The Setting Sun
FROM THE RECTOR
In many ways, the church is the embodiment of the past. Together, as the body of Christ, we are the Incarnate Word manifest in the world today. We are two thousand years of religious history, still breathing in continuity with our spiritual ancestors. Our particular tradition, as part of the Anglican Communion, which identifies itself as a member of the church catholic, is beholden to those who have gone before, and nowhere is that more evident than at choral Evensong.
Every day, seven days a week, 365 days a year, clergy and choirs and organists and congregations gather in cathedrals, churches, and chapels across the Anglican world for the sung service of Evening Prayer. At St. Paul’s, we offer Evensong several times a year, but, in places like Exeter, it is as familiar and regular as the sunset. When the workday is finished, as shops in the town close their doors and workers prepare to go home, the bells of the cathedral beckon them in to finish the day with a form of worship that has changed very little in 500 years.
A group from St. Paul’s is spending this week filling in for the Exeter Cathedral choir, which is comprised of choristers from the cathedral school, students at the nearby university, and other locals—all of whom appreciate some time off during the summer. After proving our worth by sending in some audition tapes, our choir was invited to sing in their stead, and we have been welcomed graciously by the clergy and vergers who continue to conduct daily services all year long.
Every afternoon, we have arrived at the cathedral in time to vest, warm up, and rehearse a different set of preces and responses and an anthem for each night. With mornings to explore nearby sites, ours has been a busy, almost harrowing schedule, and I cannot imagine how exhausting month after month of this routine must be for those who inhabit it during the school year. Nevertheless, the people of the cathedral and the surrounding city are shaped by the unbroken pattern of prayer that anchors sacred life in this place—regardless of who shows up.
Sometimes at St. Paul’s, the choir and clergy experience a tinge of disappointment when at Evensong those of us in the chancel outnumber those in the nave. Here at Exeter, however, I have been strangely heartened each night as we consistently have comprised a majority of those in attendance. But, as is indicative of cathedral worship across the centuries, not everyone who benefits from the service participates fully in it.
In the quire (the area behind the rood screen where the choir and clergy sit for worship), not counting those of us from Arkansas, there may be as few as eight congregants who stand and sit and kneel during the service, but, out in the nave, hidden from our view, I am told that a dozen or more people come and go, often pausing for several moments to enjoy the sounds that spill over the tall wooden structure that separates them from those leading the service. Perhaps they came late and did not want to interrupt the service, or maybe they were visitors who walked in unaware that a service was taking place. Regardless, even a passing moment of reverence adds to the prayers that ascend from the cathedral each night.
This week, as summer begins to fade, daylight has filled the cathedral at the beginning of worship, but, by the time the service is finished, those in attendance can feel that night is drawing near. At one point each evening, the sun streaming in from the west strikes Jack straight in the face, blinding him for a moment or two, usually while the choir is singing the psalms. By the time we get to the collects, one of which reminds us that God is present as daylight turns to darkness, a dimness has begun to settle in. For those who come to Evensong, our prayers that God will accompany us into and through the night are powerfully plain.
Something happens when a community assembles night after night to give thanks for all that has been and to express its hope for what lies ahead. Those prayers begin to shape us—even those who never darken the door of the cathedral. This week, as we have met some locals, many of whom are perplexed by our accents, we have invited strangers to come and worship with us at Evensong. Many of these strangers seem vaguely aware that something takes place in that holy structure each night, but they have not made that prayerful practice their own. And yet the consistency of prayer in the cathedral beckons them, waiting should they ever turn up.
Perhaps you take comfort in knowing that every night, somewhere in the world, people are gathered in prayer for your sake. This part of our Anglican tradition is a powerful witness of faithfulness, and our parish choir has had the privilege of adding to it. The next time you have an opportunity to come to Evensong, I hope you will join us for worship. And, if you don’t, most of all, I hope that your heart is warmed, knowing that there are people keeping watch and offering prayers every night on your behalf. Each time the sun sets, someone is praying for all of us, and that is a beautiful thing.
Yours Faithfully,
Evan D. Garner