‘The Spirit, Freedom and Celebration of Carnival’ – 03/10/21
Opening Music: ‘Beech’ (edit) by Matthew Heyse-Moore (3.11)
Opening Words: ‘As we Gather Together’ by Bets Wienecke (adapted)
As we gather together this evening,
May we learn to recognize and affirm
The pieces of possibility —
The bits of good — we bring.
May we encourage rather than control;
Love rather than possess;
Enable rather than envy;
Allowing our individual gifts to weave a patchwork of peace:
The soft deep blue of sensitivity and understanding;
The red energy of creativity;
The white heat of convictions;
The deep black of the nourishing depths;
The risky, fragile green of new growth;
The golden flashes of gratitude;
The warm rose of love.
Each of us is indispensable
If we are to care for a broken and wounded world.
Together, in our gathered diversity of gifts and potentials, we form the whole.
These opening words by Bets Wienecke welcome all those who have gathered on Zoom this morning to take part in our Sunday service. Welcome to regular members of the congregation, to friends and visitors with us today, and also those who might be listening to our podcast, or watching on YouTube, at a later date. For those who don’t know me, my name is Jane Blackall, and having been part of the congregation for 22 years I’m now Ministry Coordinator here, and I’ve just completed ministry training at Unitarian College, I’ll officially be ‘Rev’ this time next week.
If you are here for the first time today – we’re especially glad to you have you with us – welcome! Please do hang around afterwards for a chat or drop us an email to introduce yourself if you’d like. Or you might think about coming to one of our other online activities during the week as they’re a good way to get to know people more organically and get a rounded sense of the congregation. And if you’re a regular – thank you for your commitment – thank you for showing up here once again – not just to this particular community but to the grander project – that aspiration to build beloved community for all – each playing our part in nudging the world towards justice and love. And we start right here, when we co-create this sacred space, this sense of hospitality and welcome.
So whoever you are, however you are, know you are welcome in this gathering, just as you are. I hope you find something of what you need this morning in this time we’ve specially set apart. As we always say, feel free to do what you need to do to be comfortable this hour – it’s always lovely to see your faces in the gallery and get a sense of our togetherness as a community – but we know for some it will feel more comfortable to keep your camera mostly-off and that’s fine. Similarly there’ll be opportunities to join in as we go along there’s no compulsion to do so. You can quietly lurk with our blessing – you know how to find us if you want to say hello later.
Today’s service came about at the initiative of Maria Petnga-Wallace who will be leading today along with Jeannene and Chloë. We will be marking the start of Black History Month with a service honouring the spirit, movement and music of Notting Hill Carnival and reflecting its African and Caribbean roots. We’ll also hear from our guest musician Matthew Heyse-Moore.
Chalice Lighting: ‘Our Ancestors’ Legacies’ by Kimberlee Anne Tomczak Carlson (adapted)
I’ll light our chalice now, as we do each Sunday, and at other times when we gather. This simple ritual connects us with Unitarians and Unitarian Universalists the world over, and reminds us of the historic and progressive religious tradition of which this gathering is part.
We are a people of memory and hope; of faithfulness and liberation.
As inheritors of our ancestors’ legacies, we hold their stories tenderly.
Gleaning wisdom from diverse journeys; we unite in hope for the future.
Guide us to trust in truth and love as we kindle this flame together.
Candles of Joy and Concern:
Each week when we gather together, whether it’s in person at the church in Kensington or here as an online congregation, we share a simple ritual of candles of joy and concern, an opportunity to light a candle and share something that is in our heart with the community. So we’ve got a good few minutes now, for anyone who would like to do so, to light a candle (real or imaginary) and say a few words about what it represents.
When you’re ready to speak, unmute your microphone so we can all hear you, and then re-mute yourself once you’ve finished. If you are going to speak, please be aware of how long you’re speaking for, so that there’s time for others to say something too. Let’s leave a pause between one candle and the next, so we can honour what’s been shared. And don’t worry too much if two people end up speaking at the same time, or there’s a technical hitch of some sort – these things happen on Zoom – please do persevere! At this point it’d be nice, if you can, to switch to gallery view so we can all see everybody.
(candles – thank each person)
I’ve got one more candle here and – as we often do – I’m going to light that candle to represent all those joys and concerns that we might be holding silently in our heart today.
