Hermanos, grannies and Peruvian goldfish.

26 Nov
You know you have been to London when the walk back to your house from the bus stop is considerably slowed by trying to limp on both legs at once due to a gammy leg, a limping-induced muscle strain, and a giant blister or two. Why is it that London just really makes your legs ache?!
That aside, it was a deeply good weekend. I’ve been trying to find one weekend where I can go and visit Jonny in London for the past 14 months. "How about this weekend?" I say every two weeks.
"Errr.. well, not this one. What about the one after?"
"Yeah! Oh wait, no… got to go and see the herring farmers in southern Paraguay."
And so forth. All year.
So it was good to finally get there. Nice to fight our way through the Christmas shoppers in Oxford Street to the Tall Men’s shop only to not buy anything. Several typical "are we ever going to find Hanna" moments ensued, such as when stranded for twenty minutes outside Holloway prison, and when having waited for her for fourty minutes in Costa Coffee, we rang as we were about to leave and found she had been sitting downstairs for the past hour.
Twas very interesting though to have a day in the life of Jonny the Lay Assistant, get up early to do two church services, meet little kids, get confused by a bit of liturgy and talk to some legendary grannies.. and then go across town to Hanna’s completely different church in the evening, sing loudly with a band and see what appeared to be all the missing 20-30 year-olds from Jonny’s church transplanted there, but with not a granny or little kid to be seen. I was suddenly forcefully reminded that both of those entirely different gatherings – different ages, different styles, different songs, different approaches – are Church. That we can meet with each other and with God at both ends of that spectrum and everywhere inbetween, and that he is not hemmed in by either of them. And as always the three of us got to pray together, oramos hermanos… Steve got us into that good habit. Ahhh, damn good to see them. 
Anyway, I had to finally see Hanna’s famous church, St Mary’s, which she told our Peruvian Pastor was called Santa Maria, thereby confusing and alarming him with Catholic connotations. We named one of our Peruvian goldfish after it and everything. Santa Maria – she had babies in the end. Ha. Apt.
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