The Cathedral is well, and imaginatively, illuminated at night. For a brief period in the early twentieth century, the Campanile was the tallest building in London, and Queen Victoria - allegedly - complained that it overlooked the gardens at Buckingham Palace.
I was talking last evening with some friends about the photographs from yesterday's post, and the challenge they represent. The juxtaposition of Cathedral and shopping/leisure complex goes to the heart of the major question for the church in our times - how to proclaim the gospel in our modern world? I am struck at the way that Westminster Cathedral does not shelter within a secluded close (like other Cathedrals), but rather intrudes into the business and preoccupations of Victoria Street. It helps make Christ present in a secular world - someone once described Cathedrals as 'liminal', that is, thresholds between the secular and the divine.
But how to bring people across that threshold? One solution is to adopt a position of opposition to the world, proclaiming spiritual values that deny those of society, and to condemn (in our instance) the building on the other side of the street as an abomination. There is much that would tend to push us in this direction; the over-commercialising not just of Christmas but of human life; the attitudes to wealth, possessions and wordliness that the shops represent and help create; the dehumanising of interpersonal relations. The Church must stand up and stand out, and echo the call of the Lord for his people to repent, to change, and to live a different life.
But I also feel this is an over-simplification. It is striking how Our Lord sent out his disciples. They were ill-prepared; no purse, no haversack, no staff. Our Lord did not want his disciples to go forth into the world with their minds made up, and their preconceptions already formed. He wanted them to be open to what they would find, challenging it where necessary, but also interacting with it and, indeed, loving what is good about it.
For this reason, I am rather excited about Cardinal Place and the goods and lifestyle it has on offer. There is much there to praise; the compex has created a village, a community, that has the potential to enhance, and not destroy, human relationships; in our Catholic tradition, society is good, and makes God happen to people. Technology and innovations can be (when seen in the correct light) a hymn of praise to God. The vast array of goods on display can be a testimony to the grace of God working through human genius.
Our Catholic sacramental tradition proclaims that the work of human hands can co-operate in the divine work of salvation, and that God uses material things to become channels of his grace. Most famously, we think here of bread, wine, oil, and water. But viewed in the right way, the whole range of goods created by human ingenuity and imagination can be sacramental. The produce of the modern world is a wonderful testimony to gracious gift of God that works through our humanity, rather than over it. Of course, abuses abound. From the internet to microwave ovens, technology can be used for good or ill. But the potential for good is there, and this is where the church must be. It is a difficult task, fraught with dangers, but it is also exciting and life-giving.
Perhaps here is where I locate the role and spirituality of the secular (or diocesan) priest, a spirituality that is to my mind hardly explored in the Church. The secular clergy live not apart from the world, nor following a rule that preserves them from the world. They live out their vocation in society, worrying about many of the things that concern most people, chatting to people in the queue at Sainsburys, keeping up with episodes of Eastenders. A diocesan bishop was once asked what his prayerbook he used, and in response held up his diary - that is his life of prayer. Our task is to challenge the world, or course, but also to promote a healthy esteem for the world and its goods, and allow people to experience God in their lives, not apart from them.
Some images taken this evening from Cardinal Place - the new arcade of shops and offices that has been built across from the Cathedral. For the first time, it is possible to observe the Cathedral from a distance, and I find the juxtaposition of old and new, spiritual and secular, very exciting and challenging.
For the Cathedral, it provides and opportunity and a challenge; Cardinal Place is a modern cathedral - a steel and glass temple to fashion and commerce. Much about that is good, but it raises the stakes for us, and asks us to find new ways of proclaiming the gospel. How do we express, in this context, that there is a spiritual basis to all of our activity?On Thursday, December 14, there will be a Penance Service at the Cathedral at 6.30pm (immediately following 5.30pm Mass), with opportunity for individual confession. All the Cathedral chaplains will be present. This is is a wonderful opportunity for a personal and spiritual preparation for Christmas.
Of course, Confessions are also heard throughout the day, every day 11.30am - 6.00pm, and from next Monday 18 December, 9.30am - 6.00pm.
