Moral Tutors as Mentors
When I arrived at Oxford, I was assigned a moral tutor. I imagined that we would meet once a week to discuss ethics or ways to develop socially beneficial traits like decency or responsibility. Perhaps he would reprimand students for drunken antics on the forbidden-to-walk-on college lawn or have a word with Seth, whose girlfriend Vanessa lived with him in the room above mine in Stairwell 4. Eventually, Seth got worried, so they moved to a canal boat that was moored on the River Thames near Osney Island. I thought it was terribly romantic. If you have read Philip Pullman’s book The Golden Compass (or seen the movie), you will understand when I say that they went to live with the Gyptians.
At my first (and only) meeting with the moral tutor, I was surprised to learn that his role was more like a guidance counselor. Oxford’s official definition of a moral tutor is “the person in a college who a student can turn to with concerns about their teaching or general welfare.” Historically, the moral tutor performed the functions of a spiritual father and mentor. By that definition, my true moral tutor was the college chaplain, the Rt. Revd Dr. Geoffrey Rowell.
Walsingham
In a letter to my mother, written on October 25, 1986, I wrote: “You will be happy to hear that I attended chapel twice, and that I have gone out with the Chaplain twice as well. He took Karen (the woman across the hall, who is the theology student from Bryn Mawr) and myself to a small village (17th century) in the Cotswolds for lunch. The name of the place was Burford. The Chaplain, Geoffrey, has a nice Volvo, so the ride was quite pleasant and the weather clear and sunny. Last week, he took Karen, myself, and a young Welshman named Jonathan on a day trip to Walsingham. Walsingham is in East Anglia, about 5 miles from the sea, near the city of King’s Lynn, which you could probably find on a map—if you still have the atlases [from the Encyclopedia Britannica] in the house. Geoffrey had been invited to speak to a group of bishops, and he just took us along for company on the ride (3-hour drive there). Walsingham is a medieval shrine to the Virgin Mary that has been taken over by the Anglican Church. It is comparable to Lourdes, and the site of many miraculous cures. When we arrived, Geoffrey had to run off to his meeting, but committed us to the care of the curate at Walsingham. He took us to the shrine to pray and gave us water to drink from the Holy Well.”
There was more to the story than what I told my mother (isn’t that always the case). After drinking from the Holy Well, the three of us split up. I wandered into the garden, where I found different stations that marked the big events in the Virgin Mary’s life. I lingered in a shell-encrusted grotto that was identified as the Annunciation. In the Annunciation, the Archangel Gabriel appears to the Virgin Mary and tells her that she will conceive and bear a son, Jesus Christ. While contemplating the image of Mary and child, I heard a voice in my head say “You will have a baby.” As any unmarried woman would be, I was shocked and terrified to have such a sacrilegious thought (given the context). I could imagine how Mary must have felt. I can only describe the voice I heard as “other.” As a beginning graduate student, having a baby was the farthest thing from my mind and not part of my life plans. But, having babies is more mysterious than people today believe and not entirely under our control. I say this because by the end of my second year at Oxford I did, indeed, have a baby.
Little Gidding
The letter to my mother continues: “The trip [to Walsingham] was special to me for another reason as well—Geoffrey loves modern literature and poetry—especially the poems of T. S. Eliot. On the way to Walsingham, he made a slight detour to Little Gidding, a small chapel out in the middle of nowhere, which was the setting of Eliot’s 4th Quartet (called “Little Gidding”). Geoffrey went to the nearby manor house and got the keys to the chapel. (He was wearing his clerical attire, collar and black frock.) Then he opened it up, so that we could go inside. Of course, he had to kneel and pray, but he also bought me a copy of T. S. Eliot’s Four Quartets, which was on sale at the back of the church—an item which means a great deal to me now.” So now you know what the first item was that meant a great deal to me. I mentioned the second one in last week’s newsletter Oxford before Laptops, Cellphones, and Internet.
Keble Chapel
Initially, I went to the Sunday service at Keble chapel because I thought that it was part of the “Oxford experience.” However, I soon started attending three or four services a week because of the music. I love Early Music and Keble’s choir is one of the best in Oxford. Here is a sample of their music and a view of the chapel:
The chapel was also the most beautiful space in college. William Holman Hunt’s 1853 painting The Light of the World hung in the side chapel, where I would retreat when I needed silence. What started as an aesthetic experience gradually became an educational one. Geoffrey’s sermons were a combination of theology lecture and practical wisdom.
On Sundays, the Warden (head of the college) attended service. He had a chair in the front of the chapel that looked like a throne. This gave me more contact with the Warden than most students had because only a handful of students and dons (i.e., professors, lecturers, or fellows) attended the chapel regularly.
Having been raised a Methodist, I was surprised that the Eucharist was offered every Sunday. For the entire Michaelmas term, I would not take communion. Every Sunday, Geoffrey would end the service with a prayer to the effect that “may in the due course of time, the tree bear fruit.” I interpreted this very personally as a comment on my refusal to take communion. In time, his prayer was answered and I became an Anglican.
If you would like to experience what it is like to attend chapel at Keble College, watch one of the services at the Keble Chapel YouTube channel.
Postscript for Oxford before Laptops, Cellphones, and Internet
I found an image of the actual pigeonholes at Keble College.