One would have to be "churchy" indeed even to think about going on a pilgrimage to Canterbury Cathedral for Holy Week and Easter, which we undertook a year ago.

We were 29 Americans who lived within the cathedral precincts for a week. Our chief privilege and duty was to go to church - all the time. Our lodging was quite a distance from the entrance to the cathedral designated for our use, and as often as not we seemed to meet ourselves coming or going as we wended our way among a maze of buildings of varying centuries. We were constant at Matins, Eucharist, Evensong, something called Passion Eloquence, and all the special services from Maundy Thursday through Easter Day.

One of these services was Stations of the Cross on Good Friday evening, in the dark with hand-held candles, a service which we Americans devised and presented under the direction of our mentor, Canon Peter Brett. We developed short meditations and prayers for 14 stations. Canon Brett told us that these new biblical stations are proposed by Pope John Paul II, replacing the legendary one now authorized for use by the Episcopal Church! Travel broadens one. That service was judged impressive, as we went singing in procession from sacred spot to sacred spot in the vast cathedral, including the place where Archbishop Thomas Becket was murdered in 1170. We wondered, but will never know, what the citizens of Canterbury, who came in numbers, thought of a service conducted entirely in American accents.

The pilgrimage was sponsored jointly by Canterbury Cathedral Trust in America and the College of Preachers in Washington, D.C. We participants were well content with the spiritual opportunities the pilgrimage gave us. It was pleasant, too, for us Episcopalians to leave behind the disputes that distract the American church and become ourselves a congenial group.

Canterbury Cathedral is one of the wonders of the world for beauty, majesty, sanctity, and for its music, which amazed and delighted us. The choir of men and boys sings every day under the direction of David Flood, a distinguished musician who exudes and exalts a kind of joy. To see him leading the youngsters of the choir in procession as a shepherd leads his flock is an unforgettable picture.

Much of Canterbury's stained glass is equal to that of Chartres in France, with the advantage that unstained glass allows daylight in. The reason for the plain glass is that in 1643 a wicked Puritan called Blue Dick got himself a tall ladder and set about, in his words, "rattling down proud Becket's glossy bones." Unfortunately, he was as dexterous with a sledgehammer as in handling the English language.

All ancient buildings in constant use accumulate oddities. One is cheered to find in the cathedral the tomb of the only protestant cardinal of the Roman Catholic Church, Odet de Coligny, who died while on a visit to England in 1571. Nearby is the tomb of Cardinal Reginald Pole, the only Roman Catholic - that is, post-Reformation papal - Archbishop of Canterbury.

Since St. Augustine went there as a missionary in 597, Canterbury has lived and developed as a focus of Christian faith for much of the world. Like any of us in our briefer span, the cathedral has endured multiple vicissitudes and has been blessed with periods of undoubted grace and glory. Many saints are associated with it: Augustine, Theodore, Dunstan, Alphege, Anselm, Thomas Becket, Edmund Rich, William Laud and the late Michael Ramsey, whose ashes are buried in the cloister.

The throngs of pilgrims who began to invade Canterbury after Thomas's martyrdom are in no way diminished in our time, although now they may call themselves sightseers or tourists. Whoever they are, nobody goes through the cathedral without having impressed on him or her the claims of Christian faith, a graceful introduction to the spirit of the Anglican Communion. This fact is effected in an inviting, peculiarly English way: discreet, polite and firm. Something like a scarcely imaginable 21/2 million visitors go to the cathedral yearly. One might expect what one finds in some European cathedrals: chaos, uproar, pandemonium - anything but reverence. Not so at Canterbury. The dean and chapter, their employees and volunteers are in unobtrusive control at all times. The visitors, who include hundreds of French school children (Canterbury is near to the English Channel), respond appropriately.

Much of the credit goes to Dean John Simpson. In continuity with the medieval prior and monks, he and the chapter rule the cathedral. They work hard at their assignment. The regular services are conducted with the utmost propriety, for the dean is a man of dignity. While he is presiding, no one will feel the time has come for hugging, back slapping or casual chatting. This may seem a bit chilly to some Americans, but consider the alternatives in that immense building. Nevertheless, many informal services are provided for special occasions and groups, because the dean and chapter are conscious of their diocesan, municipal, national and ecumenical responsibilities, as well as of their being entrusted with the care of the center on earth of the Anglican Communion.

The Archbishop of Canterbury, the Most Rev. George Carey, usually lives in London at Lambeth Palace, while the Suffragan Bishop of Maidstone and Dover takes care of the Diocese of Canterbury. However, the archbishop was in residence in the Old Palace at Canterbury during Holy Week and Easter. He presided and preached in the cathedral on Maundy Thursday and Easter Day and found time to meet with us Americans, both hearing us and asking us questions. Despite the palatial names of his dwellings, the archbishop is unpretentious, of lower class background, "a man of the people," as a person I encountered described him. Both in the pulpit and informally he spoke simply and effectively with the assurance that comes of faith.

All in all, those of our group recommend the pilgrimage to others and commend the cathedral to the interest and prayers of all. q