London

The New Year rings twice. After my day of being broken up with and losing all of my toiletries to the jaws of airport security, Nick Walsh shows up like a deus ex machina, like William Shatner in the "Priceline Negotiator!" commercials. With Nick, everything is alright. He cabs us to where our bags can be put to rest, he feeds us with proper English food at a one pub when other pubs open their eyes only to revelers with a reservation; he takes us beside Trafalgar Square to a church where Pete Gregg––the founder of the 24/7 Prayer movement––is leading a worship service.

The words could otherwise sound stilted if Gregg didn't say them with all of the invitation and warmth of his heart. This is the "New Year's Eve Prayer Party" at Holy Trinity Brompton, the largest Anglican congregation in England, and the genuine people, exuberant atmosphere on the brink of a new year, and the mince pies immediately extinguish any lameness which might have crept into my cynical heart.

There is much to pray for as we eat our mince pies and sip champagne and apple juice. Praise for Obama as president of the U.S. and Holy Trinity's efforts to eradicate homelessness. Prayers for ending Iraq responsibly and quickly and for so much else terrible in this year. There is music I did not realize how much I missed, there are colors and lots of people sitting on cushions on the floor. I am thankful to be in a church, like Foundry back in D.C., which realizes that Jesus calls us to love God and our neighbors long before we create doctrines about homosexuality, just war, or create ministry strategies. I want to live in this moment in church, where the focus is so right and everything else just falls into place.

A side effect of all this praise: sitting, standing, singing, my rebound desire to make out with every girl dissipates before I can take advantage of bad decision-making that I will kick myself for later. Besides, even afterwards though less communicative, Rachel still gives me so much to be thankful for.