Twenty years on

Today marks a small personal anniversary.  Twenty years ago I found myself lingering at the gate of Holy Trinity, Benalla, wondering whether or not to go in.  As it happens, the choice was helped by the appearance of one of the clergy, who said hello and extended the hand of welcome.

That was on the Sunday after Ascension in 1991.  Weekly worship has been an unwavering part of my life ever since.

The history of how I landed at this particular church gate on that particular Sunday is still surprising to remember.  My family was based in nearby Violet Town for my first twelve years, and we moved to Benalla to allow my father's business to have the benefit of a larger town, greater proximity to services and so on.  Moving from a small town to a larger one was liberating, and set the groundwork for the move to Melbourne less than twelve months later.

My early religious experience was in the Uniting Church, but there is a fair swathe of Anglicanism among both sides of the family.  As a cub-scout I was taken on the obligatory church parades, one of which, in 1990, was  to Holy Trinity, Benalla.  On that occasion we were holed up in the Lady Chapel (formerly the organ chamber), where the only view was directly into the smoke-filled chancel.  Having come from a background where the services were very plain and simple to something that engaged all five senses was overwhelming.  My whole notion of what worship is about changed from some vague idea of learning to be a good person via coloring in activities in the kiddies corner to being part of the great procession to glory.  Uniting Church worship suddenly seemed shamefully threadbare -- worse, actually -- willfully boring.

I should hasten to add that the Uniting Church wasn't all bad -- far from it.  Two people in the congregation took a close interest in me, both highly formative influences.  I remember a pastoral visit from the minister when I had chicken pox (aged 10), and somewhere in my bookshelves I probably still have the Garfield comic he gave me as an entertainment to while away the days of itching, not scratching, and stinking out the house with the odour of calamine lotion.  That minister transformed the grounds at the Violet Town Uniting Church.  It was said that every time he had a stressful week he started a new garden bed.  There were a lot of new garden beds over his years of ministry.

What attracted me into Anglicanism -- and has ultimately kept me there -- is the worship.  As a Uniting Church child I found it odd that we were subjected to a staged talk before being herded out into the halls at the back of the church for Sunday School.  Much of the biblical teaching was woefully inadequate, both on spiritual and pedagogical grounds.  There was nothing that connected Bible study to worship, and the effect was ultimately one of excluding children from the corporate worship of the congregation.  Bearing in mind that that worship still followed the paradigms of pre-1978 Nonconformity very closely I shouldn't be too hard: it would probably have been equally tedious to me.  The highlight of the service for the adults seemed to be the collection.

The effect of ceremonial, incense, music, fine carving, and good architecture at Holy Trinity, Benalla, was an electrifying sensory overload.  No Sunday School meant that the young folk worshiped alongside the adults -- indeed, many were involved in the serving team.  At Holy Trinity I can now see that the needs of younger people were met by a deliberate policy of inclusion in the existing structure.  When confirmation classes were announced I leapt at it.

My time at Holy Trinity, Benalla, was brought to an end when the family moved to Melbourne in January 1992.  The formative experience has remained with me.  Today is a day of thanksgiving for twenty years of life as an Anglican, in all it has meant -- mixed blessings and all.