Monday morning and we’ve finally finished the house inventory. The agency that manages our property has produced an exhaustive description of absolutely everything in the house, and it’s our responsibility as good and responsible tenants to go over the whole thing with a fine-tooth comb. Every wall, every radiator, every faded patch on every carpet noted and confirmed. It’s been the work of days now, the Spouse confirming all the details and the critical me spotting still more peeling wallpaper up above the windows. We tried to polish it all off last night, but got tired, reluctant, bogged down and decided that our additions would need to be photographed and that we couldn’t do that without daylight, so we should really wait for the morning. Much better to spend Sunday evening sitting on the new sofa together with mugs of tea and the remains of Saturday’s banana cake, talking about the church service. So that’s what we did.
This was our second Sunday in our new city. Second church, too. Last week, we went to the church up the street, and this week, we went to Llandaff Cathedral. They are both local, both Church in Wales congregations, part of the Anglican Communion. We don’t yet have internet connection at home, so we haven’t been able to do any research. With no crafted website words giving us a lens, we’re trying the face value approach. Walk in, see what it’s like, see how it feels. This is a bit of novel experience for us. And a welcome one. I’m taking a break from church work for now and looking forward to worshipping with my family on a weekly basis.
So how did they feel? St Luke’s felt like a fairly high church with candles, swinging incense, bells and responses and scripture read in a clear, dry voice. The church itself was small with an open, airy feel. The communion table was shaped like a drop-leaf table, and I liked the sense that it gave that there was always space for more. The greeters at the door gave the same impression, making sure that we had all the open hymn books, orders of service and prayer books we needed for worship. There was a colourful children’s area in one corner of the sanctuary, and we were encouraged to use it as we liked during the worship service. During the prayers, Plum and I sat on the floor and made jigsaw puzzles, and his yellow hair smelled of incense. After the service, we stayed for coffee and a chat, and one woman handed me a sheaf of papers – poems by another member of the congregation to be distributed throughout the summer. So many good moments. That’s how the morning felt: like a collection of beautiful bits and pieces, words and images that point to mystery and love. But it didn’t feel like home.
Yesterday, we went to the family service at the Cathedral. It felt good to worship with people our own age. There were lots of kids and the promise of a large Sunday School once term-time begins. There were also lots of clergy processing with candles carried on high, powerful organ music and enough theatre to get Beangirl asking questions. She sounded worried as she whispered, but she enjoyed the hymns and the organ music was wonderful and strong. Plum thought that the large statue of Jesus looked just like one of our friends. Together, we prayed for the sick of the congregation by name and, after the service, our kids joined the others in a running, chasing, tumbling game under yew trees in the churchyard. We agreed that the service was beautiful and interesting with a sense of grandeur and a real warmth, too. And that, again, it didn’t feel like home.
Should it? Should church be familiar? Should it feel like home? I’ve always assumed yes, in a quiet way. That we should feel at home. But is that the same thing? I don’t know.
The Spouse and I come from similar Presbyterian backgrounds, and so I suppose that it is natural that we’ve looked for familiarly-shaped congregations wherever we’ve lived. Here, we don’t know where to look. Which is why we’re looking local. But neither of these churches have felt close to home. Maybe that’s a good thing. I don’t know yet. Intellectually, I like the Anglican sense of ritual and mystery. I’m not so keen on references to Our Lady and the processions and the vestments. I don’t know how to relax into that.
Right now, it all feels like a loose translation of all our work with the inventory. We are walking through empty houses, looking for cracks and loose wall paper. We can only see the surfaces. We haven’t lived here yet.
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Sorry about the cover image – in these just getting settled days, I’m using public Internet connection and loading images is a bit tricky. Hopefully, there will be more local photos by next week’s blog.
