Praise Be!

I feel I am getting a little lazy on my updates, but things have been somewhat wild. I am always on the move, and when not on the move, I want to move and make the most of each moment. This is not a place to sit still and stare at a computer screen, but a place to get out and breathe the world and everything around. I want to soak this place up while I can.

Being my last Sunday in Oxford, there was no way I was going to sleep in. I'd considered attending service at Christ Church Cathedral once again, then reconsidered and decided on another church. My professor had made mention of St. Aldate's, a contemporary (Anglican) church across the street from CCC. I wanted to give it a try and made it just in time for the 10:30 worship. Two hours of singing, praising, and glorifying later I was back on the street.

What happened at St. Aldates? They certainly had a rocking rock band, and the laity I'd only seen in movies: parishioners throwing up their hands in praise, singing with every breath that God gave them. The first forty-five minutes was solid singing. After that, there was a sign of peace. The man next to me, who had been ex-treme-ly uncomfortable during the entirety of the chorus, turned to me and introduced himself. "Good morning, I'm David."

There was an American lay person that gave the sermon, followed by more singing. Suddenly I saw from the corner of my eye and heard with my ears, David came out of his shell. He was singing loud and hard, louder and harder than the others around us, and I could see the tension and hesitation evaporate as he threw up his arms. He held them in the air higher and longer than anyone else, and after a minute he recoiled them to his body. Make no mistake, David had wanted to do this all along — I could see, and he could see that I saw. And he felt good about it.

At the very end of the service, the "clergy" (though I don't believe that's a correct title for the leaders of this worship) invited those that desired to talk about their worries and sufferings, to come forth and speak with an appointed member of the church. There were about a dozen lined up along the front of the seats, waiting silent for strained souls to make overtures. A group trickled toward them and I could see David, hesitant, reborn David, hankering to do the same. Within several minutes he slid past me and advanced to the front. I stood and sang 'Amazing Grace' as I watched David bring a man to tears from his words.

St. Aldate's was friendly, with open arms and abundant exaltation. And David.

Lunch at the Jericho Cáfe was next in line. I've probably mentioned this place a time or two, because I've been meaning to visit it since day two. It's located in — yes — Jericho, and is better known (to me at least) as the place where Radiohead had their beginnings. And you pay for it too — this place was a pricey lunch. I was craving a full-blown Sunday breakfast like I'm used to back home: eggs, hashbrowns, toast, the whole bit. I settled for a falafel instead.

Shopping in the afternoon, where I bought two great albums for £10: Ray LaMontagne's latest 'Gossip in the Grain', and classic Van Morrison 'Astral Weeks.' A book in the tall, green grasses of the sunny park, dinner and long, long walk to Summertown completed my evening. Well — there was a glass of wine at The Eagle and Child, too.

Tomorrow, another day closer to surveying the continent!

Goodnight,
jc