Our church in Texas is not a parish church.
It does not sit in the middle of a village or town as a reminder of holier days when it was the centre of the people’s lives.
It is known as a destination church. Although it is set on the main main road through a neighbourhood, and has a funeral home next door with a graveyard opposite it draws its congregation from as far away as 45 minutes drive!
Only one member lives around the corner.
Our church in Beckenham is a parish church and attracts people from the surrounding area. Most of them walk, as we do and although all its services are not heavily atttended and its heavenly choir very often sing to a congregation smaller than the altar party, it still fulfills its function as the focal point for the residents of our community.
During Christmas St. George’s hosted many services. Adjacent schools and local chorals performed. On a weekly basis there is a recital each Friday at lunchtime. On Saturdays singing takes place or Arts festivals and Fairs. Thursday evenings we hear the campanologists practise, peals echoing through the neighbourhood. In May there will be a week long music festival and there are friends of the graveyard who meet monthly to keep it wild, tours of the tombstones and crypts, docents who will guide those interested through a walking history of the tower and stained glass windows. Communion, morning and evening prayer are offered daily.
To call attention to critical parts of this holy activity are the bells that ring in the hours keeping track of the time for the townsfolk, and beckoning us to join in worship, weddings or funerals.
Each time I hear the familiar chime at the elevation from my flat I think of the peasants in the fields centuries ago, who would look up, mid reap, to remember the Lord, bless themselves and continue with their work.
I do the same.
I do not consciously listen for them, I am not sitting at my desk, or outside pruning, with one ear cocked for the sound of the consecration bells during the week.
No, the gentle tolling of the bell comes to me.
A reminder that a group of people are celebrating the Eucharist; gathered together praying for all for whom they care about, for me and others around the town, the nearby city, the outstretched world.
Our church bells are as important today as they were in medieval times.
They remind me to pause for a moment, remember who I am, cross myself and offer up a small prayer of adoration.
One toll reminds those who hear and know, that Jesus became incarnate and dwelt amongst us; that he died for our sins.
Ah that our church in Texas could ring out the Good News.
I am blessed to live within the bells of St. George’s.
Well hello there! My name is Vivienne McNeny.
I am an empty nester exploring life as a Boomer…you could say I'm happily Boomering along!
As a homeschooling Mum I have finally quit the job of role model and mentor to my four children. I do what I want to do, eat when I feel like it, enjoy life with my blue eyed cowboy and clean my house once a month or so whether it needs it or not!
In true English form I write about the emergence of my true identity now that I can no longer hide behind my children as their Mum.
No comments so far!
2012-02-13 00:35:19
Vivienne! I have so enjoyed reading February! What in the world did you want your hair to look like?? Please include more photos–I want to see one of your church, please. Can you send me to another date, perhaps? And why in the world haven’t you told me you were writing this blog. It’ll be so great for my mom to read every day–like sitting down to have a cup of tea with you!!!
LOVE you, dear friend
Pamela <3
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