The Parish Church of St John-at-Hampstead

Why are we here? I don’t mean why are we here?’ in the deep and meaningful
sense of why do we exist?’ or what’s the meaning of life?’ I mean why are we
here, in St Paul’s Cathedral, on a Sunday afternoon in mid-October, at a service
of Choral Evensong? There must be several hundred of us, and I guess there’ll
be several hundred answers to this question. Each of us will have our own reason
for being at this service.

Last Tuesday, the children’s writer Michael Morpurgo was speaking here.
Afterwards, he told me how he came to be at Evensong at St Paul’s this summer
with his twenty year-old grand-daughter, Lea. They’d been asked by the
Guardian newspaper to give each other an experience of culture shock’ to take
each other out in London on a Saturday evening to do something the other had
never done before.

So Lea took her grandfather for a drink at the Absolut Ice Bar a trendy bar in
a big glass box where everything including the bar, the stools and the glasses is
made out of ice. Lea said her grandfather was quite a sight when he arrived,
wearing Ugg boots and dressed up to his neck in ski clothes, while I was in a
miniskirt and high heels!’ And Michael brought Lea here, to Evensong a
completely alien experience for her. This is what she wrote about it. She said:

I find cathedrals and churches pretty daunting places, so I wasn’t
totally enthusiastic about the idea but I wanted to be open-
minded.
When we got there it felt more like Italy than London as it was a
really hot day and people were sitting around on the steps. There
were lots and lots of tourists, which was comforting in a way. I
always get a bit scared by the serious side of religion…

Then she wrote:

Evensong uplifted the whole experience. We were sat next to the
choir and it was surprising what comes out of the mouths of little
boys. It was so beautiful and I was glad to have shared it with
Michael. It is not the kind of thing I’d ever usually do on a Saturday
night, so he hit the nail on the head there.

Michael said to me that his grand-daughter was clearly touched by what she
experienced. That doesn’t surprise me. I know myself, and I know from others,
that Evensong can have a remarkable effect on people.

I remember very well the first time I went to choral evensong, when I was slightly
older than Lea. I was brought up Roman Catholic, and at university some friends
invited me to go with them to Evensong one Sunday afternoon in October in the
Anglican chapel of Magdalen College, Oxford. I had no idea what to expect, but
it was a revelation, and it had a remarkable effect on me. The candle-lit chapel
was awe-inspiring; the music was beautiful and uplifting; and the service spoke
to me at a very deep level. I came away wondering how I’d managed to avoid this
experience for so many years.

I don’t think I’m alone. Evensong seems to have the amazing ability to feed the
spirit not only of devout Christians, but those of us on the outside or edge, or
those of us struggling with our faith. I remember discussing this with a priest
who was going through a difficult time and had taken a break from his ministry.
One thing he felt drawn to was to go to Evensong at his cathedral, slipping in and
out anonymously, letting the prayers and the music wash over him. Some months
later he was able to return to his ministry, refreshed and renewed, and those
visits to the cathedral had been a significant help.

So what is it about Evensong that touches us so deeply? What is it that speaks to
a devout worshipper, a young woman who’s sceptical about religion, or a priest
struggling with his faith?
It’s clearly got something to do with the power of music and the thrilling sound
of the human voice. Evensong has inspired some of this country’s greatest
composers, whose music speaks to our emotions and seems to lead us effortlessly
into prayer.

It may also have something to do with hearing and reflecting on the ancient
wisdom of Scripture, that’s at the heart of the service. We begin with the Psalms,
the great prayer book of the Bible, and then move on to another part of the
Hebrew Scriptures, telling us of God’s relationship with his chosen people’, and
then to the New Testament, telling us of Jesus Christ. Evensong leads us through
the story of salvation, and it draws us into that story.
Perhaps, too, the appeal of Evensong has something to do with its history rooted
in the daily worship of cathedrals and monasteries. Evensong dates from the
sixteenth century and is the fusion by Archbishop Thomas Cranmer of the two
ancient services of Vespers and Compline. The rhythm of daily prayer he drew
upon has been tried and tested and has sustained people for hundreds of years,
and maybe at Evensong we tap into that tradition and feel part of something
much greater than ourselves, this continual offering of prayer and worship.

It’s a strange and little-known fact that Choral Evensong is the longest running
radio programme on the BBC. It was first broadcast from Westminster Abbey on
7 October 1926 and has been broadcast weekly since in fact it’s starting at this
very moment, from Truro Cathedral. I think it’s a great pity that it’s now
broadcast on a Sunday afternoon instead of midweek. The Wednesday afternoon
broadcast really did capture the essence of Evensong, drawing listeners in to the
prayerful heart-beat of the Church of England, reminding us that the Christian
faith is about daily living and not just Sunday.

I also think what touches us deeply, particularly in the autumn, is that Evensong
takes place when afternoon turns to evening (though we’re stretching things a bit
here by starting at 3.15!). I’m sure the transition from day to night, from light to
darkness, affects us spiritually as well as psychologically. It speaks to us of joy
and sorrow, of activity and rest, of hope and fear, of understanding and
uncertainty, of life and death. If our faith is going to sustain us, it must speak to
us in all moods, situations and times of life, and to reflect in prayer at this
turning point of the day helps us to bring these subconscious thoughts and
feelings before God.

And Evensong is a passive service except if you’re leading it! There’s little for
us to say or do; but if we allow it to, Evensong offers a moment of peace in our
busy lives when we can quietly bring ourselves and our lives before God. Perhaps
more than any of the regular services, it’s about handing ourselves over to God,
and creating the time and space for God to speak to us. Perhaps that’s why the
words of Simeon that we use at Evensong in the Nunc Dimittis, are so apt, Lord
now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, thy word has been fulfilled.’

When I was with Michael Morpurgo last week, a young girl asked him what his
favourite book was. He told us a wonderful story of how, as a child, he was
captivated by Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson. Stevenson spent the
last years of his relatively short life on the island of Samoa in a village called
Vailima. While he was there he wrote a collection of prayers, and he prefaced it
by saying this, In every Samoan household the day is closed with prayer and the
singing of hymns. The omission of this sacred duty would indicate, not only a
lack of religious training in the house chief, but a shameless disregard of all that
is reputable in Samoan social life.’ Perhaps this is why Stevenson ended another
of his books, as collection of poetry called Songs of Travel, with a poem called
Evensong’, which he wrote at Vailima.

Stevenson’s life was blighted by illness; for many years he was conscious of the
gift of life and the prospect of death. And this poem seems to expresses most
beautifully that awareness which is so often heightened as day turns to night, and
as we seek peace by handing ourselves over to God. And so I offer this poem to
you now as a prayer, at the turning point of this day, that we might hand
ourselves over to God, as we seek the peace that this brings.

The embers of the day are red
Beyond the murky hill.
The kitchen smokes: the bed
In the darkling house is spread:
The great sky darkens overhead,
And the great woods are shrill.
So far have I been led,
Lord, by Thy will:
So far I have followed, Lord, and wondered still.

The breeze from the enbalmed land
Blows sudden toward the shore,
And claps my cottage door.
I hear the signal, Lord – I understand.
The night at Thy command
Comes. I will eat and sleep and will not question more.

Amen.