Compline

At last the season has begun. The downtown church faithfully presents their compline services starting with the first Sunday in October - today. I look forward to this treat, though I cannot convince my boys to try it. It is better than drugs (my friend's description of true religion!), this blessing, this reminder of God's grace, goodness and provision, this pronouncement of uplifting words that remind us we are not alone, alleviates our anxieties, brings us into the presence of God. It is good.

Once again the sanctuary is lighted by a hundred candles, the soft light accenting beauty and hiding scariness. Once again the singers in their long brown monk's robes silently file onto the platform, form a circle, lay their music folders on stands surrounded by flickering candles. Once again the music begins from nothing, first one voice, then joined by others, repeating familiar and yet strange words, joining us with medieval monasteries and futuristic sacred places, calling out to God to remember His children.

We are here Lord. Do not forget us. Give us peaceful sleep and quiet nights. Take our burdens. Unite us with your other children. Now let your servant go in peace. Our Father. Ave Maria. The sounds float in and out of unity, filling the entire vaulted ceiling, reverberating throughout the entire building, a beacon straight up towards heaven, like shining a flashlight into the darkness.

The church is filled. People have discovered Compline and flock together for the comfort, the blessing. They are all ages, in all stages of life. They come to seek God. They come to seek the comfort of music. They come to hear the Words of the Lord. They sit quietly, drinking it in, some praying, some resting, some numb from life's blows. We add our heart to the singers' song, hear us O Lord.

Too quickly the time disappears, the music barely begun floats upwards and away, the service concludes as singers swish silently from the platform, music folders closed, eyes downcast. The ethereal vibrations still hold us transfixed as the priests slowly make their way to the singers' stands and begin extinguishing the candles. We are loathe to leave, awaiting every last crumb of comfort.

I tiptoe silently outside, filled with the wonder of the glorious sounds, the ancient texts, the opulence of the architecture. It was good. I am glad they have not given up on this service. I will come again.