The perils of Church Tourism

We took the chance yesterday to go to Church away from home and to "pew dwell" together.  I nearly wished we hadn't.  On the good side, the pews we visited were architecturally stunning and medieval and the sermon was good (if nothing much to do with the Trinity which had evidently be covered the week before).  The liturgy was well done, normal 1982.  Sadly, the visiting choir were not quite as good as I think they thought they were (which may explain why they are the "former choir of St X's RC church" - musical egos not being pandered to by the clergy perhaps?).  They were fine on the modern hymns (3 out of 4) which were done with the piano and their anthem was fairly nicely executed, but they were desperate at the Gloria and the Sanctus/Benedictus (as, it must be said, were the congregation) and their rendition of the Introit hymn "Holy, Holy Holy" by Bishop Heber was dire.  They obviously ain't used to singing classical hymnody (which IMHO Bernadette Farrell isn't) and were utterly overwhelmed by the pipe organ.  Which brings me to that painful subject.  It really wasn't so much the organ supporting the choir and congregational worship as "The Organist Entertains".  Fairground style.   Not good with hymns, choirs and congregations.  And the Postlude was just showing off. Loudly. The choice of a particularly gaudy French piece wasn't to my taste for a start. I didn't applaud afterwards.  I don't really believe in giving some folks delusions of adequacy.

I had rather hoped the post match service might have made up for it, as this particular church is a serious tourist magnet and they should be pretty slick at welcome you would think.  Nope.  The priest was - but then again he's known me for 20 years and him saying hello was no surprise.  Congregational welcome - nil. Coffee - utterly disgusting, the worst church coffee I've had in years.  The previous Sunday in Cheam was a much better experience all round, even if I struggled with the heaps of noisy kids in an Aspie sort of way. One up to the C of E I regret to say.

The Aspie bit brings me to the worst bit of the whole service.  The intercessions. Too long for a start, with too much in them. Mate, God knows what's going on, he doesn't need your take on "What the Papers Say". But the utter disorganisation of the petitions was a nightmare.  I gave up by the 2nd section.  I also nearly blew a fuse when prayers were offered for the "mentally ill and those with autism".  I have Aspergers, I'm on the Autistic Spectrum and I am not mentally ill.  And I get steamed up when some idiot in a tweed jacket suggests otherwise in intercessions.  Maybe that wasn't the intention but you would think that some thought might have been given during training of intercessors to phrasing things in a way that doesn't gratuitously offend visitors because you have no idea what's going on in the lives of the visiting tourist and this is a church that gets a lot of those thanks to Dan Brown.

Sorry to be so critical of my fellow Christians but sometimes you gotta let off steam and sometimes unless stuff gets said places just poddle on with delusions of adequacy.

Back from the "Celtic" (if you only speak English that is) Fringe!

Yes, it has been a while, but it's been busy and I finally got enough kip (doon sooth admittedly) to face trotting out some thoughts!  And it's on Celtic Christianity (WTFeck that is)!

I've been reading around this one a bit recently.  It's rather "in" in God bothering circles these days.  My introduction was via the rigours of a History of Spirituality Course at Furryboots Yooni back in the days of good Bishop Elphinstone where we learnt about a discipline of  having a soul friend, standing up to yir oxters in the Sound of Iona reciting the Psalter when you'd been bad and rolling in nettles when the felt any urges that might worry the sheep!  Nae tree huggin like!  I then spent time at Iona Abbey and discovered the modern form with the shared economic discipline of George MacLeod's Milites Christi.  Which none of much of the current stuff seems to keep in mind. I read some "Liturgies from Lindisfarne" recently which were trite, tree hugging, written in Amerikan and kept attributing The Jesus Prayer to a middle aged Anglican male cleric!

My doubts were amply confirmed by 2 critical volumes.  One by Rosemary Power (Iona Community)"The Celtic Quest: A Contemporary Spirituality" and the other by Donald Meek (former Prof of Heedrum-Hodrum Studies at Embra and Furryboots Unis, son of the Tiree Baptist Manse and native Gaelic speaker - or a REAL Celtic Christian who speaks the lingo!) "The Quest for Celtic Christianity".  Both blast the current Celtic Christianity industry as being dubiously connected to the real thing, mainly produced by middle aged, English male clergy on the working fringe of the institutional Church and all aimed not at the genuinely un-churched but those who feel distanced from the institution and want an alternative structure where the centre of power is redistributed (one imagines to them and their pals in the 1st instance).  I generally agree with the critics.  I see the value of "Celtic Christianity" in as much as it refreshes those for whom Flat Church has gone stale.  But I think it's lack of rootedness in sold Christian tradition means it's a very Post-Modern thing which will fade into insignificance within a few decades - rather like Anglican Papalism has.  Aye right, fine if ye like it - whaur's my copy of "The Cloud of Unknowing" gone, that'll last better!

Back in one piece!

That may be a puzzling title: after all, I am a veteran of long haul flights to San Francisco and Kampala, I have braved the Ugandan and Maltese bus services.  The London Tube and the Paris Metro phase me not , I have crossed the street in Rome (and lived) and I have crossed the Sound of Iona in a motor boat with no life jaiket!  A trip to Englandshire shouldn't hassle me, should it?  No indeedy - unless, of course, it involves meeting someones Mother!!!

Doubtless there is many a fella out there who has faced this trial by ordeal (anticipated) before me and who will recognise the nervousness and worry (Do I take a bunch of flowers - consultation suggested After Eights instead!).  The big question of course being: "Will she like me?".  I really would rather jump out of an aeroplane with a parachute again I thought.  However, we seemed to get on, no blood was shed (well, I am house trained!) and she didn't bite!  So I think that qualifies as a successful jaunt to Sub Tweedian Mater - there still remains Mater Supra Forth!  That'll be next week - if she's in the flipping country that is!

We lurked off to Church this morning.  There was a degree of negotiation involved.  Someone felt they maybe ought to go to their local Parish Church to fit into the community.  I am disinclined to endure Presbyterian worship voluntarily unless it's in the line of duty and/or I'm being paid to do it!  I really feel that English Anglicans resident this side of the Border should (where practical) beat a path to the altars of their Scottish fellow Anglicans and not join the Kirk just because it is the National Church.  So it was 5 miles up the road to Eyemouth and an enjoyable Eucharist with hymns (well belted out to a CD of organ music), a good sermon (hat tip to Jennifer - btw Elisha the Prophet was also in Samaria, not just the Leper) and just the right friendliness of welcome without gushing.  It was very good to see a small rural congregation with limited resources doing as good a job as they did on the worship.  What they did, they did well.  No overstrain with the music, clear audible reading, well constructed competent Lay led intercessions and a decent dignity of ritual without fussiness.  First class!  And I AM a noted critic of worship done badly!