A Safe Haven

It’s a small, humble church compared to the cathedrals that tower around London. It’s set back along a quiet stone alley where the noise of traffic and busy businessmen of nearby Fleet St. disappears.

St. Brides Church dates back to the first century, and that’s no estimate. There’s still original rock from the Roman period in the basement of the church, along with a museum that depicts the evolution of the church.

The white washed walls on the outside of the cathedral lead up to the tiered tower. Legend has it the tower was the inspiration for the wedding cake design. A baker would look out his window at the St. Bride’s tower and model his cakes after his view.

While the outside of the cathedral may seem modest, the inside is anything but. White marble floors accompany chestnut pews- each with a dedication plaque nailed on it’s back. The ceiling is emphasized in gold outlines with a mural painted overhead of angels and cherubs.

But the real power of St. Bride’s comes within its significance. You see, St. Bride’s has been a parish church for journalists and printers for over four centuries.

As I stood in front of the alter filled with lit candles, flowers and pictures of journalists that lost their lives while covering war I began to realize for the first time that journalists might need God, people’s prayers and someone watching out for them.

At St. Bride’s the connection of church is simple. It’s not controversial or an issue. It’s just a realization that journalism can be a dangerous field and praying for the safety of members of the media is a recognition of the church.

I joined my fellow aspiring journalists as we each sat in an empty pew, meditating on our thoughts. Some wrote, some prayed and some just sat there. Although I’m not positive what they were feeling, a sense of security and reassurance came upon me. I knew journalism is my field. And if I ever get the opportunity to cover a war or conflict, I know I’ll have a haven at St. Bride’s. Perhaps there will even be a young student, aspiring to be a journalist, sitting in that same pew saying a prayer for me like I did for all those writers in the photos on the alter.