The Divinity School, Oxford
A glorious slice of the religious and academic history of Oxford.
This lovely room you may recognize from the Harry Potter films. Although I was not familiar with it previously, this building captured my attention and claimed my adoration immediately upon entering. This is known as The Divinity School, attached to the Bodleian Library in the center of town. As the oldest university building, it dates back a whopping 500+ years!
It has been used as a lecture hall, exam room, and was even used to house Parliament a few times throughout English history! The first time was during the Plague in 1625, and the next was when Charles I feared for his life during the English Civil War of 1642, and thence, moved his court to Oxford.
Two very interesting artifacts are currently housed in the Divinity School, including “The Drake Chair”. However, the most incredible part of this room was the architecture itself. Made in the elaborate medieval style, its vaulted ceilings are an extraordinary example of gothic design. It is so detailed and expansive; there are at least 455 bosses, which are decorative knobs usually at the intersections of rib vaults (see pictures below).
The stunning room did not merely feel beautiful, or awe-inspiring, or impressive. The room felt sacred, holy and magical all at once. The midday sunlight slanted through the huge windows, and the warm cotswold stone filled the room with a golden glow. After a few more tourists exited, the room became very quiet, and the space itself came alive.
It held that mystic, earnest wonder that must have inspired the early Oxford scholars (often monks!) who worshiped and studied the ways of God. Surely, heaven itself seemed to peak its head into the wonderful space as we wandered around, our necks crunched, eyes averted upward.
As I wandered around the glorious room, I reflected on the religious history of the University. As I mentioned before, monks were the first scholars at Oxford, but over its history of nearly 1,000 years, its has become almost entirely secular.
We recently read some poems of John Donne and George Herbert. Each of the poems is about suffering and doubt in one way or another, which still feels very relevant today. But they seem closer (in style and tone) to the psalms of David than the prayers we pray in church today. Yes, they are laments, filled with the burden of pain and suffering, yet there is always a final conclusion that pulls them upward toward God. There is a hope and intense faith that genuinely feels like the sun suddenly coming out after a rainy day, reflecting on the raindrops on the leaves of the trees. I suppose that is where the beauty comes from—the hope Christ gives us is reflecting off of the laments of our heart, giving us the knowledge that there is something much brighter, stronger and better above.
It seems that we have lost some (or much) of the connection between God and man now, as if we have progressed so far in understanding ourselves and the world through philosophy and science, that we think we are able to stand alone. Even people of faith no longer are forced to face death, illness, and loss with the frequency and urgency that people of old did. In a way, we have forgotten how to lean into God, for we think we have found a way to stand on our own.
As I turned to exit the Divinity School, I glanced once more at the intricate bosses and graceful gothic arches. It felt a shame that Oxford, a place of such beauty, created for such a divine purpose, has lost the vision in the pursuit. The sacred and stunning room will always hold a special place in my heart, reminding me of the incredible things men can achieve while pursuing God, and what also happens when they forget their Maker and Savior in the achieving.