A welcome return has been made to our TV screens recently by Doctor Who. For many of us, Doctor Who had been a formative influence in our childhood, as he fought his tea-time adventures with aliens across the universe, particularly with the sinister tin robots known as the Daleks. The Daleks, you will recall, are the curiously low tech alien foe of the Doctor, armed with a rubber plunger and bad sinuses. But for a child, it was all that was needed to make us squeal with terrified delight. I remember an exhibition about Doctor Who on the South Bank that was entitled "From behind the Sofa". To Dr Who fans, this title will need no explanation - for, it was famously from the security afforded behind the sofa that we followed his adventures. You know the feeling: you can't bear to look, but at the same time, you can't bear to tear your eyes away.
John the Baptist (to whom the Church turns our attention today) has always enjoyed the peculiar status of being both a deeply attractive, and a curiously abhorrent figure. From King Herod onward, throughout the history of the Church, people have felt the need to pay attention to him, yet can't bear what he has to say. This wild man, consumed by his mission, marching out of the desert looking like a manic, smelling like God knows what, castigated people even as he spoke poetry to them. And they flocked to him, to receive his baptism, to hear him condemning them - they couldn’t help themselves. King Herod was hooked, and protected him; John returned thanks by berating the King. Herod could only be tricked into getting rid of him, and then he wept bitterly.
It's partly to do with curiosity; we all love eccentrics, we're interested in them - although we would never want to share a railway carriage with one.
But there's more to it. John the Baptist claims our attention because we recognize that we need someone like him - in our society, in our lives, our Church. Someone who doesn't compromise, who doesn't say the easy thing, who makes us think, who challenges what we hold for granted. We are over-familiar with those in public life who are anxious to curry favour, win votes - in Church and State. We have seen conviction, in public life, replaced by careerism and opportunism.
Just occasionally, don't we want someone to say, "This is what I think - and I won't apologize for it!". Don't we want someone to say, "You are wrong!" Don't we want someone to make us feel uncomfortable with what we have grown used to - the luxury of our compromises. I suspect the Church is waking up to the need to speak out like St John – increasingly, the values of society are at odds with the true welfare of humanity. So Archbishop Nichols of Birmingham spoke out last week. What he said was not pleasant, but I think we know we needed to hear it.
Look at what John says - "Prepare a way for the Lord in the wilderness!" 
It's the last direction you'd expect God to come from! The Temple, yes; the church, the city. But the desert? From the start John puts us on the spot: if we only look where we expect to see Christ, we'll miss him, because he is greater than our preconceptions. God shocks us into a new awareness. He does that from the very moment he is born in - of all places - a manger in a stable. John the Baptist is the first wave of God's shock tactics, by his very appearance and behaviour - a behaviour many would call anti-social.
We need a John the Baptist figure, not just in our society, but in our lives - and in our Church. Our faith and our opinions cannot be healthy unless they are scrutinized, challenged. A faith that asks no questions of itself and its church is becalmed; it's no more relevant than a favourite pair of slippers, warming our cosy prejudices. A faith that is afraid to speak out, at the cost of popularity and even security, is no more than a slogan insincerely held.
We need John - but we're scared by him, too. For he may present us with answers we don't like. His questioning may undermine some cherished opinions. We may have to let go of some prized notions. We may have to let go of our immediate security. John was himself big enough to realise when his work was done, and to give way to Jesus: "I must decrease as he increases". It takes courage to let go like that, and we don't all have that courage. John is an uncomfortable figure.
But then, Advent is a time to feel uncomfortable. John's call to repentance will be taken up by Jesus as he begins his ministry: Repent, Change! Do things differently! Do we allow ourselves to be unsettled by the thought that Christ is coming? The manger in Bethlehem isn't all Christmas cards and chubby angels - it's also shocking, undermining. Do we allow John the Baptist to begin this challenge ? Do we reckon up the ways in which we fall below our own standards, and the standards of God? Once a year it is good for us to feel uncomfortable about that. And it is good to be mesmerized by the call of John the Baptist - a message we cannot bear to hear, and cannot bear not to hear.
On a bright morning, on the Second Sunday of Advent. However bright it is, the lights seem to be on all the time! At the beginning of each Mass, a family comes forward to light two candles on the Advent wreath.
Two columns and their capitals; the original snapped a few years ago in Haghia Sophia (above), and our version in Westminster Cathedral yesterday (below). Although the colour does not convey it, the marble of the columns used in both churches is drawn from the same quarry: Verde Antique (Ancient Green) from Thessaly. 