Six anxious students. One square, wooden boat (called a punt). Tenish pounds, not the lb kind. One long, awkward, cumbersome, heavy pole to push it all. It's practically begging for a good time. My respect for both Englishmen and the Italians who push the 'punts', as they're called, has increased. I tried my hand at punting for a bit. It went as smoothly as me playing linebacker at Springville High would have gone.
We toured the rest of the university - grabbed some ice cream, pounded some sammiches Gardner style, ate my first turkish delight. We're all getting a bit cathedraled out, frankly speaking, so we avoided those today. Too often the talks of this saint and that saint and this stained glass window and that stained glass window, never seem to satisfy the inner craving for some real gospel-centered talk that somehow involves the Savior. I felt especially so at Westminster Abbey. But like my church's eleventh article of faith states:
"We claim the privilege of worshiping Almighty God according to the dictates of our own conscience, and allow all men the same privilege, let them worship how, where, or what they may."
That sums it up pretty well, I believe.