Wet Sabbath

 

In spite of the rain I marched of to Kirk this morning, full of joy, anticipation and cheese omelette.

Not necessarily in that order.

Dodging puddles on the rollercoaster pavements, keeping close to the wall when passing large puddle on the road, always a target for a special type of driver, and ensuring I did not trip up and fall flat on my face I made it well on time.

The need to arrive early is to ensure my seat is not taken by some nasty person who does not follow the church rules.  As we had a joint service with the other half of what they call 'our benefice' this meant many would arrive not knowing the rules.  Indeed, arrive some did, but as one man indicated "Our seats are safe.  Being Anglican types from one of the 'dressing up' churches, they will all sit at the back." As indeed they did.  Latecomers were seen to panic as they might have to sit on the empty seats towards the front, some taken by our people, and also the thought of sitting beside one of us upsets them.  I marked my seat on arrival with my damp jacket, and the one next to me just to be sure with my cap.  No one asked for them.  

The 'other place' is indeed a 'dressing up' church.  Robes aplenty for the vicar (who now runs two churches to save the Bishop money), candles, an icon, organ music and heavy hymn books, while following a booklet led liturgy.  'Our place' is a much more 'informal formality,' which some find disconcerting.  Being what is referred to as a 'Low church,' many of us have more 'reformed' type backgrounds, Baptist etc, and are loath to attend the 'High Church,' with its near Catholic approach.

I often refer to them as a 'papist outlet' but I am not sure the vicar agrees.  He appears to like that sort of thing.  Having met the Bishop, and upset him regarding his approach to the gay takeover, I have an idea he also likes the parades, bells, liturgy and pomp of the 'other place' and considers it more worthy than us.  I think we may take the attitude that this is just 'too bad.'

Anyway, we went quickly through the meeting, the songs were good, the 'other place' people have a choir and some of them can sing well, our lass praying scrambled her way through, John spoke with direct biblical truth, which may have confused some, and an Anglican communion was observed.

The we drank coffee to wake us up, some gossiped, I met up with those I have not seen for a while as I was off, all the young women asked for me, as you would expect, and I got a lift home to eat and sleep it off.  

Now I plough through the days football before going back to bed again.  That extra hour from turning back the clocks was an hour short I say! 

     

High Church Morning

 

It was off early this morning to the High Church.  For reasons of economy, or something devious, our Low Church has been attached in a Benefice to this Bells without Smells church, all robed and organ blasted, very unlike ours.

I arrived in time, as I opened the door I heard a hand held bell tinkle, I entered to find the parade awaiting the off.  As the organ began the choir also began, the Beadle (I suppose) in front carrying the cross on a long pole, quite normal for such churches.  Behind him the berobbed choir moved, followed by the church warden holding high above his head  a red book, most probably a bible, behind which our vicar, now responsible for two churches, starred in the procession.

As they marched I slid in to my seat in the rear pew.  The church has the usual layout, two rows of pews, at the front on the left in a box, hidden somewhat by curtains in case we see him sleep, is the organist, in front one of those large Eagle shaped brass lecterns and a small table with a candle burning.  On the right another lectern, for the routine stuff, while the pulpit rises above for the preacher to overlook the congregation while speaking.  These stand in front of an imitation 'Rood screen.'  The 'Rood screen,' which once separated the clergy from the plebs, had above it a cross, a 'rood.'  This one was never complete as far as I can see.  The archway allows us through to the choir stalls, and I must say the choir was indeed very good at their job, and this also allows us to get close to the altar bearing four large candles and other items, imposing itself somewhat above us.  The Catholic version of such would never allow us to be behind the screen, we were always kept apart.  Many churches show evidence of how various conflicts from Reformation times affected the church layout, this one, being built in 1900 avoided such trauma, but has seen two world wars.

Bright windows towards the rear, emblazoned with three small heraldic signs, and a large sculpture of St Peter, though we cannot know what he looked like, comes forth from the wall.  A large wooden war memorial, commemorating the fallen and a previous vicar, fills much of the rear wall, almost impossible to photograph properly because of the oversized font that stands in front of it.  How do they make use of that?  