Let’s take a moment now to think of all those joys and concerns we have heard expressed… and let’s hold them in compassion and loving-kindness, as we move into an extended time of prayer now, based on some words by Liz Weber.
You might first want to adjust your position for comfort, close your eyes, or soften your gaze. There might be a posture that helps you feel more prayerful. Whatever works for you. Do whatever you need to do to get into the right state of body and mind for us to pray together – to be fully present here and now, in this sacred time and space – with ourselves, with each other, and with that which is both within us and beyond us. (pause)
Prayer: based on words by Liz Weber
Spirit of Life, God of All Love,
in whom we live and move and have our being.
As we turn our attention to the depths of this life –
the cosmic mystery and wisdom that abides in All-That-Is –
we tune in to your Holy presence within us and amongst us. (pause)
Spirit of Life, help us to be present with all that is our life,
both our deepest sorrows and our greatest joys,
so that we can truly live: engaging fully in our own life and in our community.
Spirit of Community, Help us know how linked we are,
how each one of our cares touches us all.
Help us to ask for support when we are in need,
and offer our support to others when we are able,
so that we may rest in the solace of one another’s love.
Spirit of Love, help us to love our neighbour as we love ourselves,
so that we might fully embody love and resist hatred.
Spirit of Resistance, help us to stick up for what is right,
even when we are tired or afraid.
Help us to dream of the world as it should be
and act to bring that world about.
Help us to find hope each day.
Spirit of Hope, help us through this day and each day.
Help us to be present for all that is our life. (pause)
And, in a quiet time of reflection now, let us look back with kind eyes over the week just passed.
Let us call to mind a few moments, however small they may seem, that brought some sense of uplift, consolation, or even joy. Let us pray inwardly to give thanks for these everyday blessings.
(pause – 30s)
And let us also gently call to mind those moments in the last week that we found hard going.
Times when we felt uneasy, agitated, or disheartened. Times when we made mistakes, perhaps.
Let us pray inwardly for the comfort, compassion, or guidance we need to face those struggles.
(pause – 30s)
And, widening our circle of concern, let us focus our prayers on those people and situations that are concerning us – whether close to home or far away – those who are struggling with physical or emotional pain, with insufficient resources to meet their basic needs, with conflict and cruelty, with oppression and injustice. Let us send loving-kindness wherever it is needed this day.
(pause – 30s)
God of all love, we offer up our joys and concerns,
our hopes and fears, our beauty and brokenness,
and call on you for insight, healing, and renewal.
As we look forward now to the coming week,
help us to live well each day and be our best selves;
using our unique gifts in the service of love, justice and peace. Amen.
Hymn: ‘Here We Have Gathered’ performed by the Unitarian Music Society
Time for our first hymn, ‘Here We Have Gathered’, sung for us by the Unitarian Music Society. The words will appear on screen in a moment so that you can sing along – or you might prefer just to listen – we’ll do our best to make sure you’re all kept muted so nobody will hear you.
Here we have gathered, gathered side by side;
circle of kinship, come and step inside!
May all who seek here find a kindly word;
may all who speak here feel they have been heard.
Sing now together this, our hearts’ own song.
Here we have gathered, called to celebrate
days of our lifetime, matters small and great:
we of all ages, women, children, men,
infants and sages, sharing what we can.
Sing now together this, our hearts’ own song.
Life has its battles, sorrows, and regret:
but in the shadows, let us not forget:
we who now gather know each other’s pain;
kindness can heal us: as we give, we gain.
Sing now in friendship this, our hearts’ own song.
Introduction from Maria:
As Jane said in her opening today is the third day of Black History Month. Normally I’m not a fan of categorising anything Black into a single month however inspired by our wonderful Pride service in June I thought acknowledgement and celebration would be good. And so with our physical church being in Kensington on Notting Hill’s doorstep it seemed fitting to honour the spirit, freedom and celebration of Carnival. And that is the theme you’ll see through all our contributions today. Firstly we’ll hear a poem from Akeem George about his experience of carnival, followed from my friend, musician and teacher Matthew Heyse-Moore on how and why his identity and lineage influences and shapes his music and connects with the soul.
Reading: ‘I Love Carnival’ by Akeem George
We look forward to it; we plan it, champion and celebrate it.
We let our hair down and misbehave.
We throw caution to the wind, relax that stiff upper lip,
enjoy the music and shake up our hips.
West London streets harbour people of all nations.
