I was glad when they said to me “let us go up to the House of the Lord”. It wasn’t always easy when travelling to be at the right place at the right time to attend a church service. When staying with family, of course, it was easier whether it was St. Pauls in Wanganui, Knox in Lower Hutt, or St. Davids in Auckland, it seemed the right place when we were there. The buildings were larger and there were more people but our little church in Gordonton was just as full and just as reverent, but when we went to the service at Franz Joseph it was different. Though the view certainly made one want to thank God for all the beauty one could see, there didn’t seem time for that. It was an Anglican service and we couldn’t find the place in the prayer book, the hymns were not ones we knew, and the rest of the people seemed to be sitting, standing or kneeling when we were not! Our parents were as confused and embarrassed as we were.
I was in Liberia for several Sundays and a big black fellow called Moses made everyone there very welcome and the singing was joyful and exuberant and very meaningful. When I went to London I visited Westminster Abbey and St. Pauls Cathedral, of course, but only as a sightseer. The sight of the burnt remains of the Coventry Cathedral was certainly a reminder of the war and what it meant to those people. I hope they were more inspired by their new building than I was,
In Vancouver I walked to a service in a local hall, and taken by a lady minister- the first time I had encountered one. The folk were very welcome, but much to my shame I don’t think I even invited my family to accompany me. The last day in London was a Sunday and on the hotel notice board was a church service to be held at Chelsea, which was not far away, so I set out to find it. No, it wasn’t the time of the flower show, and the place seemed deserted, not a soul on the street, and no sign of a church. A roving taxi driver stopped, and I asked for directions, but although he said he had lived in the area all his life, he didn’t know of a church there. At last I saw a man who looked as though he might be going to church enter a door- just a lone door in a long wall- and I followed. Thankfully it was the place where the service was to be. There were quite a few people there, though how or when they got there I couldn’t make out. It happened to be the morning after the names of the second son of Charles and Diana were announced, so of course that was the topic of the conversation. The general opinion seemed to be “fancy Harry, he didn’t deserve a name like that”, but I guess he’s got used to it, and I hope he doesn’t feel the same as those folks about it.
The last Sunday of our trip in Alaska was fine for us to board the bus in Tok but very soon the rain came down steadily and heavily. The road in that part was not sealed and the bus windows soon became so splattered with mud that we could see nothing. Our hostess put a tape on, and oh joy, it was one of hymns, and after a while most of the folk were singing with it. Nearly all on the tape were well known ones- well to our bus load anyway, so it was a very special time to me, and it seemed to most aboard too. When we stopped for lunch the poor bus driver had to spend the time cleaning the bus windows but the sun did come out then and the rest of the day we could see where we were going, but the morning had been a very special time.
