Homily at Choral Vespers from S.Étičnne de Caen (Abbaye aux Hommes), Broadcast on Radio 3, Wednesday 9th June 2004
As a boy I spent many a summer holiday in different parts of Europe, and one of the experiences I particularly looked forward to was visiting old churches, especially when there was a service of some kind going on. Obviously, different languages were involved, but two universal languages helped to involve me: the language of architecture and the language of music. The space of a building, and the sound within it, enabled me to sense different moods, whether it was an almost empty building with one or two people praying, or a village wedding about to take place, or busy Sunday morning worship, or an event of more solemnity, like this afternoon, when the atmosphere is sombre and thoughtful.
Sixty years on from D-Day, we find it not only appropriate, but also necessary, to recall events that involved thousands of people, who survived the gave their lives in the tragedy of war, or those who survived. To be in Caen, in this ancient place of prayer, where people have gathered across the centuries in all manner of circumstances, day by day, week by week, is to eavesdrop on some of their conversations with God.
Our own celebration today is just one more that will be etched into the walls of this Abbey, as the stonework absorbs the rich music that we are offering to God. But the music and the liturgical texts, ancient and modern, are not ends in themselves. They are much more than a kind of personal therapy for a previous generation’s folly. We in our generation are called to account for our actions, our way of life – and to see just where the spotlight of God’s grace will fall on us. Today’s two readings provide some help.
First, there are the chilling tones of the book of Ecclesiastes, written some time before Christ, with a certain amount of scepticism about the human predicament: ‘the patient in spirit are better than the proud in spirit.’ (Eccl. 7: 8). Then we have the opening words of what has been described as the greatest sermon ever preached – Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit. For theirs is the Kingdom of heaven’ (Mt. 5: 3), with its message of hope.
For many people, radical scepticism is as far as they will go. But perhaps we are called to travel further. To be sceptical, and nothing more, may help us to observe life sharply, but it can leave us as onlookers, not participants. Hope, on the other hand, challenges us to face down life’s tragedies, and to see in them the seedbed of new beginnings. The poor in spirit are indeed blessed in the Kingdom of heaven forever by our Saviour Redeemer, who speaks to us not only in the space and music of a carefully crafted liturgy in a medieval building, but in the wordless language of enduring sacrificial human goodness.
+ KENNETH PORTSMOUTH
