The Chapel is a gothic building, looking charming and old, if formulaic, and the spire has no use at all. Well, my niece, Mrs. Capel-Rule and I attended, carrying our Bibles. The shaven-headed youth outside looked at them as if we were carrying bombs into the building. He told us there was a projector inside, so we wouldn't need them. I threatned to project my Bible at him, and he let us pass.
We took a seat in the midst of the building, much to the discomfort of my niece. The congregation was mostly middle-aged and wore sweaters, although there were some young people, who looked painfully hip. The band was playing 'mood music' that would have embarrassed a lift. One young man was stood up, holding his hands out in front of him while leaning back. It looked most uncomfortable.
When the 'leader' stepped out on the platform, a set of words flashed up on the screen. The words were huge, but the contrast between them and the background was not enough and no-one could see it. Everyone made up their own words, and the music was so loud no-one noticed.
We were informed that there would be a time of informal sharing. I shared the fact that the words couldn't be read and was treated like a heretic. Some people had prayers and one chap had a word of prophecy. He said that there was someone there with a bad back and that God would heal them. As we knelt to pray, someone fell on the floor and rolled about roaring. The congregation got vey excited, until it turned out he'd only banged his knee.
The sermon (if it desered to be called one) lasted eleven minutes and twenty-six seconds exactly. It was illustrated with a flow chart that was so complex no-one understood it.
The 'worship band' struck up again, and a number of young woman and young men danced onto the stage, waving their hands and arms. Someone struck up a hard-rock version of 'And Can It Be.'
The dancers danced with all their might. Then the stage collapsed and the minister and praise band were buried under the rubble.