The Sunday Morning Adventure

Mother and I ventured forth to Church this morning, but I must tell you that we went with some trepidation.  It’s difficult to find an appropriate Church.  Mind you, we are Episcopalians, and we have been so for many years, but in these days it can be very difficult.  Certainly our Church has been historically the Church of Presidents.  Why even George Washington was an Episcopalian and our beloved General Robert E. Lee was a Vestryman at his Episcopal Church.  But that’s not the problem.

The problem is, what really ought one to wear when one wished to make an appearance at Church?  Mother was somewhat concerned, hats being out of fashion, but then most of today’s women are out of fashion as it is.  Mother finally settled on a blue pillbox hat with matching bow and a small conservative blue veil.  It actually looked quite smart with her blue dress.  I of course have little difficulty deciding what to wear.  I only wear what is proper for gentlemen; a white shirt with a regimental tie, grey slacks, and my blue blazer with my school initials embroidered on the pocket.  Mother thinks that the initials of Wilfred Choate school look quite noble embroidered in gold.

You can imagine my shock when we arrived at Church only to discover that we had to park our Jaguar between a Ford and a Chevrolet.  It was really quite embarrassing.  If that was not difficult enough, we were met by a bright and cheery couple at the front door.  People should keep their cheeriness to themselves, especially on a Sunday morning.  They actually wanted us to put on name tags.  Mother thought that horrid little scrap of white gummy paper would have clashed with her outfit in a most garish way, and as for me, they actually suggested that I might put that label on my blazer pocket right over the golden W. C. letters.

I wouldn’t have minded quite so much if they had been more appropriately attired. Flowered summer smock and khaki trousers!  Can you imagine?   Not only that but he was actually wearing a brown belt with black shoes.  Mother was so shocked that she had trouble getting a breath and we had to sit in the very back row.  That turned out to be quite fortuitous. 

Halfway through the service there was an exceedingly awkward moment.  Admittedly we haven’t been to Church for a year or two.   In our absence they have decided to stop right in the middle of the service to shake hands with everybody.  Why on earth they have come to the conclusion that would enhance worship is beyond me.  Mother and I looked at the priest working his way down the central aisle towards us, then we looked at each other with perfect agreement and slipped out the back door before he could get to us.

“Well all’s well that ends well,” as Dame Julian of Norwich said.  At least we were able to beat the Baptists to brunch at The Conservatory at Rosewood Crescent Hotel.

 “Don't ever attempt, my brothers, to combine snobbery with faith in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ!”(James 2:1, Phillip’s New Testament)