This church was built on spite.  The main church in Victorian days remains that today, a woman living in a very grand house on the edge of town was daughter of a previous vicar, and appears to have considered her opinions important.  However, she fell out with the vicar of her day, probably because he did not see her as important to a similar degree to herself, and so when she died she left thousands as a bequest to build this High Church.  Why not do so when alive?  Gladstone, one time Prime Minister, questioned why people left money to charity in their wills, "Why not give it when alive?" he asked.  Maybe she wished to avoid the grumbles that she may have faced?

A few years back, not long after I arrived in town the then vicar of this church was removed to a place recommended by Her Majesties Pleasure.  Or at least by a judge if not her majesty herself.  Sadly a collection of items on his computer were not fitting for his role.  Eventually, a man was found to take his place and he has, over some nine years I believe, built up a healthy High Church congregation.  They appear organised, keen, regular attenders, friendly and happy with their lot.  The credit for this must go to the vicar.  What a job he had at the beginning.

This morning the service I thought was too long, made us stand too much, making me aware of the pain in my back, and we followed the order in the yellow book, ensuring I failed to find where I was at the beginning, and made use of heavy song books which included the music for those who really can sing.  

I am not one of those.

The sermon was not clear, the acoustics are not great, the readings were followed via the weekly handout, and the prayers were from a quiet spoken lass.  As always in such places, the choir might chant, the congregation also, or a bell will ring, a halleluiah appear or some such, now and again, catching us lot out most times.  

I confess all this does little for me, though I did appreciate our own church all the more.  That is what a service ought to be, informally formal, with a controlled service, and making us all comfortable, rather than struggle with books and scripts!  

I did find Jesus speaking to me through one of the readings, and as we approached the Lord's Table.  This gave me much pleasure and much to think  about.

I left soon after the end, too many hovered about at the rear causing confusion, and as I walked a friend accompanied me chatting about his time in the US air force as a dog handler.  A Yank who came home when he was sent here.  Mind you, at that time we used Pounds, Shillings and Pence, and for him this took some doing to learn!  Home, a bad dinner, especially as I burnt my fingers and have had them in cod water since, and two poor football games to watch.   No wonder I am tired tonight.

Friday Wedding

Noon on a Friday may not be the normal time for a wedding, however, this was a wedding involving an Indian!  The vicar hails from Halesowen, but spent most of his time in Oxford.  His father was an Indian who came over many years ago and became, or perhaps was, an Anglican vicar.  Therefore when his daughter is getting married it is done in Indian style, even though the groom is English. 

Grooms do not matter on wedding day, they just say "I do," and shut up while the girls "coo" and "aaaaaah" over the bride.  The boys just admire the Rolls-Royce's. 

Last Saturday they had the eating celebration part, I did not make it, but the food was overpowering they say.  Being Indian style, presents, mostly of money, are handed over, I think as contribution to the funds.  There was certainly money amongst this lot today, Asians work, and work hard!  

Today there were no presents, just a ceremony in St Peters, a church that does all the dressing up stuff, all which makes good pictures for the photographers.  (Not me however, I left that to them).   Dad officiated, his mate Geoff led, and the choir led with a song that went on too long and was beyond most of us.  That is after the Indians had gathered!  Timekeeping is not their best habit, especially when coming a distance, and with kids, so the noon start was not expected and did not arrive!

However, all went well, Jesus was preached, 'Love' was spoken off, the brides mother was happy and relieved, the vicar beamed, the couple sat in the white Rolls Royce, one of three, the black one once used by Princess Margaret, and cameras and phones took pictures everywhere.  

Few from St Paul's appeared, work and other commitments holding them back, and so I felt out of place here, especially standing beside the Rolls.  

Sadly my pictures inside the church were none to good, however, this matters not as hundreds will be found elsewhere.  So, outside I just took shots of the people, though far too many people standing in my way for the pics I wanted.  I did manage a few of the young women however, quite by chance.

Standing around was not doing me any good, so off to Sainsburys on a Friday afternoon, to save me rising early in the morning, and bought some Onion Bhajis, again by chance.  Then home to seek a physio or a matron to ease my aches.  

Typical, none available...