Colliding crowds on Pentecost Sunday

One of my new found joys about living here in Amersham is the opportunity of popping into London on an occasional Sunday for evening service.  So after last Sunday’s Pentecost Communion at AFC and an afternoon trip to see the splendidly re-furbished Chesham URC I caught the tube to Baker Street en route to Westminster Abbey.The Metropolitan Line runs through Wembley Park and as it was about 4.30pm when my train arrived there it was inevitable that we picked up hundreds of fans coming out of the stadium after the F.A. ‘Play Off’ match.  My near empty Sunday afternoon carriage suddenly became full of green and white football supporters all in good humour because their team had won and so earned promotion to the Championship League.  Now normally, because of my less than enthusiastic following of the ‘beautiful game’, such joy passes me by – but not on Sunday - because the winners of that crucial match were Yeovil!  Having lived there for six years, virtually next to the football ground, I know just how dedicated the town is to its team; indeed I’m told 25,000 Yeovilians (that’s out of a population of 40,000!) made their way to Wembley on Sunday.  So ‘well done’ to the ‘Glovers’ – I can imagine that parking near the Manse will be even more horrific come September!

Meeting up with these ‘green and white’ supporters on the train from Amersham was something of a weird collision between my two worlds – an odd juxtaposition between the recent past and only just beginning present.  It made me smile and realise the metaphor of life as a journey, although over used, is still relevant.

Once in London I went to Evening Service at The Abbey – quite a different sort of crowd this time!  About three hundred of us there from many different countries.  It was a simple service with the choir absent – I think they had sung at so many previous Abbey events that day they deserved time off.  The sermon was deeply theology and one I found helpful – just not sure it touched base with the large number of folk who obviously had English as their second language.  The organ was splendid yet the singing of the congregation virtually non-existent. Yet for all of this supposed ‘non-participation’ I suspect that just being in that ancient and ‘holy’ place was a moment of pilgrimage for most of us.  Indeed at the end I was struck by just how many people stayed to listen to the whole  organ voluntary and  gaze around  them at the sheer beauty of the place. As we walked down the aisle towards the West Door there was a sort of ‘hushed reverence’ being corporately shared.  Worship is about many things – and although we non-conformists only rarely admit it – a ‘sense of place’ often inspires our devotion and consciousness of God.

So – on Pentecost Sunday, when we remember the Jerusalem crowd witnessing ‘something of God’ breaking out – these were my two crowds.  A bunch of loud and happy football supporters – a congregation of silent, yet I think sincere, Abbey worshippers.  I dare to hope something of the spark of Pentecost was to be found in both.

With best wishes,

Ian

Ps a Blog holiday next week!