Together, with joy pouring out,
I watch cultures marinate, cultivate and assimilate.
On this day, in humanity I have faith, a sense of pride.
Colours brighten up the sky.
Clouds threaten rain, but that can’t break our day.
Revellers dance like no tomorrow, basslines rip through speakers hollow.
Familiar faces, passionate embraces. I feel brave today.
Mobile phone exchanges, we see aunties and uncles from communities far and wide.
‘How you grow big sir?’ they ask and tease. Small talk and pleasantries.
And then we move on. I see a fine young lady dancing to a smooth song.
I catch her eye and make my move. Courage is there; me afraid fi lose.
I reveal my teeth with a smile; ask her name, and by the time I look round
our bodies locked in an embrace. I feel alive, spirit raging,
express my likkle rhythm on the pavements.
We dance and carry on; fun, rum, and bun.
My country’s flag on my chest with pride me a walk.
Two days of intertwined culture. A thousand stories the sounds tell me.
A thousand watt smiles plastered on faces.
The colour and loud clothing give me a clue.
This is our time. O carnival, how I love you.
Reflection: ‘Caribbean Influences’ by Matthew Heyse-Moore
So, hi there my name is Matthew Heyse-Moore. I am musician. I’m a teacher. I live in Stroud, Gloucestershire in the South West of England. I have connection with the Caribbean, through the lineages of my mother who was born in Trinidad, who lived there till the age of 13.
In terms of lineage, we have from that side: African, indigenous Caribbean, Chinese and European ancestry. Music has always been a really important part of my life. It’s also a way that I connect in a very visceral way with some of my ancestors. Both my mother’s parents were really keen musicians. My grandma was a pianist and my grandad was a saxophone player. I play both of those instruments as well as clarinet, and I was gifted a clarinet by my granddad. People might miss the Caribbean influence in my own music, and I’d like to speak a little bit to that.
Although I use a lot of classical European instruments in my music. There are quite a few ways in which my music is really close to a non-classical aesthetic. So, I’m inspired here by some writings of Karlton Hester, who writes about how music, dance and visual arts are such a reliable means to ensure Africans communicate with the bigger picture of life. Perpetuate their social history and harmonize with nature. And I’m very much with the image that a displaced people in a hostile environment, music is such a key thing in terms of nurturing a community, spiritually, intellectually and philosophically. So although people were forced to abandon so many of their indigenous traditions in that journey across the Atlantic. I’m fascinated by the ways in which certain aspects were passed on orally in traditions from West Africa. I’m very much with this image of music in the West African tradition as a window for connecting with the soul and that it one of the biggest influences in my own music.
Like the whole history of the Caribbean my music is really eclectic, but the aspect of rhythm is really key and the way that different rhythms can happen simultaneously represent the coexistence of unity and diversity. And for me this is a model for human life, and the ways in which we coexist within a bigger web each with our unique role to play. My music is often loop based by which I mean it’s a nonlinear view of time. Unlike, say a symphony where we’re going rapidly from A to B. I love the image of a spiral. So we’re going round and round, we revisit the same material, the same tunes, and each time something happens, because we’re spiralling up or we’re spiralling down. So Karlton Hester writes traditional African cultures, did not fragment the components of daily life from one another music accompanies all aspects of an individual’s life, and community participates freely in almost all musical celebrations such events generally have kinetic and visual arts as an equal parts. Traditionally there is no separate between spiritual and social entertainment in Africa. Music has always been a mixture of sacred and secular elements. One person may be enjoying music, dance and colourful masks from an aesthetic perspective and another may become filled with holy spirit while yet another may experience the event as purely a festive occasion. So my own music is participatory. I hope that you will be drawn to join together in different ways. Whether that is singing along or just breathing. Perhaps you’d like to get up and move or dance or lie down and bathe in the sound. It’s contemplative and it’s very much about connecting to the bigger picture of life. Like Carnival, I seek to bring together in my music, life. Above all It’s a level of celebration of what it means to be alive and what keeps us in motion as human beings.
Meditation: ‘Appreciating Ancestral Roots’ by Jeannene Powell
Let’s move into a time of silence and meditation. I’ll say a few words, and then we’ll share some silence together, with our chalice video on screen, and that will be followed by some music. And as always, the words I’ll say are an offering, so feel free to follow them as you wish, or think your own thoughts or meditate in your own way.
