THE LEAD LIGHT: Happenings Lead Article for June 30, 2026
FROM YOUR RECTOR
One of the fascinating things about being in Ireland for the days I was there, was the number of times Oliver Cromwell’s name came up. Usually when names come up they are remembered fondly and with joy. Barack Obama. Oprah Winfrey. Prince. People who have had an impact on politics, on society, on the culture we experience.
Oliver Cromwell was an English military and political leader who rose from modest roots in Huntingdon to become one of the most powerful figures in England’s history. A devout Puritan, he served in Parliament before the outbreak of the English Civil War in 1642 transformed his life. Though he had no formal military training, he proved a talented commander, leading decisive victories. After the execution of King Charles I in 1649, the monarchy was abolished and England declared a Commonwealth.
Cromwell emerged as its dominant figure, and in 1653 he was named Lord Protector, effectively ruling the nation until his death in 1658. He declined an offer of the crown in 1657, preferring the title of Protector, and was briefly succeeded by his son Richard before the monarchy was restored in 1660.
You can imagine what a devout Puritan might think of Roman Catholicism and traditional Anglicanism in Ireland. He invaded the island and programmatically destroyed all things Roman Catholic. His method of destruction was killing the monks and religious leaders and then taking the roofs off of their homes and worship spaces, essentially leaving their homes to rot in the rain and weather of the day. He was a vicious man, who destroyed the lives of many people.
I walked through three different cathedrals in Ireland: St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Christ Church Cathedral, both in Dublin, and St. Canice’s Cathedral in Kilkenny. All three of them were transformed in one way or another because of his violence. In Dublin, Cromwell did not raze the Cathedrals, however, legend has it he thought Anglican worship was too rooted in Roman Catholicism and Royalism and so he stabled his horses in the nave and didn’t allow worship. He also used St. Patrick’s Cathedral as the location of his court martials and other court proceedings, desecrating the sacred space. Christ Church Cathedral was left mostly alone, although the crypt, the large space underneath the Church, was used for a million different things that were not exactly sacred. Christ Church particularly suffered from Cromwell’s desire to end the Cathedral system, and no longer have cathedrals as part of the Church’s bureaucracy.
St. Canice's Cathedral in Kilkenny suffered far more directly than Dublin's cathedrals. Kilkenny had been the seat of the Roman Catholic-led government that ruled much of Ireland from 1642. When Cromwell captured the city in 1650, his forces inflicted terrible damage on the cathedral, which stood roofless and abandoned for twelve years.
The most grievous loss was its celebrated medieval east window: commissioned in the 14th century by Bishop Richard de Ledrede and so prized that the Papal Nuncio Rinuccini had offered Bishop David Rothe £700 to remove it to Rome for safekeeping an offer Rothe refused, only for the window to be destroyed when Kilkenny fell to Cromwell two years later. Soldiers also smashed the cathedral's medieval font, and the roof, monuments, and stonework were left in ruins until restoration began under Bishop Williams after the monarchy was restored in 1660.
Oliver Cromwell was one of the most powerful men of his age. He commanded armies, toppled a king, ruled a nation, and was offered the crown. If raw power were what endured over the years, his name would be spoken with the same warmth we save for the people who shaped us for the better. Instead, three and a half centuries later, his name is spoken in Ireland with coldness. He is remembered not for what he built, but for what he destroyed.
As I stood in St. Canice's, looking up at the east window Cromwell shattered believing he had ended that light forever, I marveled at our ability to create as humans, as Children of God. The light he tried to put out streams through that glass today. The font he smashed has been replaced. The roof he tore off has been built again, and the cathedral is full. The worship he tried to silence is still being sung.
That is the strange math of the Gospel. The destroyers do their worst, and for a time it looks like the dark has won. But the things of God have a way of being remade. What love takes the trouble to remember, hatred cannot finally erase. The tomb does not stay sealed. And the window, against all odds, lets the light back in. I look forward to showing you those windows on the 12th.
