Yes, I know, the title is a little tenuous in its wordplay, but then I wouldn't have it any other way. What it refers to is that which was promised yesterday, ie. more Anglican fun. In this case however it really was fun. We got up this morning and took a leisurely walk into the centre of Taunton to join other Christians in a "walk of witness" which involved walking in silence down the high street, carrying wooden crosses before having a few minutes of worship and prayer before a larger cross implanted at the end of said street. There was then church-going, resulting in a Good Friday service (I have no idea if it was a normal one or not as I have never been known to do anything for Easter, heathen that I am) and the plying of tea and coffee and Hot Crossed Buns in our general direction. Suitably Coffeed and Bunned we then had to return to the cross in the town centre for a silent vigil which lasted half an hour.
Those were the events, here, the experiences:
I wasn't exactly looking forward to this. I had no real idea what to expect, but I felt that I should do it, whether I really wanted to or not. This is not to say that I felt God particularly wanted me to, more that He'd be pleased that I gave it a try, or something like that. So on I went and as we stood waiting for the WoW to make a move and crosses were handed out I found myself gathering my nerves together in a bag and preparing to beat them visciously with a pointed stick. I was very uncertain as to what I had signed myself up for and I was terrified that someone would hand me a cross. Fortunately, when a cross was received it was Eruntane who took it and I then experienced that unique kind of guilt you get when you realise it really was supposed to have been given to you (well, ideally). We chatted and milled a bit and, when we finally moved off in silence, I (hopefully) graciously took it off her and carried it the rest of the way. I'm very glad that I did.
The walk was uncomfortable not, as I had feared, because I was walking up a High Street carrying a big wooden cross along with a bunch of other like minded people, reminding them that such like minds should be kept safely behind padded bars, but rather because I am a lanky sort of fellow and the walk was a slow, small steps sort of affair my legs had trouble adjusting to. The actual passersby and onlookers factor was less important to me than I had throught and I instead found myself ignroing them and thinking more and more about the cross I bore as I walked. It felt quite ritualistic and traditional, but not in bad way as so many rituals do. It made me understand why religious traditions are so popular in most other countries and why it is a shame that we, as a nation, seem to be impoverished of them (not that I am condoning all religious traditions, just the peaceful ones). It also helped me to feel more Christian, whilst concious that I was only doing such a thing for God, rather than for myself.
The silent vigil at the cross was another thing I thought I would hate, but instead I just stood there, switching between holy thoughts and those more mundane as I listened to the world go by, feeling genuinely at peace and glad that I was there, with other Christians, making an understated, but powerful scene.
More so than ever before, I realised that, at least sometimes, I am not ashamed of the Gospel.
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