Evensong

Vespers, Matins, Evensong… words with connotation of meditation, communion, spiritual engagement with a higher Being, however one may chose that to be. At this moment I’m borrowing the Church of England’s expression for an end-of-day gathering of community for prayer mostly rendered in song—Evensong. Mainly I like the poetry, the sounding of the word. It’s evocative of gradual and natural change, a shift from one natural state of the senses to another; it’s how I’ve come to imagine solstice as Evensong, when at this time of year the tilt of the earth away from the sun is at its max and gradually, from darkness comes day-to-day increments of light. Again the light will begin to swing back like a pendulum at the solstice of summer in June when the tilt arrives closest to the sun. It makes me wanna separate the calendar into two, six-month-long days of upward and then descending light through passages of change, tide-like, an ebb and flow of evolution.

That concept began to settle in my head at this time of year a while back when I happened upon a monastery in the Eastern Townships of Quebec. It was late afternoon and I was invited to attend the chapel where, just at that very moment, it flooded with the unison of voices in Gregorian chant, monks in cloak vestments intoned on a December day as the remnant sun clung to high windows, lingered then vanished beyond Logan’s Fault. There was a definite holiness to that moment, and little to do with religion; inviting was that the space was barren of icons, ceremony and ritual. It was the plainness that conveyed meaning. The moment contained power, an offering that resonated; it seemed that a sacredness of voices, gender neutral, imperfect humans all of us, of people of many cultures entreated as one to on-high, there in the chill light of solstice.

In a few days from now will be winter solstice and I’m wishing the idea of Evensong for our world to commemorate change, or more so the turning of the lunar cycle where each day there extends a gift of light. In these winter nights, the heavens are alive as just seemingly hours ago, the ‘Christmas Comet’- Comet 46/P Wirtanen—named for its discoverer—made its closet pass to Earth in over four centuries.

Light affects our moods as it does all living things. The obvious in our northern world are the patterns of hibernation and rebirth that are as sure as every heartbeat. The organic shifts, a permanent reminder of impermanence, tell us that our state of emotion will pass and that there is no summit in our quest for inner peace. And maybe from that solstice comes humility in a way, how individual change can be guided by listening to the seasons.

On a personal and not self-centering note, I am a depressive, one of millions where the seasons can generate recall hidden within the limbic system of the mind and come to bear great impact. If I step back from the busy-ness of Christmas, as I’m apt to do, it’s also perhaps because I have reassurance, optimism in coming to realize that many of the world’s religions celebrate in some form at this time of year—solstice. Perhaps that’s where lies unity where the turn of the earth has profound spiritual connotation, universal meaning, perhaps the turn of the earth itself is about the subtle conditioning of humankind.

I’ve often stood along the Grand Manan channel in New Brunswick at the mouth of the Bay of Fundy, which bears the highest tides in the world. I’ve watched as currents recede from the coastline. Later that day I’ve watched again, this time to witness the force of the sea push toward shore. And I’ve also sat in quiet when the tide was even. Yes, come to think, I’ll give this time of year a personal name. I’ll call it Eventide. I like the poetry of it as well.