Praying Monks

     Today, Evensong choir visited Sandringham House: the wintertime home of the royal family, and Queen of England. Turns out, she was there just a couple weeks ago. We wandered around the house, looked at some cool art, and found the graves of some Corgis. There were large fields and lovely gardens to be had for all to enjoy.

     After returning home, we prepared for, and sang, Evensong service in the Lady Chapel at Ely Cathedral. Lady Chapels appeared at many cathedrals as a second worship locale, for those who had a special affinity for the Virgin Mary. This particular Lady Chapel was connected to the nave of Ely via a small walkway, and was a considerably sized chapel. It was built many hundreds of years ago, and was made of grey stone and enormous translucent windows. We had heard rumors that this chapel had special acoustics, but the entire choir was blown away by how powerfully the sound of the choir echoed. We had a crowd for Evensong, and it was a remarkable experience for everyone involved. Especially important were Gabriel Jackson's Magnificat and Nunc Dimitis, and Parry's "My Soul, There is a Country" (yes, the Parry whose father painted the angels in the octagon - see last blog post). 

     I want to point out a recurring theme for this trip that has touched me deeply. When Cathedrals like this were built, they were not intended to be places of worship for the community. They were built for monks and holy people. Monks lived at the cathedrals, and other people were allowed in on holidays, or to visit the markets and festivals that were sometimes held in the nave. There were no church services as we conceive of them, though. The offices of the church were held by monks who would pray and sing and chant every single hour of the day. They would pray for peace and for the return of Christ, and for all other manner of things that came up. 

     Yesterday, when we visited Cambridge, Charity, Molly, Tim and I went to a tiny chapel in the middle of town which dated back about 1,000 years. We stayed for the evening prayer service. There was one priest who prayed the whole thing, and there were about 5 of us in the congregation. 

     Here I have been, in several situations so far, counting the number of people in the seats. This is an activity I participate in... constantly. The merit of our prayers and singing is weighed by how many faces we see smiling back at us. According to the history of these incomprehensibly beautiful and sacred places we keep visiting, that doesn't matter at all. In fact, it would have been very strange indeed if there were people who showed up to the church while the monks were singing. They were there because they were praying for the well-being of their town country, families, governments, for peace, for God to rain down justice on the wicked, for strength for themselves, and thanking him over and over for all the blessings he provides to us that we don't think about. This is the heart of what we do in these cathedrals: we utilize our musical gifts and our deep friendships with each other to lend weight and heart to the prayers we offer each night; the same prayers that these monks prayed hundreds and hundreds of years ago. The walls are full of millions of prayers from millions of people over more lifetimes than I can comprehend.