This is a 21st century priest's letter to St. Thomas Becket, who died in 1170.
Dear Brother Thomas,
Before we get through the 12 days of Christmas, and past your feast day-the day of your death--December 29, I have something to say about your candle.
My wife and I visited Canterbury and your cathedral a couple of weeks before All Saints' Day. Did you know there's a pub named The Thomas Becket? It was our favorite. There's another pub nearby called The Bishop's Finger. We don't know why.
The cathedral is a grand building, considerably changed since your murder there in 1170. We knew about the struggle between you and King Henry II on the division of powers of church and state, and that the king, formerly your good friend, had first appointed you his chancellor and later saw to it that you were made Archbishop of Canterbury. He assumed you would be his toady. Then, when you made it clear you were first God's man, the king was furious and said, "Who will rid me of this low-born priest?" Four barons took this as a command, rode to Canterbury, forced their way into the cathedral while the monks were singing Vespers, and hacked and stabbed you to death when you came to meet them. Your last words were recorded: "Willingly I die for the name of Jesus and in the defense of the Church."
Not a happy Christmas story, but neither are those of St. Stephen or the Holy Innocents. It did make a heck of a good movie, called "Becket." Richard Burton played you and Peter O'Toole was Henry II.
The older stones in the floor and the steps of the cathedral are much worn in places by the feet, and the knees, of countless pilgrims who began coming there to pray and sometimes to seek healing by being near your body. Many miracles were attributed to you.
Every school child from my generation was forced to make a stab at reading Geoffrey Chaucer's "Canterbury Tales," a collection of stories told by fictional pilgrims. We were supposed to read it in the English of your time. Might as well be in Dutch. Usually teachers were satisfied if we managed the opening words, "Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote/The droghte of Marche hath perced to the rooteÖ" You may know all these things. We in this world can only speculate about what you in your world know about us.
The church won the test of wills with Henry II. He was made to come to your tomb and be beaten with a stick by eighty-some monks as a penance for causing your death.
Later English monarchs continued to scrap over religion and politics. Henry VIII thought he would end the whole business by declaring himself head of the Church of England. That didn't really take. His daughter, Queen Mary, wasn't known as Bloody Mary for nothing. Mary's successor, Elizabeth, after killing her share of dissidents, did bring the beginnings of a sort of peace.
Now I turn toward your candle. My wife and I visited every part of the cathedral that we were able, and I took photos wherever it was allowed. Except in the northwest transept, a place sanctified by your death. I returned twice, but never took a picture. A good thing happened there some years ago; the Pope and the Archbishop of Canterbury, spiritual leaders whose churches have been separated more than 400 years, knelt together and prayed where you died.
Closer to your candle now. Thinking of your martyrdom, I remembered something. Queen Mary's burning of two Bishops in Oxford, Hugh Latimer and Nicholas Ridley. Latimer's last words were, "Be of good comfort, Master Ridley, and play the man; we shall this day light such a candle by God's grace in England as (I trust) shall never be put out."
We had almost finished our cathedral tour and were in the north aisle beyond the choir when the guide suggested we look to the right. In the center of the floor of Trinity Chapel was a single candle. It marks the place where your body lies, and it burns by day and by night it shines in the great darkness of the silent cathedral.
All the world's darkness can't put out the light of one small candle. I won't forget your candle, Thomas, for I know what its flame represents, and what light it keeps. St. John's Gospel, which we read during Christmas, telling of God's Word made flesh, says "In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it."
Robert