A Catalog of States

One can never know the manner by which Washington National Cathedral might affect someone, or to what degree. As many who know me well will attest, I am always completely willing to walk up to a Cathedral visitor and simply start talking about the Cathedral. Perhaps it’s a “sidle”, I don’t k now. That word has earned a bad reputation because of an episode of Seinfeld, where the sidler-in-question was also someone who was routinely stealing credit for work done by the character Elaine. Sidling at the Cathedral is simple. One need only notice that a visitor has focused on something particular in the building and then move closer and say something like “Interesting, huh?”. Anyway, I’ve made many good friends this way, and in almost every case it seems the visitor walks away feeling as if they’ve come to know something special about the Cathedral, and more closely connected to the Cathedral experience.

On one particular day, I noticed a man perusing the seals of our 50 states, which are set into the floor of the Cathedral’s narthex (front hall). Often, surrounded by 50, often complex, heraldric seals, and not recognizing the pattern or order in which they are set, a visitor can have difficulty finding the seal of their own state. Well, on this day, as I so often do, I walked up to this gentleman and asked, “What’s your state?”

A portion of Washington National Cathedral’s narthex floor.

He looked up, and with a noticeable Middle Eastern accent replied, “I don’t have a state. I was not born here.”

“Oh, then…” I asked, “You’re not an American?”

“No,” he told me, “but I am becoming a citizen.”

“That’s wonderful.” I noted. “How lucky you are. As a new American, you could choose to be from whatever state you’d like. Look here! Just think of this floor as a catalog. Pick any state you’d like.” Seemingly entertained and amused by the concept, he started concentrating on the seals again, but this time with an enhanced intensity. At the same time, I also turned my focus to the seals in the floor, wondering what I might suggest to him. Before long though, he stopped and focused on a particular seal.

Pointing to a seal that had attracted his attention, he asked, “What is this? Tell me about this.”

Moving across the room, I said, “Oh, that’s Virginia.”

“What does it mean?”

“Well,” I replied, “this woman, standing, represents Freedom. She stands upright, with her sword sheathed, her spear to the ground, and her foot placed firmly on the chest of a king that she has defeated. See here? You can see where the defeated king’s crown has rolled away. Then, this here,” I continued, “is the state’s motto. “Sic Semper Tyrannis”. That’s Latin. It means, Thus Always with Tyrants; that this is what should always happen to tyrannical leaders.”

I’d never studied the Seal of Virginia, and I realized many years later, I’d not got it entirely correct, but the gist was accurate. It turns out the woman is not Freedom, but Virtus, representing the genius of the Commonwealth, and the king is actually Tyranny personified. Otherwise, I had the message of the image, and how it ties to the motto, correct.

I looked back up at the man, whose eyes were still on the seal, and noticed that he had teared-up, and the tears were beginning to roll down his cheeks. Finally looking up to meet my gaze, he was unabashed by his emotional reaction. With an intensity that seems to come only from a sudden emotional commitment, he looked back at me and said, “Then today it is decided. I am from Virginia.”