Rachel Phillips: London

As callous as it may seem to admit, there are only so many cathedrals and timeworn monuments a person can visit before the novelty begins to wane a bit. The awe inspired by such formidable and long-lasting creations is never lost, but I think guilty disillusionment is a feeling many travelers experience—myself included.

 

Perhaps that was why the British Museum surprised me.

 

We had just arrived in London. Unpacking bags could wait—I joined a small group of students to explore the city. After a quick lunch at a nearby Thai restaurant to satiate our grumbling bellies, we hopped onto the tube. Someone suggested we visit the British museum. I’d never been there, but it sounded like a valuable experience—I mean, I like museums and Britishness.

 

The building itself is a work of art, although I only began to properly appreciate it in retrospect. A huge ceiling of trigonal glass curved above us as we stumbled inside. Peering up through it felt like standing inside the eye of a massive insect. A living creature. To be honest, it gave me the heebie-jeebies. I ducked into the Egyptian exhibit to view displays that were more comfortably unalive. And then I saw the Rosetta Stone.

 

The Rosetta Stone is famous enough to be almost universally recognized, even if only as the inspiration for the name of a popular language-learning software. And here it was, right at the entrance to the exhibit. In any other museum, the stone would have been staged in a more climactic location as the main attraction. And yet, here it was.

 

Just a few steps away were twin Assyrian stone lions, gazing out upon countless statues and sarcophaguses. The controversial Parthenon sculptures reclined mere meters away. We happened to stumble upon—metaphorically, of course—a discreetly labeled, mummified Cleopatra. It would be nearly impossible to overemphasize the sheer amount of history crowded into one beautiful building.

Standing there, in the midst of all this pressing history, I felt so small.

 

But I think, sometimes, it is good to allow ourselves to feel insignificant and overwhelmed and humbled. It is good to let God surprise us.

 

As this trip begins to wind down (if it is even capable of doing such a thing, what with research papers and theatre and exotic foods to eat), it seems even more important to remember what an extraordinary opportunity this semester brings. We are here to learn, and to experience, and to allow others grace to learn and experience in their own ways. We are here to be together in these marvelous places where we can savor the shared knowledge of generations, past and present.

 

Perhaps we can retain this experience of being humbled by history and togetherness—not always, as the novelty does wane. But perhaps if I find that I have grown too careless of my surroundings or the people I am with, I can remember standing under that bug-eyed dome. I can remember feeling small.