One of the fascinating things about being in Ireland for the days I was there, was the number of times Oliver Cromwell’s name came up. Usually when names come up they are remembered fondly and with joy. Barack Obama. Oprah Winfrey. Prince. People who have had an impact on politics, on society, on the culture we experience.
Oliver Cromwell was an English military and political leader who rose from modest roots in Huntingdon to become one of the most powerful figures in England’s history. A devout Puritan, he served in Parliament before the outbreak of the English Civil War in 1642 transformed his life. Though he had no formal military training, he proved a talented commander, leading decisive victories. After the execution of King Charles I in 1649, the monarchy was abolished and England declared a Commonwealth.
Cromwell emerged as its dominant figure, and in 1653 he was named Lord Protector, effectively ruling the nation until his death in 1658. He declined an offer of the crown in 1657, preferring the title of Protector, and was briefly succeeded by his son Richard before the monarchy was restored in 1660.
You can imagine what a devout Puritan might think of Roman Catholicism and traditional Anglicanism in Ireland. He invaded the island and programmatically destroyed all things Roman Catholic. His method of destruction was killing the monks and religious leaders and then taking the roofs off of their homes and worship spaces, essentially leaving their homes to rot in the rain and weather of the day. He was a vicious man, who destroyed the lives of many people.
I walked through three different cathedrals in Ireland: St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Christ Church Cathedral, both in Dublin, and St. Canice’s Cathedral in Kilkenny. All three of them were transformed in one way or another because of his violence. In Dublin, Cromwell did not raze the Cathedrals, however, legend has it he thought Anglican worship was too rooted in Roman Catholicism and Royalism and so he stabled his horses in the nave and didn’t allow worship. He also used St. Patrick’s Cathedral as the location of his court martials and other court proceedings, desecrating the sacred space. Christ Church Cathedral was left mostly alone, although the crypt, the large space underneath the Church, was used for a million different things that were not exactly sacred. Christ Church particularly suffered from Cromwell’s desire to end the Cathedral system, and no longer have cathedrals as part of the Church’s bureaucracy.
St. Canice's Cathedral in Kilkenny suffered far more directly than Dublin's cathedrals. Kilkenny had been the seat of the Roman Catholic-led government that ruled much of Ireland from 1642. When Cromwell captured the city in 1650, his forces inflicted terrible damage on the cathedral, which stood roofless and abandoned for twelve years.
The most grievous loss was its celebrated medieval east window: commissioned in the 14th century by Bishop Richard de Ledrede and so prized that the Papal Nuncio Rinuccini had offered Bishop David Rothe £700 to remove it to Rome for safekeeping an offer Rothe refused, only for the window to be destroyed when Kilkenny fell to Cromwell two years later. Soldiers also smashed the cathedral's medieval font, and the roof, monuments, and stonework were left in ruins until restoration began under Bishop Williams after the monarchy was restored in 1660.
Oliver Cromwell was one of the most powerful men of his age. He commanded armies, toppled a king, ruled a nation, and was offered the crown. If raw power were what endured over the years, his name would be spoken with the same warmth we save for the people who shaped us for the better. Instead, three and a half centuries later, his name is spoken in Ireland with coldness. He is remembered not for what he built, but for what he destroyed.
As I stood in St. Canice's, looking up at the east window Cromwell shattered believing he had ended that light forever, I marveled at our ability to create as humans, as Children of God. The light he tried to put out streams through that glass today. The font he smashed has been replaced. The roof he tore off has been built again, and the cathedral is full. The worship he tried to silence is still being sung.
That is the strange math of the Gospel. The destroyers do their worst, and for a time it looks like the dark has won. But the things of God have a way of being remade. What love takes the trouble to remember, hatred cannot finally erase. The tomb does not stay sealed. And the window, against all odds, lets the light back in. I look forward to showing you those windows on the 12th.
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