So I invite you to settle in, maybe putting your feet firmly on the floor, sitting back in your seat to feel more supported, closing your eyes or softening your gaze, and maybe putting your hands in your lap or beside you – whatever works best for you.
And take a few moments paying attention to your breathing… making your exhale slightly longer than your inhale… and gently allowing those breaths to give you a sense of being physically grounded… of being rooted in this present moment.
And as you continue to breathe, I invite you to consider the idea of giving appreciation for our own ancestral roots.
Many of us can go back, 2, 3, 4, 5 or more generations, and find that knowingly or not, our ancestors, did not live in the same land that we now inhabit. We find that our roots, our ancestry and heritage, are spread across our globe – be that family tradition, cultural heritage, a sense of identity or values passed down throughout the years.
And our roots aren’t only biological, we draw on the wisdom and the gifts of those who came before us, by means of literature and stories, songs and celebration, and music.
So let us spend some time now, in silence together, acknowledging and appreciating the influencing, ancestral roots of our own lives…
Silence: 3 minutes silence accompanied by chalice video
Musical Interlude: ‘Alaha Ruhau’ by Matthew Heyse-Moore
Reading: ‘Carnival Story’ by Candice Carty-Williams (read by Chloë Harewood)
Candice Carty-Williams is best known as the author of 2019 bestselling book Queenie, for which she became the first Black woman to win Book of the Year at the British Book Awards in 2020, and which has now been commissioned for a Channel 4 drama series. Amid news that Notting Hill Carnival has been cancelled for the second year running, Candice’s essay emphasises its cultural importance.
I used to be largely terrified of Carnival. Not because of knife crime or anything like that, like the media would have you believe.
No, the threat of fictional crime didn’t bother me. The reason I used to be terrified of Carnival stemmed from having a pretty nasty anxiety disorder that had steadily ruined my life a few years ago. The idea of being in the corner shop terrified me, let alone being in the middle of millions of people. The thought of needing to leave and being directed towards the nearest exit that was three streets, seven turns and five side roads away was enough to leave me breathless.
I’d been to Carnival before, pre-anxiety disorder, and it was always a stunning experience. It was part of the culture; it made up part of my own personal culture. I’d been going since I was a kid. I remember being waist height, letting go of my mum’s hand and bumping into wining waists and swaying hips before I was pulled back to safety. I remember craning my neck to stare, wide-eyed, at floats that vibrated with bass, people playing mas moving around these vehicles like big, beautiful butterflies. It all felt like a dream. Years later, so held by the enduring allure of Carnival, I wrote a novella about it, using the event as a backdrop to a modern-day West Side Story.
Anyway, fast-forward to 2019. I’d decided that I wouldn’t go to Carnival. I’d convinced myself that, even though I was ‘better’ and that it had been years since I’d had to flee a space that contained more than thirty people, Carnival would just be too much. Plus, I wasn’t prepared for it, I didn’t have anything to wear, and I didn’t drink anymore so maybe walking up and down the streets would be boring and painful without alcohol to spice the activity up a bit.
But on the day of, my friend Lemara called me while I was washing my hair (you’ll know that, as a Black woman, that is a day’s activity. It’s not light work. She’s lucky I even answered the phone). She asked if I was going and when I opened my mouth to tell her that I wasn’t, instead, “What time you lot getting there?” came out of my mouth. An hour later, I was on my way there, a load of glitter on my cheeks and a Jamaica bucket hat covering my wet hair. I was nervous. But as I pulled up at the meeting spot that had been explained to me five hundred times over the phone and by text, that nervousness upgraded itself to excitement.
A couple of hours later, we were in the thick of it. We’d ended up in the middle of hundreds of people squeezed tight together as we all moved through the streets of west London. Even though I felt like if I lifted my legs up from the ground I was so close to so many people that they’d just carry me along, I was alright. Then I thought I lost my friends. Then I lost focus. My anxiety started to rear its very ugly head. It told me that I wasn’t safe, that anything could happen, that I wouldn’t be able to get out. But I stopped for a second. I looked around. Everyone was catching a vibe. I looked at my friends. They were happy. I looked up.
The sun shone on my face, bouncing off of the glitter on my cheeks. I was happy.
Reflection: ‘A Letter to Claudia Jones’ by Maria Petnga-Wallace
This is a personal thank you letter to Claudia Jones, one of the founders of Carnival who joined the ancestors in 1964.
