Quick Trip to Cambridge

The wedding banns of our son were being read in Cambridge, which is very exciting! As a sort-of-Baptist (I attend an Anglican church but was raised a Baptist) I am a little fuzzy on some of the rituals/laws surrounding the Anglican Church. Apparently, if you marry in one of their churches, it is a legal requirement for banns to be read in advance (just in case someone wants to object to the marriage). They are read in the Parish of the ceremony, and in a church where you live (if that is different). Son lives in Cambridge. Lovely Daughter and SiL agreed to take mad dog for the weekend, so off we went.

Cambridge is always lovely (other than Fresher’s Week, when there is a lot of vomit). I love the history of the buildings, the river full of people having fun, the cows loose on the common. (Honestly, who couldn’t love a city that has cows wandering around?)

We had drinks on Saturday at The Pickering Inn. This was one of those ancient buildings blended with contemporary life that is commonplace in Cambridge. We sat under a ceiling built in the 1600’s, reading about ghosts, while the huge television showed the FA Cup Final. They had used old books to show reservations, and I started to read mine (because I don’t much enjoy football). A lovely way to spend an afternoon. Then we wandered back out into the sunshine, walked round the corner to an Italian restaurant, and I decided to forget about my low-cholesterol diet for an evening, so had a wonderful meal.

The following morning was church. We found the right church, and lots of friendly people came to ask who we were and welcomed us to the service. The church was quite full, and had a mix of ages, and the vicar had the same name as Husband. All was going well. There was a band, and the singing was good, and then they read the banns. I hadn’t realised that they would read out the full names, and they asked if anyone had a reason to object to the wedding (no one did) and then they prayed for the couple, and I felt unexpectedly emotional because it all felt very significant. Very serious. Very right.

The service continued to the usual formula of songs and readings and notices, and then there was a sermon. The sermon was about the woman who washed Jesus’ feet with her hair, which was a pretty outrageous thing to do in those days, and not at all what people were expecting. Then, from the back of the church, there came a loud: ‘Can we have a round of applause?’ and down the aisle marched a large man wearing a towel. I think just a towel, knotted at the waist. I sat up, this was interesting, was there going to be a short sketch? A bit of drama to explain the text?

The man strode to the front, went to the lectern and started to speak into the microphone. The vicar moved quietly to his side, and pushed the mic away, explaining that it was time for the sermon, it wasn’t the right time for the man to speak. Was this a sketch? Two other leaders appeared at the man’s side, and suggested he might like to join them somewhere quiet, where they could listen to him.

‘Is this a sketch?’ I whispered to Son.

‘I don’t think so,’ he answered, staring at the scene, ‘I think this is real.’

My first instinct was that maybe I should help—which I dismissed pretty quickly because I have absolutely no experience with either mental health or spiritual oppression, and I would just get in the way. The men were moving to the side door now, very calmly, leading the man out of the church. My second thought was whether that towel would stay in place, and whether I would resist laughing loudly if it fell off—but fortunately it didn’t fall. The man left, the sermon continued.

At the end of the service, the senior vicar returned, and explained that the man was being helped by counsellors, and please could the congregation leave by the side door, so we didn’t disturb them. He prayed for the man, and the service ended. It was certainly not boring.

As we left, I noticed the man (still wearing his towel) talking with two men in the glass-fronted foyer. Sensible to remain in a public place, I thought, sort of private but not hidden. I was impressed with how the whole thing was handled actually. The man was treated with dignity, but also moved away from where he could potentially harm people. The church clearly has some good policies in place.

We had coffee and homemade cookies, and then went to the pub for lunch. We drove back, collected mad dog (tempting to leave her for a few more days) and went home. A lovely trip.

I hope you had a good weekend too. Thanks for reading.
Take care,
Love, Anne x