), and will be red until Whit Monday, which this year falls on June 10. One interpretation of the stones is Jesus as the "cornerstone", and the community as the "living stones". It is also significant that St. Stephan was stoned to death, portrayals of which are depicted throughout the cathedral.
The cathedral contained objects of great interest and history. I could have spent a week inside, and not seen it all. I could spend years researching the artifacts and not unearth them all. And this is but one place. It saddens me to think that there will never be enough time or enough words to tell the story of our collective past. So much of us is lost every day as the old is swallowed by the new.
I found myself drawn again and again to an obscure sculpture almost hidden in a corner of a man who seemed to be supporting one of the arches, bent under the great weight. In his hands were a level and a square, the tools of a Medieval mason. There is a Latin inscription that I cannot make out. He seems to be saying "On the backs of the builders rises the glory to God". Labor. It could be said that honest labor is prayer in its simplest and purest form. I am reminded of the inscription which often adorned the courtrooms of my past: "We who labor here seek only the truth."
I hope that St. Stephan Cathedral will continue to talk to its visitors for centuries to come.
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