I grew up in the Episcopal Church and continued my involvement in the church as an adult. I even taught Sunday School to 2nd and 3rd graders one year, which was an absolute joy. Church and religion have benefited me in so many ways: peace, comfort and hope at times of worry and stress; friendship with people I would otherwise never have the chance to meet; moral and ethical guidance; a reminder to be the best person I can be; and an imperative to be kind, non-judgmental, and caring. I honestly believe that going to church and practicing Christianity regularly helps me to be a better, happier person. I understand it's not for everyone, but for me it works.
Since moving to London a year ago, I have not attended church services with much regularity. I went to Easter services at one church and then attended random Sunday services at a couple of other churches before Cesar moved here too. I also went to an Ash Wednesday service near my office a few weeks ago. Yesterday, Palm Sunday, was the first service that Cesar and I attended together in London. This was the fifth church I've tried since moving here.
The first service I went to was a Church of England ("C of E") church, but it was quite different from the Episcopal church services I attended in the US. (FYI - the Episcopal Church is the American version of the C of E.) It was Easter Sunday last year. I will admit that I was a bit worried about what to wear and especially self-conscious that I didn't have a hat. In the movies and on TV, women in England always wear fancy hats with their flowing, flowered dresses to church. Since I had neither a hat nor a flowing, flowered dress, I opted for a nice navy suit and heels. On the way there, I reminded myself repeatedly that God does not care what I wear to church. Imagine my surprise when I walked into the church to find everyone in jeans and comfortable clothes. Not a flowered dress nor fancy hat were in sight! I had to chuckle to myself because I had actually fretted about what to wear. The small, octagonal meeting area of church was packed with people sitting in folding chairs around a stage. There were lots of families with kids of all ages, and it was very diverse ethnically. The church did not have a choir in robes, but instead a group of teens who formed a band and performed on the stage. The sermon was based off of a slide show showing "Bob," a character who looked remarkably like Waldo, in various places around the world. The priest asked the people, "Where is Bob?" with each new picture. It was a fun game for the kids, and I was surprised at their geographical knowledge. At the end of the slides, the priest talked about how no matter where we go, God is there. So, he is with us in London, and in Paris, and where ever else we may be. It was pretty hokey. But, hey, it's a year later and I still remember it, so there is that.
Having grown up in a formal Episcopal Church, I thought that the Easter Sunday church was probably not the best fit for me. I love a good church choir and find formal services comforting in their familiarity. So, a few weeks later, I was off to another C of E church in my neighborhood. It was one of those really pretty old churches, with stained glass windows and creaky wooden pews. I was instantly comfortable in my surroundings. However, as I looked around the church, I realized two things: 1) there were probably 15 people attending the service, including me and 2) I was the youngest person there by about 2 generations. The service felt old and stuffy, especially after the energetic service I attended on Easter Sunday. I was still new to the UK and had a really hard time understanding the accent of the priest and the various readers, so it was a tough service for me to get through. The priest was so happy to see someone my age there that he gushed a bit as I shook his hand following the service. I don't have anything against old people, but I wanted to go to a place where I could maybe make some friends and feel like a part of a community. So, onward to the next church visit.
My third experience at a different C of E church was exactly like the second, except that the church was in a different physical location. And, I think I was getting better with the accents by then, so I enjoyed the service a bit more. At least I understood what everyone was saying that time!
After my three unsuccessful attempts to go to church in London, Cesar arrived from the US. He attended a Presbyterian church in DC, so we investigated going to one of their churches. However, we found that there are are not very many Presbyterian Churches in London and none were close to us. Having already experienced our inability to get up, get dressed, and drive across town in time for services at our respective churches when we moved from NW DC to Capitol Hill, we knew that any church that required a commute of more than 15 minutes would not work for us. So, the Presbyterian Churches were out.
We got busy with travel and work and life, and so, without a particular church that felt like home, we didn't make it to any more services until this year when I went to an Ash Wednesday service at a C of E cathedral near where I work. Ash Wednesday is one of my favorite services, so I try not to miss it. I went during my lunch time because I had something to do after work that night. When I lived in NYC and in DC, I would always see people coming into work with the ash crosses on their foreheads. Some people would go before work, some during lunch, some afterward, but the sight of the ashen crosses was very expected and commonplace. However, apparently such a sight is not very commonplace in London. As I walked back to my office, I did not see one other person with the sign of the cross on his or her forehead, but I didn't really think much more about it until I got back to my desk. We have an open plan work environment and I sit in a main aisle, which means that basically everyone can see everything I do here. One of my coworkers walked by me and came over to whisper that I seemed to have some dirt on my head. I explained to her that I had been at an Ash Wednesday service and that it was there on purpose, etc. She had no idea what I was talking about. Then, two minutes later, a woman I do not know walked past me, stopped, turned around, and came back to tell me very politely that I had dirt on my head. I just thanked her and let her go about her day. I would love to say that I am not so self-conscious that I kept the ashes on my forehead for the remainder of the day. I would love to say that I proudly explained the significance of the ashen cross on my forehead to all who asked. But, ultimately, I went to the bathroom and washed the cross off of my head. I just didn't want any more people letting me know I had dirt on my head. It was too weird and kind of upsetting to me. All of that being said, I really enjoyed the Ash Wednesday service, and it reminded me of how much I enjoy going to church, so I resolved to make another effort to find a church near me to attend.
Yesterday, on Palm Sunday, Cesar and I finally made it to our first service together since moving to London. Cesar picked out the church this time - another C of E church a little down the road from us in St. John's Wood. It is a big, pretty church that looked cheery and welcoming. There were more people there than in my second and third church experiences combined, so that was good news. Most of the people attending the service were old, but there were a few younger people and some kids. The choir was fantastic - I actually got chills at one point while they were singing. So, it was quite a promising experiencing. One downside was that there was a very long portion of the service that was done in chants. Chants are a nice variant when done in little bursts, but after a while the guy started to sounded like the grown-ups in a Charlie Brown cartoon. Also, the programs did not have the words for the entire service like many do. I really need to be able to read along in order to stay focused and get the full meaning. The last thing I want to do while in church is make a mental grocery list, but too much chanting does lead to that, unfortunately. One of the most interesting tidbits from this experience is that they did not have coffee and cookies after the service. No matter where I was with respect to dieting, I always had the view that cookies after church were calorie free. After spending the last 2 weeks sticking to Weight Watchers, I was looking forward to my after-church cookies. But, alas, this church has wine and sherry after the 11 am service. Well, alrighty then. Nothing like a little booze after church to get your Sunday off right! We stayed anyway and a nice woman came up and spoke with us. So, it wasn't a knock out experience, but we may consider going there again.
We haven't decided what to do for Easter yet. I hope we find a place eventually!
