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| Early morning in Hyde Park |
Several years ago, I went to Italy and toured cathedrals and basilicas. I remember walking through St. Peter's, marveling at the vast space and feeling... nothing. The next day, I dragged my traveling companion across Rome to St. Maria della Vittorio to see the Bernini "Ecstasy of St. Theresa." The church was situated on a very noisy square, with construction all around, yet, when we walked in, it was quiet and meditative. All that could be heard were gentle whispers and hushed footsteps. It was a sacred space and rather than walk around as tourists, we chose to sit quietly as penitents and worship. I realized I “got” more out of the experience when I approached the cathedrals and churches as intended, not as museums but as a houses of worship and prayer.
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| Guarding the City |
The day started, yet again, with a lovely jaunt through Hyde Park. Have I mentioned how much I loved Hyde Park? There were few people about, just some joggers and dog-walkers. Though the sky had been cloudy when I woke up, the air was crisp and clear as I started out, the sun was shining, it was an absolutely gorgeous start to the day. I decided to walk along Oxford Street on my way to Fleet Street which would get me to St. Paul’s for church. This took me past several Wren churches, Twinings (meant to go there but ran out of time) and the Royal Courts of Justice. I arrived to late for mattins and too early for Eucharist, so I haunted the back streets of the City for a while, following the footsteps of Shakespeare and searching out Samuel Johnson's house. It being Sunday, most everything in the City was closed (in fact, later in the day, I made my one and only visit to a McDonald's to use the bathroom; it was the only thing open), but I got to see Johnson's cat, well, at least the cat's statue.
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| The estimable Hodge |
As I look back on my trip, it seems I spent a lot of time walking, rather than seeing "sights." But I feel I saw plenty. Maybe not as many museums and exhibits as I hoped, although I managed to cram quite a bit into my short stay, but I still managed to see many things. Like street signs that tickled my fancy (Knightrider Court, anyone? How about Sermon Lane?), a statue of a cat, tea shops and pubs older than the US. I went to a Eucharist service and heard the Stravinsky Mass, sat under the dome of St. Paul's and listened to Evensong. If I had more time, perhaps I would have gone back to "see" the traditional sights, climb to the Golden Gallery, maybe take the full tour of St. Paul's or explore Johnson's house. I certainly want to go back and hear the choir at St. Bride's. You see, in all of my to-and-fro-ing, I got the times mixed up for the Advent service at St. Brides's.
Thinking it started at 6:30, I enjoyed a leisurely dinner and scrumpy cider at a pub, watching some football (the real kind), only to get to the church and realize I was half an hour too late. Dashed to St. Paul's to see if I could still get in for their 6:00 Advent service but the doors were closed. For a few seconds, I couldn't decide if I should go across London Bridge to Southwark or back down Fleet Street for St. Martin-in-the-Fields. St. Martin's won out and with only about twenty minutes to spare, I started sprinting back towards Trafalgar Square. Now, I realize, I had just completed a marathon the month before, so I was still in some semblance of running shape but running in boots, wearing a sweater and coat, with a bag is a very different thing from running with proper shoes and running attire. It was a day of spiritual rest but not necessarily one of physical rest.
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| The day ended with more Apple Crumble in the crypt of St. Martin-in-the-Fields. Seriously addicted. |
