Day 20 and I’m tired!
Yes, I’m a bit tired from having full days and walking around London. But I’ll try to post a bit. (This may be my last post before I fly home, btw.)
I went to St. Mary’s Bourne Street. The worship was indeed excellent. (And I could wholeheartedly participate in everything but the Angellus at the end, and I’m not even sure I can spell that.) And they actually wore reddish Rose vestments on Gaudette Sunday (3rd Sunday in Advent), not the pink ones you see many places.
But you know what? I like the worship and the friendliness better at Smokey Matt’s back in Dallas. (And it’s the rector there that recommended St. Mary’s.)
From there, I walked through a district of oh-so-exclusive shops, Gucci, Armani, etc., to Hyde Park. It’s big. Then I got some very reasonable Chinese food and went to the Abbey’s Evensong again, then to an organ recital at Westminster Cathedral, then back to the Abbey for another organ recital. I told you about the walking.
I took a good last look at the Abbey and Big Ben at night before walking back to the hotel.
Philippians 4:4 and following was the introit at St. Mary’s, the second lesson at the Abbey, one of the few passages I’ve read as Lector and I think will be the epistle lesson this next Sunday at home. I wonder if God is trying to tell me something.
I’m also wondering if my ears make me like boys’ voices and church organs more than most people. I’m serious. People who know me know my ears are weird. I have good hearing, but it’s too good. I can’t filter out background noise and understand conversation in noisy places, and certain high-pitched noises are beyond my endurance. Yet when boy choristers hit a note just so and when a big cathedral organ really cranks, it literally gives me a rush. Maybe my hypersensitivity to certain sounds makes those good sounds affect me more.
If anyone wants to medically test me on this, they are welcome to . . . as long as I get to listen to the best choirs and organs. Financing another trip to England will do.
I stood on Darwin’s grave as I waited to enter Evensong at the Abbey. Heh, heh. Later, I noticed David Livingstone is buried in the middle of the Nave.