Memories of a treasured Easter in London
Four women who are barely acquaintances from England rent a castle in Italy during the month of April. That's the plot of the book, Enchanted April.
I've proposed this idea to my closest friends multiple times. And why not? My writing of this column was put on hold just now as I googled “rent a castle in Italy” and began scanning options.
I've decided to dub Spring the “treasure season.” It's a season of unlocking treasures — new growth, fresh perspective, rebirth, resurrection, and perhaps the dreaming of places one might journey to during the following season: summer. This time around Easter always sparkles as I remember the spring I was 20 while studying abroad as part of the London Semester at Chico State. Our group of mostly English majors traversed the Atlantic with two professors to study and become immersed in British culture for the first four and half months of the year. It was magical.
Our housing was in South Kensington, in what seemed like the center of the world. My street: Queen's Gate Terrace. We were surrounded by embassies representing a myriad of countries — it felt like the best neighborhood in central London. Yet the city was resplendent with treasures in all its neighborhoods, and we students would unearth them over the weeks and months that spring.
After arriving in London, one of my goals was to discover a church where I could find community. Not that I didn't enjoy and appreciate the other students from Chico, but many of them were into partying at pubs and bars and I wasn't. I was 20 and had bigger fish to fry. Of course, that didn't mean I would ever turn down a fish and chips lunch at the pub.
No one else seemed interested in finding a church so I set out on my own. Somehow, I stumbled upon a nice looking stone one — it turned out to be a Protestant church — in Notting Hill and I made it to a youth group meeting. A guitar player named Christian, originally from Trinidad, introduced himself to me that evening and he would eventually loan me multiple P.G. Wodehouse books. He and I were in the minority — I was delighted that the majority of church goers were people of color. It was an international church, drawing over 100 nationalities. It was my cup of tea.
I quickly met other regulars, and they soon convinced me to join a Gospel Choir. I resisted at first — I wasn't a singer and why did they want an American in their Gospel Choir anyway? Well, they did, and I could barely believe it, but my voice actually sounded good with all of them and that choir was a brilliant communal experience.
Our performance transpired on Easter Sunday and as I ruffled through the pages of my journal from 20+ years ago, I found several mentions. First, a more serious one: “Today marked the last rehearsal for the Gospel Choir before we perform on Easter Sunday. It should be quite exciting but we will need the Lord to be with us.” (Isn't that the truth now for so much of life?) But then the day after Easter: “The Gospel Choir sang beautifully yesterday, and it was wonderful.” It's funny — going back and reading all those journal entries, I realized: I really like the person I was at 20! And here I am, 20+ years later, but still me.
Before that semester, if you had asked me would I join a gospel choir while abroad — I would have said no. But these new friends whom I grew to love asked me, and I decided to try something new. Something I wasn't sure I'd be any good at. And yet, it's important to try new things. At any age. How do I grow if I only do those things I know? Or if I never fail? I'm not that old, but I've learned enough to recognize the value in stepping into an arena I don't feel totally adequate in yet. I'm doing this now as I try to figure out what it means to start a business.
Because of this surprise community I joined, my Easter Sunday that year was particularly significant—two decades later, I can still unearth the treasure of joy celebrating resurrection with my London family that glorious spring semester.