Christian or not, I think all of us would do well to remember that we are dust, and to dust we shall return. No, this isn’t an evangelical article. But I do believe that, in the hyper-competitive – and consequently individualism-prone – collegiate environment of Cambridge, college chapels fill a valuable role. Beyond their religious basis, dedicated spaces for reflection, in which thinking about others, and the relative insignificance of yourself, is promoted, are a rarity which should be preserved in an increasingly secularised world.

Among the many unique experiences Cambridge has offered me, my participation in my college chapel has to be the most unexpected. I grew up in a staunchly atheist family, and had never attended a church service before coming to university. In childhood, my impressions of Christianity tended to be disconcerting at best. So when, in my first year of university, I found myself stumbling into a Compline service at my college chapel, it might just have been divine intervention.

“There was something deeply reassuring in being reminded of my own insignificance”

I began to realise that my college chapel offers something which was seriously lacking in the rest of my life at university. In an environment where everything risks feeling like one big competition, there’s such relief in an activity which is structured, and runs to a regular schedule, but which demands nothing of you but sitting in silence. It’s not self-aggrandising fodder for LinkedIn, and, even for the most hardened atheist, concepts such as repentance and forgiveness provide invaluable food for thought. At a time when I felt thoroughly bad about myself, Ash Wednesday turned out to be exactly what I needed. Where the Gen Z culture of ‘self-love’ rang hollow, there was something deeply reassuring in being reminded of my own, and everyone else’s, insignificance. These are timeless messages which in many ways transcend Christianity, but which seem to have been discarded wholesale through secularisation. Perhaps the weight of their absence is part of why church attendance has quadrupled among young people…

The regularity of Evensong services is something I particularly appreciate. Unlike a society which demands responsibility or commitment, to this day many of my attendances remain impromptu, when I’m stressed, or tired, or just feel drawn to it. When I first made this realisation in the darkness of mid-Lent Term, it did me a great deal of good to spend an hour without looking at my phone, my rather depressing reading lists, or even a clock; among others, but, crucially, under the assumption that, focused on their own reflection, no one really noticed me.

“When I felt thoroughly bad about myself, Ash Wednesday was exactly what I needed”

But this is not to say that it’s a mindless activity. Delivering a reflection at Compline (on a secular poem, by the way) proved to be a much more thought-provoking exercise than many supervision essays I’ve written. Reading aloud has helped me to regain my confidence in public speaking, which was dented by the intensity of many of the forums for this at Cambridge. Perhaps my most eccentric performance was acting as a candlebearer – or acolyte – on Ascension Day, in full religious garb. While I think my extended family were thoroughly confused by what must have appeared to be some bizarre cosplay of a choir boy minus the talent appearing on the family group chat, I found the experience of wearing a cassock to be surprisingly moving. It provoked me to think about the person I want to be, and what I want to represent.

That’s why Cambridge’s college chapels are so special. I have had experiences at chapel which I found to be incredibly moving: my first Ash Wednesday will stay with me for a long time, and Abide With Me remains the only piece of music which has ever brought me to tears. Other times, my attendance is a rather less profound opportunity to stare aimlessly into space, surrounded by beautiful music, and blissfully removed from the ravages of the library. On some occasions, it’s the social aspect which makes the experience. Over port and hot chocolate in the antechapel, I’ve gotten to know people I never would have met if not for chapel. And besides, twenty minutes of small talk is no bad thing in the thick of exams. Yet other times I have spoken to no one, because what I needed was time alone. And in their unique way, college chapels offer all of this. Their endurance at Cambridge may appear to be antithetical to the trajectory of the world beyond our college gates, but this is one tradition which we are right to preserve. While seemingly ancient, college chapels might just be providing something which we need more than ever, right here and right now.