Miss Jones, I want to thank you for the gift that you have given us, to London, to Europe. The rain and headlines have not dampened the colour, costumes, calypso, cuisine and most importantly community created from carnival. Your intended spirit, freedom and celebration from the festival or hamblecha lives on and on, honouring your legacy and of our other ancestors too. The original slogan is as true now as it was then: ‘A people’s art is the genesis of their freedom’.
From 1959 carnival could not be confined by the ceiling of St. Pancras town hall and so our celebration took to the streets of Notting Hill and other roads in West London, 1966. Your friend Rhaune Laslett’s dream has come true; she shared: “I could see the streets thronged with people in brightly coloured costumes, they were dancing and following bands and they were happy. Some faces I recognised, but most were crowds, men, women, children, black, white, brown and all were laughing”.
A people’s art is the genesis of their freedom.
Carnival brings sun to Kensington on a rainy day. Just like Selwyn Baptist (the steel drum pioneer) put it ‘ We brought a little bit of heaven to Britain’. Carnival is art, freedom of expression and time to feel free and move to a new beat, one that is free of oppression from the other 364 days of the year. Ishmahil Blagrove Jr., director of rice and peas films, writes ‘All the costumes are magnificent and not produced for competition, but for expression, portrayal, theatre and to create two days of magic that even Alice from Wonderland can appreciate’. Claudia, I think you would approve.
You’ve been called a civil rights activist, feminist, political activist, visionary, journalist, human rights campaigner and communist. To me you are just Aunty, not through blood but through admiration and adoration of your spirit, courage and creativity. You brought our culture to a world stage, boosting the local economy in sowing the seeds for the 2nd largest street festival in the world.
And on what a backdrop it was created. Windrush. Invited to work and set sail on the Caribbean to England. Invited but not welcomed. Signs of No Blacks, No Irish and No dogs placed on doors to remind you and others of just how unwelcome you were. And so in defiance this festival of freedom was formed. We are very much here and we will dance, sing and rejoice, just like we did on the roads and streets of Trinidad. We will move, we will stamp, we will shout, we will hold arms, we will be colourful and we will be seen. Thank you Aunty Claudia.
‘A people’s art is genesis of their freedom’
You have been called by many names but few know you as a poet. You wrote:
While this I know, my heart rebels
At screens that shut off sunlight’s beams
My thoughts rise too like tinkling bells
To welcome shafts of light in seams.
You wrote ‘Morning Mists’ whilst imprisoned for ‘un-American activities’. Writer Sandra Courtman says you used the symbolic defiance of sunlight as a way of keeping faith with a heart that rebels against its loss of liberty. She describes you as ‘remarkable woman writer who stood up for what she believed, regardless of her comfort or safety.’ While that strength is sometimes rewarded now, in your time, as a woman, and as a black woman, it brought fear, ridicule and imprisonment. But still you rose and continue to rise in all the feet that stamp along the west London streets in carnival. I wonder what you would think of Notting Hill Carnival today. I know you would you be vocal about the media’s stories of our gathering. I think you would be pleased at how different musical beats and people from all cultures meet. The growth. The attraction. When joining the queue for jerk chicken, I got talking to a tall man who resembled the rapper Snoop Dogg. When I asked him why he’d come all the way from Paris he replied ‘We don’t have anything like this’. Aunty, your work is still visionary and pioneering and builds on the music and movement from our great ancestors of West Africa. You and others have inspired descendants, filled with equal spirit and creativity. One is Sharmay Mitchell, a poet of such stature, her words of carnival filled the Royal Albert Hall. She wrote:
You’ve seen this view many times before
At the pinnacle of Ladbroke grove for sure
Dead ahead through penetrating squint
Hammersmith and city carriages catch sunlight glint
The undulating current of people below
Where bodies move like waters ebb and flow
A wet shimmering mirage of human skin
Of reveller and spectator or stranger and kin
Fling a rag or wave a flag bodies intermingle
The sights and sounds make your neck back tingle
In anticipation of celebration, elation, intoxication
Feeling collective vibrations in the stomping of feet
Moving to the tempo of a heavy soca beat
The vibes of the street and its liveliness meet at the sharp needle point
of a pricky heat that blunts with the exhale of a carnival Sunday sigh
When the light begins to fade the end draws nigh
But you’re still loyal to the centre of the road
Because your feet are still firmly in carnival Sunday mode
But with your cup of energy finally running empty
Your mind takes the baton replaying carnival memories a plenty
So if you close your eyes let today melt into yesteryear
Reach out for what you can feel and listen to what you can hear
The 1960s humble beginnings of NHC
A community street festival of unity
Rhaune Lasslet’s vision
Henderson jazz musician
Easing racial tension, supporting local cohesion
The sounds of steel pan in the vibrancy of Portobello
Coaxing people to follow the sweet rhythms mellow
Now 20 years into the future
Accelerate, panorama, Kensal road Saturday night late
Panists playing passionately in competition for the glory of the coveted pole position
A wall of sound reverberating of red bricked buildings
Steel panned flag carriers vigorously flag wielding
Pannists serve their painstaking practice and dedication
Each note carefully rehearsed to perfection
The inevitable enthusiasm charged glissando
Tests fast hands culminating in magical crescendo
The two-tiered float rocks with the jumping rhythm
And the people feel the energy the music gives them
‘A people’s art is genesis of their freedom.’
