The Glasgow Cathedral has often been a focal point of Scotland’s religious struggles. It was built as a Roman Catholic bishopric in the 12th Century. In 1560, under the preaching of Reformers such as John Knox, the icons of Catholicism were removed and the cathedral converted for Protestant worship.

Twenty years later, in 1581, it was in this building that Scottish church leaders formally adopted Presbyterianism. It was also in this place that, in 1610, Presbyterianism was cast off and episcopacy imposed. But in 1638, after the famous National Covenant was subscribed, the first General Assembly of the covenanted Church of Scotland met here to restore Presbyterianism once again, and to assert the sole headship of Christ (and no earthly king) over the church.

Throughout the years, the Glasgow Cathedral has been the place where many of Scotland’s religious struggles have been played out. Today, the cathedral is a Church of Scotland house of worship. And although there are no boisterous assemblies vying for control inside her walls, there is a profound struggle for the soul of the Scottish church facing off—quite literally—over this cathedral even now.

Standing on the highest peak of the necropolis behind the cathedral, a massive column rises above everything else. On top of that column, the figure of John Knox holds out his Bible and gazes down across the cathedral, and the city. Around the base of the column, a lengthy inscription retells the story of Scotland’s Reformation.

Beginning with Patrick Hamilton’s martyrdom in 1528, the inscription leads its reader to remember that, not only religious orthodoxy, but public education, civil liberty, and the blossoming of modern literary achievement in Scotland all derive from the Reformation. The declared purpose of the monument is: “To awaken Admiration … [and] To Cherish unceasing Reverence for the Principles and Blessings of that Great Reformation, By the influence of which our Country, through the Midst of Difficulties, Has risen to Honour, Prosperity, and Happiness.” This call to remember was erected in 1825.

Standing under Knox’s unflinching gaze, on the opposite side of the cathedral, a museum was opened in 1993. Called a “Museum of Religious Life,” the exhibits are an epitome of the new faith which now vies for dominance in Scotland: religious pluralism.

In one hall, for example, windowed cases display the artifacts of various traditions as they each celebrate, though in different ways, what purportedly amounts to “the same values”: All religions honor birth, childhood, marriage, and so forth. In a hands-on exhibit on worship forms, visitors are encouraged to feel a Muslim prayer mat, to see what it is like to lift an incense bowl before a Buddhist idol, and otherwise to acquaint themselves with diverse worship practices. A changing exhibit nearby features projects from school children connected with their instruction to, as one recent initiative put it, “Don’t let bigots win, put sectarianism in the bin.” The museum is, quite unashamedly, an effort to show fundamental sameness among all religions.

And there, standing between the voice of pluralism on its west side and the upheld Bible of Knox to the east, the Glasgow Cathedral continues to be a visible symbol of the struggle for the soul of the Scottish church. Despite the seeming serenity of the place, for those with eyes to see, there is a new controversy facing off over this site of so many historic struggles.

Of course, these structures are picturesque, not only of Scotland’s current religious struggle, but of the religious contest underway throughout the Western world.

One can only pray that, in God’s grace, the exhortations of the ancients calling down from the necropolis will yet be heard above the vibrant propaganda of contemporary pluralism.