Day 18

Thanksgiving at St Paul’s Cathedral

This new experience, Thanksgiving away from home, gives me pause. Pause on Thanksgiving Day, I should think, is good.

We traveled to St Paul’s Cathedral at the appointed door-opening time, found our way past the security barricades despite initially being told at the first entrance we tried that this was a “ticketed event.”

The St Paul’s website had said nothing about tickets, so naturally we did not have any.

At the gate further along, where the dozen flack-jacketed security guards checked bags, we were admitted without tickets. It was not a ticketed event after all. We were among the first inside, so we sat as close to the center of things as possible, row 4, under the dome. Just behind the rows marked “Reserved.”

We went for worship as well as for the experience, although clearly for many it seemed to be mostly an opportunity to be with other Americans. I am not judging motives. I am simply referring to the level of chatter that persisted, despite the organ call to worship, and that popped up again at “slow moments” during the service itself. Ah, Americans! What are you going to do?

I am not genetically inclined to be impressed by the spiritual possibilities of ritual or necessarily by the religious symbolism of art and architecture. That is, a fancy space and a good show do not in themselves suggest, to me, intimacy with God.

I have misgivings as well about the presence of military in church. The likeness of spiritual to political and military struggle that takes the form of memorials and statues and, on Thanksgiving, a Marine Corp Color Guard makes me uncomfortable.

But this was a deeply moving, intensely Christian service of worship.

With great dignity and respect the Color Guard surrendered the American flag and then the Marine Corp flag to church leaders, who lay them across the altar for the duration of the service. I found that bit of symbolism both appropriate and moving.

The music, too, was mostly familiar and deeply touching. Perhaps, that is the homeboy in me. The choir anthem was powerful, and the hymns, though pitched too high for my vocal chords, were themselves offerings to God. “Come, ye thankful people, come,” “Fairest Lord Jesus,” “For the beauty of the Earth.” And the organ, which fills that huge space indescribably, felt indeed like the presence of God.

Most astonishing was the sermon, brought by Dr. Barry Gaeddert, Senior Pastor of The International Community Church, Surrey. It was a forceful declaration of the centrality of the Gospel, both personal and universal. For that alone, I would have given thanks.

At service end we were turned out into the brooding November weather to wait for our bus, having been blessed again by worship. I thought then that we had experienced the warm deeply assuring heart of God in this grey, forbidding world.