Hymn: ‘Ours is a Town for Everyone’ sung by the Unitarian Music Society
Thanks Maria. It’s time for us to sing together again now. Our second hymn is ‘Ours is a Town for Everyone’ performed by the Unitarian Music Society. Feel free to sing along or listen and enjoy.
Ours is a town for everyone who wants to play their part
in making it a better place to practise living’s art.
Ours is a town where every faith, all creeds of hope and peace,
can worship freely, yet recall we are one human race.
Ours is a town where we must care for those whose lives are hard,
for whom bright mornings turn to tears and all once fair seems marred.
Ours is a town where, side by side in friendship and goodwill,
we’ll build a place where all can be respected and fulfilled.
So let us celebrate our town and pledge ourselves to be
the ones who make it beautiful, safe, prosperous and free.
Just a few brief announcements this morning: Thanks again to Maria who has been the driving force behind today’s service; also to Chloë, Jeannene, and Matthew for their contributions.
Don’t forget we’ll have virtual coffee-time after the service, to chat in small groups, if you’d like. If that’s not your thing, as I said at the start of the service, do get in touch via email if you’d like to introduce yourself, as it’s harder to get to know people during online services. And if you can bear it we like to take a group photo after the closing music so stick around. We’ll be back next week on Zoom when it’s going to be a harvest festival led by Sarah Tinker. She’s not given me any specific instructions but everyone who knows her will be aware that she loves a comedy vegetable so do bring your veg to church next week. And feel free to share the link with friends.
As ever there are a number of opportunities to connect congregationally in the week ahead: Coffee morning 10.30 Tuesday – always excellent conversation – newcomers always welcome. Heart & Soul, our contemplative spiritual gathering – on ‘Gifts of the Spirit’ – tonight at 7pm.
I’m particularly keen to let you know about my ordination and valediction service which will be taking place on Zoom this coming Friday (8th October) at 7pm. I’d love to have you there to help celebrate the completion of my ministry training. The link is in the Friday email (I’ll send it again).
We’re making plans for a ‘Getting to Know You’ walk on the afternoon of Sunday 17th Oct at 2pm; this won’t be a strenuous walk but it’s a chance for a walk-and-talk meet-up so that people who have only discovered the church since we’ve been online can socialise safely. The congregation very much has a life beyond Sunday mornings; we encourage you to keep in touch during the week, drop each other a line, let’s look out for each other as best we can, while we’re online.
We’ve just got our closing words and music now. So I invite you to select gallery view at this point, if you can, so we can all see each other and get a sense of our gathered community as we close.
Benediction: based on words by Tim Haley (adapted)
We walk this earth but a brief moment in time.
Amid our suffering and pain, however great or small,
let us continue to learn how to celebrate life in all its variety.
Let us continue to grow in our capacity to love ourselves and each other.
And let us continue to move toward the goal of a better world,
a global community of peace, justice, joy and liberation for all.
Go this day in a renewed spirit of courage and hope
and with the wisdom to greet the week to come. Amen.
Closing Music: ‘Harp Loops’ (edit) by Matthew Heyse-Moore
Maria Petnga-Wallace, Matthew Heyse-Moore, Jeannene Powell, Chloë Harewood and Jane Blackall
3rd October 2021