Well, we said we would spend Christmas in Horsham, and so we
did! We had cast about for a church to go to, and we found that the Anglicans
were the only ones scheduling a Christmas celebration – at least online. So
that is what we set our sights on. Armed with an address in the GPS we went
into town and found the Anglican church in the middle of it. We passed a
Lutheran Church on the way with lots of cars parked around it and I wondered
whether we shouldn’t change our plans and go there. But we didn’t, so we went
on to the Anglican Church and joined the service there. The program had a
number of carols on it, most of which we had sung at the Christmas Concert, so
I thought it would be alright.
However, this was high-church Anglican, of which I
have heard and read much over the years, but had never experienced in the
flesh. There were priests and priestesses, canons (single-n, non-firing),
surplices (non-army) and lots of chanting, genuflecting, spraying the crib with
holy water and formulaic calls-and-responses. A lot of cat’s passports and doll's cupboard, as the
Dutch would say*. It is sad to see that there is a part of the Church of England
which might as well have stayed with the Pope back when Henry VIII was doing
his thing, for all the notice it took of God’s work in the Reformation.
However, we persevered right to the final “O come all ye faithful” and took our
leave.
Lunch with our caravan park neighbours Stewart
and Ursula was moved by mutual agreement to dinner, and a late one at that. Our
chook was big, and required a long stay in the Weber, so we had dinner at 7.
Good conversation, good company and a scrumptious meal.* Poespas and poppekast
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