Westminster Chapel

Sunday. The boys with their Dad at his mum's for the weekend. A day of rest indeed. The flat so quiet that I hear the neighbours wake up. Sandwiched between single mums of single girls I know we are the noisy ones in our block but the quiet of the area at the weekend, with no passing traffic is like an island. I think we must drive the neighbours crazy. Those boys shout MUM! when they wake up. They shout when they go to bed. I miss them though. I wish we'd watched the football together last night. Instead I went to a party to watch it. Missed the goal walking down Seven Sisters lane without an AZ.

But today I have written and worked and read. Then I miss them again. Panic that they will have a car crash and die. That in my heartbreak I will start smoking after eight years abstinence ( I worry there is some sneaky desire to do this here - almost like the bonus.) Sometimes I can even imagine dragging on the cigarette. Perhaps I have to explain that their Dad did drive them home from his mum's once so drunk that they went missing for a couple of hours, finally appearing, Dad's face bloated, swaying, falling like a felled tree in the boys bedroom. I shouted and threatened to call the police, and then realised I couldn't do it infront of the boys. Though later, I called the social services. I don't know how many of the rest of you have done that but it didn't feel good. He has stopped drinking now, but still, it is hard to lose the fears.

As it is a Sunday, I think I should get out there and try and and get in a church that always seems closed. But then a whole new area of dread opens, does that mean actually going to a service? I don't want to. I don't want to. I don't want to. Though since I have started this project I have discovered this fascinating site - mystery worshipper/ ship of fools - http://www.ship-of-fools.com/mystery/. When I first found it, after visiting St Matthews, not sure exactly what my plan was, I thought I had a rival, or even that the task I had set myself had been done. But Mystery worshipper is a detailed account of pew comfort, biscuit count and the unquantifiable measure of worship, of the feeling of god. Oh, oh, I am always pleased after visiting a church if I find mystery worshipper has been before. I love the tiny details of their undercover mission. I feel we are in each other's footsteps. I laugh that I could indeed be wrongly unmasked as mystery worshipper if I got to close to service time. Or spot them myself. Apparently they leave a calling card in the font. Should I do something similar?

I have been skirting Westminster Chapel for weeks. It is a huge church, almost half way between our flat and Buckingham Palace. I can't work out from the outside exactly what denomination it is. I can barely describe it. Dull brown brick, Italianate arches, a church from a Hitchcock film, but less interesting. I know the afternoon service is at 5.30 and try to go at 4pm. I can't get in. I go back at about 5.10. The automatic glass sliding doors open. There are two men at the front desk, like cloakroom attendants. I have braced myself. 'I know your service is about to start but I would love to have a quick look inside the church.' They wave me in. At that moment, briefly, I think maybe I can just go ahead with it.

I can't explain my own reticence to be visible, to take a stand, to stand out, but walking through those doors into a huge room, like a theatre in tiers, with people dotted around chatting - I have taken on way too much for myself. In the centre stage is the kit for a band, and a huge tv display screen, with bad graphics procaiming their message for the Lord. Behind this ugly paraphernalia is a beautiful huge organ, another wizard of oz prop. I can't explain my reaction but I can't stay. I find it creepy, I don't want to smile and be welcomed. I bolt. An old lady at the door misunderstands my movement out, and for ages we are both left holding the door, welcoming each other into the church. I feel like a comedy baddie on the run.

I have to go with how it is. But I don't have much description. Though, when I return home, and google the church, the history is riveting. It is probably the earliest church I have been to. Initially the chapel started in 1840, in what was 'one of London's poorest slums- rife with prostitution, squalor and drug addiction. Alms houses and schools were built, orphans were cared for and work schemes were organised for unemployed men. Rev Martin's gospel-preaching and Biblical authority made Westminster Chapel stand out as a light of hope. Even influential leaders of that time like Lord Shaftesbury and Dean Stanley of Westminster Abbey began to hear of the Chapel's impact in the area.' So popular was the chapel that by 1860 a 1,500 seater building, the building I went into today was designed and built opening in 1864. Between 1904 with Dr George Campbell Morgan and then his even more celebrated successor Dr Lloyd Jones until 1968, they had queues round the block. People queueing to hear the friday evening lectures and the sunday sermons. Their words travelling the world, big in USA, even Korea.

I have begun to be inspired by the history of this area's transition, the frantic building of churches in the late 19th century and I have bought a series of local maps, Westminster and Victoria 1869, 1894, 1916. I feel that I am onto something, as I colour in the churches on the b/w maps, noticing the increase of feltpenned rectangles as time passes. I'm not sure what yet. But just a fascinating movement of change. Of intention for good.

And yes, mystery worshipper had been before. Reporting on the plentiful digestive biscuits, and a 52 minute sermon! MW horrified by such length. Though my concerns about hanging around at the back of the church are validated by this short report:
'What happened when you hung around after the service looking lost?
Nothing much. Few spoke to me and I spent some time sitting alone on a chair by the wall. One man in full camouflage gear came and spoke to me. He offered me his phone number and said I should visit him and see his neighbour's cat. He also said if I ever needed prayer I could phone him and he would come and pray with me, since he liked prayer. Oddly enough, I declined the invite.'

My boys came home safe and sound.

amen