Home at Last
“Mere heathen morality, and not Jesus Christ, is preached in most of our churches.”~George Whitefield
If any of you readers read my other blog, you might recall my entry several weeks ago about how I was making an honest effort to observe the Sabbath more faithfully. At school, it’s very easy to get caught up in the habit of reading school material in between services, or studying Sunday night for an exam the next day, or some other form of work which I end up trying to justify to myself. It’s been hard so far; putting the worries of the week past and week to come off to the side to observe the Lord’s Day, but it has been a blessing to me both spiritually and physically.
Resting from my labors is harder in this place for two reasons. First, many of the other students can be found preparing for tutorials on this day. I don’t wish to sound condescending; it is just difficult to know that they are “getting ahead” while I’m falling further behind. Secondly, it is hard to find the desire to prepare for the Sabbath when I don’t know what to expect from the churches I attend. Being a visitor here has left me without a church home, and so far the pickings have been slim.
But God in His providence is gracious. This evening, Alex and I attended Albert Street Chapel, the self-proclaimed “Independent Reformed Baptist congregation who practises restricted communion.” It was relatively easy to find the location because it is very near where I meet with my philosophy tutor. I hope to have pictures eventually, but it is a small building in the middle of a residential community of flats. We were greeted at the front door by two young men probably in their late teens and found ourselves entering a small chapel with white-washed walls. On either side were old wooden pews. You know, the kinds that creak and crack when you sit on them, the backs of which are parallel with your own body, so you’re left sitting perfectly straight the entire service, not moving a muscle for fear of making too much noise. At the front center of the chapel was a pulpit which the minister, upon entering the chapel, climbed a few stairs to get into.
For those of you acquainted with Reformed or Presbyterian churches, the service felt very much like one in the States, except for the fact that we were two of twelve people. The other people in the congregation seemed to be the family of the pastor or old women from the community. We took our seats and tried to get adjusted as best we could. We were presented with a Bible, hymn book, and Psalter by one of the guys who greeted us at the front door and moments later the Pastor took his place in the pulpit and the service began. He preached on Luke 9 and Christ’s words that He must face suffering, rejection, death, and on the third day rise from the dead.
In the past few weeks I’ve been to several different church services. I’ve been in many different cathedrals and church buildings. I’ve seen beautiful stained glass, architecture, and ceilings that rise up into the heavens; but all that beauty and all that man-made majesty was useless. I found myself almost in tears considering the beauty of Christ and His Church; it is not found in the size and aesthetic of our church building, nor in the magnificent choirs we organize to sing, nor in the array of instruments we use to praise Him. The core of Christianity is Christ and Him crucified. In every church I’ve visited thus far, the gospel message was what I was searching for, that is the desire of our hearts. To hear Christ preached boldly from a small, rinky-dink chapel, far away from the glamour and prestige of the city’s center, made my spirit leap within me. I imagine that the preaching here is as it should be i.e. faithful, morning and evening, not with the razzle dazzle of modern evangelicalism, but with conviction and boldness knowing that it is faith that comes from hearing and hearing from the Word of God.
I am grateful to God for this small church family. They were eager to greet us, offer us a ride home, and the promise of dinner Lord’s Day next.
This Sabbath has left me refreshed, both in body and soul. I look forward to this upcoming week, reading more C.S. Lewis and hitting the pubs, but I am already excited for next Sunday. Today I learned about the beauty of Christ and His bride, gathered from every corner of the globe. A bride not adorned with gold, silver, and precious jewels, but clothed in the riches of Christ.
If any of you readers read my other blog, you might recall my entry several weeks ago about how I was making an honest effort to observe the Sabbath more faithfully. At school, it’s very easy to get caught up in the habit of reading school material in between services, or studying Sunday night for an exam the next day, or some other form of work which I end up trying to justify to myself. It’s been hard so far; putting the worries of the week past and week to come off to the side to observe the Lord’s Day, but it has been a blessing to me both spiritually and physically.
Resting from my labors is harder in this place for two reasons. First, many of the other students can be found preparing for tutorials on this day. I don’t wish to sound condescending; it is just difficult to know that they are “getting ahead” while I’m falling further behind. Secondly, it is hard to find the desire to prepare for the Sabbath when I don’t know what to expect from the churches I attend. Being a visitor here has left me without a church home, and so far the pickings have been slim.
But God in His providence is gracious. This evening, Alex and I attended Albert Street Chapel, the self-proclaimed “Independent Reformed Baptist congregation who practises restricted communion.” It was relatively easy to find the location because it is very near where I meet with my philosophy tutor. I hope to have pictures eventually, but it is a small building in the middle of a residential community of flats. We were greeted at the front door by two young men probably in their late teens and found ourselves entering a small chapel with white-washed walls. On either side were old wooden pews. You know, the kinds that creak and crack when you sit on them, the backs of which are parallel with your own body, so you’re left sitting perfectly straight the entire service, not moving a muscle for fear of making too much noise. At the front center of the chapel was a pulpit which the minister, upon entering the chapel, climbed a few stairs to get into.
For those of you acquainted with Reformed or Presbyterian churches, the service felt very much like one in the States, except for the fact that we were two of twelve people. The other people in the congregation seemed to be the family of the pastor or old women from the community. We took our seats and tried to get adjusted as best we could. We were presented with a Bible, hymn book, and Psalter by one of the guys who greeted us at the front door and moments later the Pastor took his place in the pulpit and the service began. He preached on Luke 9 and Christ’s words that He must face suffering, rejection, death, and on the third day rise from the dead.
In the past few weeks I’ve been to several different church services. I’ve been in many different cathedrals and church buildings. I’ve seen beautiful stained glass, architecture, and ceilings that rise up into the heavens; but all that beauty and all that man-made majesty was useless. I found myself almost in tears considering the beauty of Christ and His Church; it is not found in the size and aesthetic of our church building, nor in the magnificent choirs we organize to sing, nor in the array of instruments we use to praise Him. The core of Christianity is Christ and Him crucified. In every church I’ve visited thus far, the gospel message was what I was searching for, that is the desire of our hearts. To hear Christ preached boldly from a small, rinky-dink chapel, far away from the glamour and prestige of the city’s center, made my spirit leap within me. I imagine that the preaching here is as it should be i.e. faithful, morning and evening, not with the razzle dazzle of modern evangelicalism, but with conviction and boldness knowing that it is faith that comes from hearing and hearing from the Word of God.
I am grateful to God for this small church family. They were eager to greet us, offer us a ride home, and the promise of dinner Lord’s Day next.
This Sabbath has left me refreshed, both in body and soul. I look forward to this upcoming week, reading more C.S. Lewis and hitting the pubs, but I am already excited for next Sunday. Today I learned about the beauty of Christ and His bride, gathered from every corner of the globe. A bride not adorned with gold, silver, and precious jewels, but clothed in the riches of Christ.
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