Everyone is aware that the mechanics of worship varies, even between denominations. So in going to a foreign country, I expected things to be different, but I found that worship at St. Andrews Methodist Church in Skipton, England was different in unexpected ways.
It began when I walked in the front door and was handed a hymnbook and a notice sheet (bulletin) by the greeter. The hymnbook was approximately eight inches long, six inches wide, and at least three inches thick. It had 888 hymns in it, plus responsive readings, indexes, etc, and not one note of music. It looked like a book of poetry
When I questioned the lack of music, I was told that the choir had music in their books. That was when I decided to join the choir. What a joy that turned out to be! I was so warmly received and felt totally accepted.
Another surprise�in the choir books, the words are on one page and the music on another. Also no effort is made to match the line of music to the line of poetry. The words are not hyphenated to show how many notes are used to sing them. It was quite a challenge, as we only sang about four songs I already knew in the three months I was there.
Also, it is customary to pause between each verse. (My choir director in Arkansas would have a stroke.) Some songs have as many as eight verses, and we sang all of them. I practiced real hard at singing with a British accent, so that I would not be so easy to identify when I goofed. I was grateful for Jennifer and Molly who stood on either side of me.
In the notice sheet it said, "If this is your first time to visit our church, please sign the register in the porch and then join us in the Church Hall for coffee, tea, and squash." Wanting to fit in, I approached the minister, who was greeting guests at the door, and asked, "Where is the Church Porch?"
He looked at me blankly for a moment and replied, "You are standing in it." "Porch" is the name they use for the entryway (vestibule, narthex, foyer) to the church. Then I absolutely had to go to the Church Hall to find out what they could possibly do to squash that would make it appropriate to serve with coffee or tea.
I was given a cup of tea with milk first. (It seems there is a real division among tea drinkers as to whether the milk or the tea goes into the cup first.) Some people were having coffee. I could not see anything that looked like squash. One lady came up to me nibbling on something, so I asked her what it was. "Mince pie".
Finally, I got up the nerve to just ask. " Where is the squash?". I was shown a table where big orange drinks were being served. It turns out the "squash" is a generic term for non-carbonated soft drinks in several flavors
.The next Sunday was St. Andrew�s Day at church, so it was special. All the Girl Guides and Boy Scouts were sitting down front. The minister was making a point by playing the "gossip" game during the time we would have "Children�s Sermon". He whispered something to the first person on each row, and they passed it on. I was in the choir. He came to the choir and whispered also. I was the third `person to get the message. I had absolutely no idea what Jennifer had said.
She whispered, "Didn�t you get it?" I told her , "no." Then we got to laughing and giggling until the tears were actually running down my face. I had to say something, so I passed on the sound that came closest to what I thought I had heard. I said "helicopter" which was passed through the choir. What the minister had said was "He is coming" Jennifer told him that our message had lost something in translation. I said, "When you are giving the Word to a foreigner, you have to be real sure that you speak a language they understand." The whole congregation laughed.
At noon that day we had dinner at the church. The amazing thing was that they had beautiful matching dishes for everyone. There must have been at least 100 or more at the dinner, and they all had real dishes�plates, cups, saucers and dessert dishes, all in a lovely blue pattern on white. They do not use "throw away".
I sat with Helen, the wife of the Lay Leader. No one was drinking anything with the food. When I asked about that, I was told that they usually don�t, not even water. But we had coffee or hot tea with dessert.
The best part was yet to come. After the meal was over, trying to be helpful and fit in, I began to gather up dirty dishes to take to the kitchen. There was a chorus of "Don�t do that!". I thought this was because I was a guest . But, no! In that area, it is the men who do the "washing up". The men clear the tables, wash and dry the dishes, put them away in the cupboards, and stack the chairs. They even seem to enjoy it. The women sit and chat. I found this to be the custom at church, in private homes, and at parties. It was wonderful!
As weeks folded into months, the members of St. Andrews became very dear to me. On my last Sunday there, I was asked to read the scripture. It was amazing at how easy it was to stand before my new friends and read. Rev. Frampton announced to the congregation that it was my last time to worship with them. After the service, so many had kind things to say about my having been there.
I was leaving on Wednesday morning, so there was no need for me to go to choir practice on Tuesday night. I said my farewell on Sunday to the dear choir members. But Eileen, the choir director, insisted that I come, even if for a little while. Those darling people! They presented me with a beautiful green leather hymnbook. I was admonished to "take it to America and teach them our songs." I promised to learn from it before I return.
Yes, return. Early in my stay I had said, "When I return to Arkansas I have no intention of leaving anything important behind." But that was prior to knowing the warm, lovely people of St. Andrews. So I must return. I left my heart there.