So I hit up a different Anglican church this morning for kicks. It was the 8AM service, so maybe that was it. I am going to return to the church I went to last week for the 10:30 service because that was a vibrant church. This particular service (we broke the 25 minute mass) was exactly like that episode of Mr. Bean when he goes to church.
The church itself was in need of serious repair, being several hundred years old. In fact, it was named after the patron saint of travelers (2 points in you can name the saint without googling it) because it had been originally built just outside the gates of the city.
There was an older, doddering priest, myself, and 2 parishioners who looks to be a combined age of 240 years old. The priest mumbled through the 1662 prayerbook service "whilst meekly kneeling." One of the parishioners was snoring, the other appeared to be in some sort of meloncholic coma.
After the service, I expected the priest to come back out to shake hands or something, as he processed in and out via the sacristy. I waited around about 15 minutes and he never appeared. The whole affair was truly bizarre.
Some say Christianity in Europe is dying. If that's what Christianity has largely become, it frankly deserves to die. Ichabod has been written here.