went to go outside to see if going to church would require my Sunday
jacket or not. I don't go out that way often (anyway near enough
apparently!), so as I stepped out of the French window (door) from the
dining room into the garden, I failed to take into account that the
house is a good deal higher than the patio. (As you go from the dining
room into the kitchen inside the house, you step down into it, so from
the kitchen's French window, you are already down where you need to be
to go outside.) There's a substantial drop there, and because of that,
a lovely large rectangular stone has been set to bridge the gap. Me?
In my haste, fell right through the opening. What a surprise! Sandra
saw me through the kitchen and rushed right over to see if I was
alright. (Erin, my luv, I know you can predict exactly what I said:
"Oh, yes, I'm just fine," as I hopped up. Erin knows because she's
been around me on similar such occasions! "Oh, mom!") Just a slight
twist, tweak, what have you. Must have gone to catch myself as I went
to fall, and landed a bit precariously on my right foot. Anyway, I
guess I did catch myself, because there are no scraps or anything --
just a little wrench to the right ankle. (No injury to mark the spot;
I'm just suffering in silence, sniff.)
With Monsieur Mike's enticement (that's what I've decided to call
Mike. He just deserves more of a moniker then plain old, one-syllable
"Mike"!), telling me that this coming week would be an especially good
Sunday to visit St. James', as an expansion of the regular service
would be held because the current vicar, Father David, was moving on
to a new assignment, and therefore, this would be his last week, and a
special send-off. As I mentioned, I had reluctantly accepted the fact
that I would never be able to attend as their and our services
overlapped. A day or so ago I realized that our sacrament meeting was
the last meeting of the day, so if I fudged a little, I could get it
all in – well, at least the most important meeting of the day. So I
decided, just this once, on this really special occasion, that is
exactly what I would do! Before leaving I got my notebook out and sat
down for directions from Sandra on exactly how to get to the church on
the bus by myself from here. (Petra, our usual ride, has gone to
Germany for a coupla weeks.) Sandra said you will not need to write
this down; because, as she was feeling worn out this morning, she
would be going only to sacrament meeting, AND therefore, we would be
calling a taxi to get to sacrament meeting. (Works for me! Up to now I
haven't had to wrestle with bus-schedule consternation on my own, so
why start now!)
Went merrily on my way (with just a wee bit of a limp). The plan was
that I would partake of as much of the service as I had time for
before gimping back to catch the cabbie to sacrament meeting – and the
REAL church! I am delighted to report that several blocks before St.
James' came into sight I began to hear the bells ringing from the bell
tower. There were a fair amount of persons walking in that general
direction, though I soon discovered that the majority of them turned
off to the right, towards the more immediate rewards of commercial
enterprise. As I entered the churchyard I was surprised to discover
cars parked in the square itself, up close to the church's entrance
(see photo) -- paver stones and grass. A broad estimate is that there
were maybe a group of around a 100 persons in the assemblage this day,
of many ages, mostly old though, of course.
Very soon to my having taken my seat the service began – I had been
delayed longer than anticipated by the event of my slight plummet.
[Sidelight: heard a lady sitting in front of me, as a part of her
conversation, say the phrase, collie dog. Must say it brought back
memories. My kids will know what that refers to – well, at least the
older ones will.]
The pageantry began: a procession of robed ecclesiasts (yes, women
were in the group) began on the far side and walked from front to the
back, turned and then headed down the middle aisle. Banners held high,
some with articles of service in their hands. One of the first things
that happened was that the children were called up to the front, on
their way to a separate Sunday School. The Father David knelt down and
chatted amicably with them briefly. Then blessed them as a group (put
you in mind of anything?), before releasing them to their teachers, at
which point they disappeared from view. Next the vicar blessed the
whole group of us in the congregation, forgave us of our sins by the
sign of the cross -- by the mere act of being part of the congregation
that particular day. (Man, that was easy!)
In case you haven't had the chance of visiting many other churches,
many -- including the Anglican Church – follow a set procedure, a
proscribed script: printed up and presented to us upon entering – in
order that we could follow word for word, and not lose our way. It may
vary for special occasions, but pretty much follows a very specific,
set format. (Who knows; perhaps all over the UK today, churches
everywhere throughout the land are hearing and saying the exact same
words we are!) It was made up of segments such as, The Gathering,
(including, during this phase, The Greeting, at which time we
exchanged a sign of peace by turning to our neighbor on either side
and shook or squeezed hands whilst looking caringly-like into their
eyes, and then to those in front and behind us, all along repeating
the words, Christ's words, peace be with you.Some walked about the
rows of the large room, expanding their collection of well-wishers),
The Prayers, The Recitations, etc. and on and on. (The scriptures
mingled with the philosophies of men!) Of course, I have not listed
any specific order here (as my program, which lists every single word
that is spoken by the vicar or the congregation or by prescribed
readers, is home – and I'm not! I'm sure there would be more I'd like
to add if I had it with me. Aren't you lucky!) – but primarily it is
readings from the scriptures or the writings of men, by us, the
congregation, or them, the ecclesiasts; prayers by the vicar or the
deacon, in this case a very thoughtful grey-haired woman with a butch
hair cut (I thought it was interesting that she prayed for the
well-being of a former priest – now deceased!); singing by us or the
youthful choir (more about that in a minute); and as "the gifts of the
bread and the wine are brought to the altar," the obligatory passing
of the collection plate takes place (Ya gotta get that in there. Sorry
to say, I did not participate! Though I did my best at singing the
hymns, the words also printed in the program -- sight reading without
music.); and more blessings had all around.
