Office
of Tenebrae, Wednesday 27th March 2013, 7.30pm
Led by:
choir and clergy
Old Saint Paul's isn't your run-of-the-mill Anglican church. Its colourful history is worth a read, and its ornate building with its feels-like-you're-outdoors-when-in-fact-you're-indoors stonework is worth a visit. Nor is the Office of Tenebrae your run-of-the-mill church service. Composed of the
offices of Matins and Lauds, but celebrated the night before, this is how the
order booklet described what was going to happen:
“Apart
from the chant of the Lamentations (in which each verse is introduced by a
letter of the Hebrew alphabet), the most conspicuous feature of the service is
the gradual extinguishing of candles and other lights in the church, until only
a single candle, considered as a symbol of our Lord, remains.
“Towards
the end of the service this candle is hidden, typifying the apparent victory of
the forces of evil. At the very end, a loud noise is made, symbolising the
earthquake at the time of the resurrection (Matthew 28:2), the hidden candle is
restored to its place, and by its light all depart in silence.”
And
that’s exactly what happened. The chanting was performed by sixteen choristers
in red robes and white surplices; the first traditional church choir
encountered in my mission so far, which seems surprising somehow. There were also four clergy, one of whom had the job of extinguishing
candles at regular intervals, but I didn’t see what became of the others once
they all got up beyond the rood screen. Maybe they were also involved in the
chanting, but from the nave there wasn’t a great deal to be seen, and the less
so the dimmer the lights got.
The chants
were all set in plainsong or faux-bourdon style, the Benedictus and Miserere
having particularly lovely harmonies. All in all, it was a sterling effort by
the choir. There’s a lot of text to get through in an hour: Psalm 69,
Lamentations 1: 1-14, Psalms 76 and 77, 1 Corinthians 11: 17-34, Psalms 90 and
36, Luke 1: 68-79, and Psalm 51, all sung and interspersed with sung responses.
In fact, the only words spoken throughout the entire service were the Collect.
It all
sounded very pretty, of course, but it scored nil for audience participation. All the congregation had to do was stand, sit and kneel in the right order, and listen. But God likes a song well sung – it pleases him better than a bullock that hath
horns and hoofs, as Psalm 69 points out – so he ought to have enjoyed last
night’s Tenebrae.
I found
myself wondering how soon there would be too little light to read my order of
service by, and what the choir would do at the point where all the lights were
finally extinguished. Answer: they withdrew to a room beyond the choir stalls
where there was some dim light, and the bright lights from the stairwell were still visible through the glass doors (health and safety, one presumes)
but apart from that almost all the lights went out, creating a quite eerie
atmosphere as the last five minutes or so were conducted if not in complete
darkness at least in shadow.
And
then there was the Collect, a good loud bang to symbolise the earthquake, and
the restoration of the hidden candle. Supplementary question from curious bible reader:
why did only Matthew mention the earthquake? You’d think the other gospel
writers would include it if it happened, wouldn’t they? The synoptic problem rears its
ugly head again.
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