
| Advent and Evensong: Just Perfect Together |
Scholars say that Advent is a season of both promise and threat. It is a time of longing for whatever is lacking in our lives, and a time of anticipation, expectation and preparation for the coming of the Messiah. Advent comes at the darkest time of the year when we hope for a brighter world both physically and symbolically. We need light and the promise of new life. But Advent is also somber and filled with warnings about repentance. The prophet Amos says, "Shall not the day of the Lord be darkness and not light? even very dark and no brightness in it?" In addition, to me, Advent is a quiet period of reflection enhanced by Gregorian chant, mystery, religious beliefs from the dark ages, some shivery superstition and a little bit of pagan ritual.
Evensong or Vespers is a time for prayer, a ceremony held in the early evening or when darkness falls. Candles are lighted, incense is burned, and the service includes a series of prayers, psalms, hymns, a reading from the gospel, the "pater noster" and a Greek litany such as the Kyrie. It is thought to have begun with St. Benedict in the sixth century, but the use of incense probably was adopted from the Jewish custom of burning incense in conjunction with an evening sacrifice.
The Advent Evensong at St. Joan’s in early December was a lovely combination of poetry, music and prayer. Important to me was the fact that even though I’m struggling with the idea of God, I could still feel an emotional uplift and a sense of the sacred. I am not a rational being!
There were candles and incense, we sang "Oh come, O come Emmanuel," and the St. Joan of Arc Schola (small choir) sang "Creator of the Stars of Night," a haunting ninth century hymn. We recited a psalm of David’s, "O God...thou hast been my help, therefore in the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice," (what could be more comforting than being in the shadow of thy wings?) and prayed with Julie Madden and Karin Grosscup. "We meet God in the dark, unknown spaces of silence and wonder and imagination." Gospel readings by Ron Joki, more hymns, both sacred and beautiful, a litany "Maranatha!" (a Greek word the meaning and significance of which I don’t know) and community prayer where parishioners asked for God’s help in ending war, poverty, abuse, the sins of all mankind.
The service was holy and blessed, and just for a moment I thought maybe I had met God "in the dark, unknown spaces of silence.." The Schola voices were magic and the eternal story of the birth of Jesus just as simple and powerful as ever.
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