Full disclosure: I’m agnostic about religion. I have a feeble grasp on my own beliefs, so I don’t have anything clever to say about religion, or philosophy. I do, however, have many thoughts on the importance of college chapels.

Indeed, I would consider chapel services a feast for all the senses: eyes blessed by supreme architectural beauty, ears graced by the sound of a talented choir, mind nourished by an ambience which facilitates existential pondering. I would argue that the experience of a college chapel service satisfies – nay, gratifies – both secular and religious people alike, through its provision of the optimal space for reflection and thought.

“Instead of honouring God, I honour my own thoughts”

The word ‘sermon’ has gathered some negative connotations, and suggests to many people a dull, moralistic lecture. But chapel service sermons are rarely dull; sometimes they can be moving. For example, I went to an International Women’s Day service that featured a reading from Bell Hooks and an all female choir. Sometimes they produce an atmosphere of controversy and chaos. Take, for instance, the particularly tendentious reading of a Bible passage offered by one speaker, which culminated in a passionate argument for the abolishment of prisons. There was a wider point made about Christian attitudes towards forgiveness, but this was somewhat ignored in favour of the more radical points made in the fevered post-chapel debrief. The main commonality between the services I have attended has been their willingness to engage with interesting, important issues in a very measured and compassionate way.

My focus on these more cerebral topics slowly unfolds into the more pressing matters of my inner life: will I ever impress my supervisors? Have I finally annoyed all of my friends with my ceaseless whining? Will I ever recover my dignity after that one particularly mortifying event of Lent term I have failed to successfully suppress from my memory?

I love to ponder: it’s such a versatile activity. Sometimes it’s a chance to wallow in self-centred, self-conscious misery. I perceive myself in extremes: either a martyr of circumstances and the cruelty of others, or a villain who is responsible for all the (very minor) hardships that have crossed my path. Both are the result of clear personality flaws. I feel so alienated from myself that I seem to be standing on the fraying border of reality, staring out into dark oblivion. It’s an opportunity to systematically dissect the events of my week, my actions, my character and the character of those around me. It might even constitute mature reflection and self-assessment in my most serious and focused moments. Instead of honouring God, I honour my own thoughts.

“Basking in the reflected glory of a great, powerful institution, while recognising one’s marginal significance in relation to it”

While this might sound self-obsessed, I think there’s an unappreciated importance to silently sitting with your thoughts, rather than sifting through them quickly. Studying at somewhere like Cambridge in particular, time seems to be warped and compartmentalised into achieving maximum efficiency and productivity. Time has to be spent “usefully” and in the service of accomplishing certain tangible ends. To some extent, this is a necessary response to the often overwhelming tirade of deadlines, but there is perhaps something lost in not valuing time spent in stillness and silence. Thoughts and emotions should be unchained from restrictive timetables constrained by essay deadlines and supervisions.

Chapel services are one of the places where the incredible talent concentrated in the university is made so explicitly clear. In one sense, it reaffirms the sense of superiority that sometimes comes with Cambridge pride. You feel a sense of belonging and tentative ownership of the lineage and continuation of talent and achievement within the university. Paradoxically, it reminds me of my insignificance; I am just one of the many, many people who have sat in awe in these vaulted halls, and while I will pass on and be forgotten, chapels and their services will remain. It’s the quintessential Cambridge experience: basking in the reflected glory of a great, powerful institution, while recognising one’s marginal significance in relation to it, and managing to be content by balancing these two impulses. It’s a great place to wallow in, and perhaps even unpack your inferiority complex, if you happen to have one.

And so, après-compline (the wine and snacks served into the antechapel after the service) is in my view the undiscovered supermodel of the Cambridge social scene. She is beautiful yet esoteric. It’s the highlight of my week: I stand in the ante-chapel, soothed after a reflective 45 minutes spent listening to beautiful choral music, filled with a sort of purposeful anticipation for the night of (lukewarm) revelry ahead. It makes the eventual Wednesday revs trip a very existential, but ultimately life affirming experience.