Compline

Compline is one of the services of the Divine Office, traditionally performed at the end of the day. Compline seems to have originated as a form of prayer before going to bed. I was surprised to learn that one of the downtown Rochester churches held a service of compline every Sunday. I was curious to attend, not quite sure what to expect, though I had been assured that the music was wonderful.

My friend and colleague Stephen (who told me about the service) and I drove the thirty minutes to Christ Church on East Avenue, and walked the half block from the parking lot to the entrance door. The church was dusky inside, lighted only by candles - dozens and dozens and dozens of candles. We walked across the creaky wood floors to the stiff wooden pews, vaguely aware that there were others already seated in the dark sanctuary.

As my eyes adjusted to the candlelight, I began to see the immense and decorated cathedral ceilings, the beautiful ornate wood scrollwork, the stained glass windows, the religious artifacts placed here and there about the sanctuary.

What surprised me was how well attended this service was - and by a large majority, they were men. And how quiet it was. Nothing was said. There was no conversation, no rustling of programs, no coughing! It was peacefully quiet. Young and old sat in their own reflective meditation, some kneeling to pray, others looking upward, some staring straight ahead.

At the front of the church, there was a huge wall hanging, a portrayal of the Last Supper. In the flickering of the candlelight, the disciples seemed almost alive, interested participants of the proceedings, partnering with us to approach the throne of God with heartfelt prayer at the close of a holy day.

The church bells pealed the hour, and ever so softly, a group of maybe twenty singers entered, encircling the altar, quietly placing their choir folders on the stands. Without sounding a note, the soloist began. The chant lines, punctuated with choral Amens and Alleluias, reverberated in the lofty space, drawing us into the request for a peace filled night, blessing us with settings of the Psalms, demanding our engagment with the piercing cry for mercy, chanting the Scripture lesson, filling the air with anthems, hymns, motets, the Lord's prayer, the Nunc Dimittis, and the parting blessing.

It was so filled with life, you could literally feel your body vibrating, getting in tune with the Scripture, sloughing off the effects of 'bad vibrations', enabling you to relax, to breathe unhindered, to hear the word of the Lord.

I hadn't even had time to think about how hard the pews were when it ended. Just like that. No one spoke, no sermons, no pleas for money, no exhortation. Just a cessation of sound, and while the echoes where still dying away, the black clad singers filed out quietly as I watched. I was still staring at the platform when my friend nudged me. "We can go now," he whispered. Others were slowly exiting, and we joined them on the creaking wood floors, stepping out the heavy wooden door into the bracing coolness of a November evening.

There was something indefinable about the whole experience. I wanted to do it again, to hear it again, to get thoroughly familiar with the music, the Scriptures, the progression of thought. I yawned. Stephen read my mind. "Yeah, afterwards, you just want to go to sleep for the night." he grinned.

Indeed. Way better than any sleeping pill. For sure. I highly recommend it.