One part of the program was the Sermon by the departing head vicar,
Father David. What I thought was especially interesting was the way
his words for his remarks were spoken in the common man's vernacular,
in a very down to earth manner. (At all other times during the
ceremony, he resumed that sing-songy voice you might expect a priest
to use during recitation.) It was very much like a fine talk we might
hear in our own sacrament meeting – with a few variations, of course.
In referring to our relationship with God/Christ he used the
terminology that often as humans, we God's children desire/demand the
Crown before the Cross, Easter before Good Friday, but that isn't the
Father's way. We have to earn it by the lives we live. I liked that
image.
As regards the choir, from the moment they first began to sing,
catching me off guard, with my nose following the printed word, I
looked up to see a small group of young men. The voice of the soloist,
perhaps thirteen or fourteen years young, was exquisite. (Sandra tells
me that the members of the choir come from the local St. James School,
from where they receive their training.) At first I couldn't even tell
that he was the one singing, he did it SO smoothly and effortlessly,
amazing full sound. Words cannot describe. You'll just have to imagine
your own experiences in this regard.
The sacrament portion of the service consisted of breaking of the
host, the wafer, looking very much like a very thin tortilla, and
pouring of the wine. The ecclesiastic group in the front partook
first, choosing a piece from the plate offered, and then all drinking
from the same silver chalice, being wiped with a cloth by the one
offering it between swallows. (That surprised me; I would have assumed
that practice had long since been abandoned.) As the congregation
lined up in the middle aisle for their turn, it was time for me to go
so I was not able to see the manner in which the wine was apportioned
to that group.
Well, enough of that, now on to the REAL church: For a group of about
60, only three deacons (jumping right to the quick/skipping the
preliminaries – you all know the protocol!) were needed to pass the
sacrament -- this because the chapel is divided into a long row,
covering 3/4s of the width, with a much smaller row along the right
side, as you look towards at the pulpit. One observation I made:
having just come from the Anglican Church a short time before, what
with its ceremonial context and all, when the sacrament prayer in our
ward was given, it sounded ever so much to my ears like something I
had experienced a short time before -- in particular because it was
given by a 40-yearish priesthood holder (deeper sounding timbre in the
voice), who did so very slowly and deliberately, especially reverently
and meaningfully -- AND in a British accent) . Does that make sense?
Can you imagine what I mean? It was interesting. When the younger
Aaronic priesthood holder said the second prayer, the spell was gone.
That completed, the presiding bishopric member announced that between
talks there would be a musical item by the choir. (Sing out, choir!
Consisted of about 7 women and 3 gentlemen.) The talks (given by an
older mom, like me, and her daughter and son-in-law) evolved around
the theme of what it means to love thy neighbor, on a day to day
basis. Some thoughts included: The greatest harm being judgmental has
is that it affects ones own spirituality adversely. Amen -- to me. The
atonement offers us the opportunity for continued repentance. (Thus
the baptism unto repentance, often referred to by Alma. Eh, Erin?) The
second spoke of our spiritual journey, that anything vulgar, crude, or
immodest shuns the spirit. They were all excellent talks/speakers,
encouraging us to live better lives, that we may grow closer to the
spirit. I enjoyed their words immensely. The woman who gave the
closing prayer prayed that we might encourage others we met along the
way this week. My aspiration, exactly! (Doing my darndest to listen
carefully during the talks without being distracted in a new land and
circumstance, I happened to notice [Hey, no distraction here!) that
written across the top of the pages of the hymnal appeared the code:
G'Y. Had to think on that a little.*)
I have a confession to make (as referenced in the subtitle)—and, oh,
man, isn't this just the Debbie we all know – and love! Seems I
pushed my tourist status one step too far -- resulted in my receiving
a sound scolding from Sandra. Well, see, it's like this: as I had just
been at St. James', and admit like a danged tourist taking a picture
during the service (Cheeky!). Well, I guess I was in the mode and
there were a pair of darling sisters in front of us, the one holding
her arm nurturingly around the other – and they weren't little
children either. I just couldn't resist the temptation to be a
photographer and capture the moment. (Cheekier still!!) Well, I did it
a coupla times, till Sandra turned to me and told me in so many words
what she thought of that behavior. And when sacrament meeting was
over, she told me exactly how she felt about the whole incident, in a
good many words – and that was that she was embarrassed. I felt very
penitent by then, I can tell you, and shameful. And didn't I have it
coming?! Yes, surely; I had been a naughty girl. Obviously it wasn't
appropriate. (Cheeky indeed!!) What can I say? I just couldn't help
it: it was just SO danged endearing! "Would I have done that in my own
church service back home?!" Definitely not!! (Well, maybe . . .
given the right circumstance . . .)
ps Got two compliments today: one at St James' where a lady admired my crazily, caramel-colored hair, and secondly, at the Grimsby Ward from a sister in regards to my new skirt (ferreted out at the Car Boot sale the day previously) Yes, good find!
*Took me a minute to conclude it stood for Grimsby. (Well, duh!) Is
that what you got?
Photos_
1- The majestic counterfeit, St. James'
2- Interior shot
3- The REAL church - Grimsby First and Second Ward Building
