Another Long Weekend in London: Part III

A depiction of Pentecost (courtesy of Vecteezy)

5 min. read

The following morning, I plan to visit my old London church. Whilst there’s always an element of nerves when visiting after so long away, I’m particularly full of trepidation this time. On my last trip, I bottled it and went to a different branch. I’m tempted to do so again but that would be cowardly. I believe my apprehension stems from a perceived pressure to present a cheerful front; like all is going swimmingly for me in Europe. Of course, this is nonsense. If I can’t be candid with my church family, then with whom can I be? Still, I have my reservations. The previous evening, I mention my worries to Victor.

But you don’t owe anyone an explanation. You don’t have to tell them anything.

It’s as if I needed someone to give me permission to be discreet.

I arrive at church at the same time as my old cell group leaders, Spencer and Olivia, and their little one, Judah, whom I’m yet to meet. He gives me a big grin. This encounter puts me more at ease. Other familiar faces smile at my unannounced cameo. There are cursory hugs including from Pastor Billy, who’s taking the sermon. He preaches from Hebrews 4: 14-16. Billy is on especially facetious form; part exegesis/part stand-up. It goes down very well. Amidst the merriment however, I’m pensive. Billy tarries on the point of Christ being able to sympathise with our temptation and suffering. I think once more of how lonely Jesus’ earthly mission must have been and my own battles with solitude and alienation these past few years. He would have even felt spiritually isolated from the rest of the Godhead whilst on the cross. Normally, I’m not comforted by the idea of the fellowship with Christ in suffering. For some reason, it resonates today.

After service, I catch up with more of my London church family. I note with wryness how many of them are now parents of small children and don’t have time for lengthy conversation. It’s all good. It means I can make a quicker getaway. I’m still not as relaxed as I'd want to be. I'm beginning to feel the weight of my absences and a tad superannuated.

I spend most of the time talking to someone who claims to be a former acquaintance of mum’s and my almost namesake, Kola who grew up in the same neighbourhood. Although we apparently joined the church around the same period, it’s the first time I recall seeing him in this context. I’m so relieved by this blast from the past, I rabbit on a mile a minute. It’s been long enough since our last exchange to be completely out of the loop about each other’s movements. He’s not aware, for example, that sis has been based in the Far East for well over a decade.

Kola and I part ways at Lee High Road. I head off to treat myself to a gourmet crêpe lunch round the corner from mum’s.

After the meal, it’s a leisurely stroll through the remnants of a Sunday Farmer’s Market back to mum’s flat. She has a pile of old clothes waiting for me; some I thought were lost to the ether, others about which I’d clear forgotten. It’s a demoralising exercise trying them on. Despite my efforts to live fit and healthy, they don’t presently sit on me as well as they once did.

Mum and I have planned an evening at a favourite Turkish restaurant. We beat the rain to enjoy a mellow evening with good customer service and sumptuous but reasonably-priced food. En route, we tut at the ongoing construction of luxury high rise flats, ever distorting the skyline. Probably most, if not all, will remain at least partially unoccupied. Built purely as a speculative investment for non-resident oligarchs, no doubt.

The last full day of my early summer UK visit coincides with a tube strike (solidarity!). It will inevitably curtail some of my meet-up plans. A rendez-vous with Faith from the Morphē Arts collective is postponed, for instance, owing to time and travel constraints. It’s been a lot like that during this trip. My itinerary becomes unintentionally lighter due to extenuating circumstances, or failing that, a lack of uptake. I can’t say it doesn’t affect me.

It is what it is. I committed the trip into God’s hands; that it’ll unfold how it should. I might not have received an answer the way I wanted but it’s worked out as it was supposed to. It's been less frantic. It’s given me pointers about how I should organise future visits. I’ve also had more time with mum. Moving forward, I pray to be as philosophical about any such disappointments I’m currently experiencing; to lower my stress levels, if nothing else.

Lewisham Gateway 'Development' (courtesy of fromthemurkydepths.co.uk)

I take the scenic route to meet my former Chaplain, from the time I worked at Imperial College, for another chat as well as meditation. With the travel disruption, it’s a lot of palaver making it to the Chaplaincy. I arrive just in time for some small talk and the meditation session. It’s in the Ignatius tradition, based on Acts 2 in commemoration of Pentecost. I am perhaps a little too comfortable at these offline sessions. I become drowsy. Afterwards, the Good Reverend and I have time to share in more depth. It’s a safe space to be candid. The Reverend gives me some practical advice on how to engage with the spiritual whilst attending to the physical. In a spontaneous exchange, I share Christian resources by Afrodescendant women for which he’s grateful. He invites me for a quick jaunt around the College’s gardens. I spend a very edifying hour in his company. It’s indicative of this trip, finding contentment and consolation in unexpected forms.

I have plenty of time to make it to my next appointment, even with most of the tube service down. I’m meeting Laura, one of the founders of Morphē Arts. Our interactions have only ever been online. I’m eager to meet her IRL on this trip, before she becomes busier still with forthcoming wedding plans. Like the Good Reverend, Laura is softly spoken and a great listener. In the presence of individuals possessing these traits, I find it too easy to spill my mind. I worry about monopolising the floor. 

Laura and I have a very open and considered discussion regarding gender, faith, sexuality and relationships more generally. It’s rewarding to converse about these sensitive issues with someone so thoughtful and compassionate.

On the way back from our meeting point in Greenwich, I take a stroll across Blackheath, putting into practice some of the meditative walking suggestions made by the Good Reverend. A friend texts to ask how the trip is going. I’m touched. I’ve received several similar messages over the course of my stay.

Back at mum’s, she’s made a start on helping me re-pack for Brussels. As usual, I’m returning with more than I came. We settle down to a delicious supper, watching another episode of Tales of the Unexpected.

My departure date has been hurtling towards me. The morning of my return to Belgium, Mum is teleworking. She sits at her new desk in a summery house dress, speaking into her headset. As is my custom, I’ve booked a mid-afternoon train, should I have a last minute meet-up. None is forthcoming on this occasion. Friends are either indisposed or non-responsive. The advantage is that I have more time to lounge around, eat a leisurely breakfast whilst listening to current affairs updates and repack. Mum says she’s missing me already. Likewise. With the departure of my train still hours away, there’s enough time for fond goodbyes, prayers and a solid hug. 

Part 1, Part 2

Soundtrack: Remastered Hits-Vol. 2 by Toots Thielemans