THE PERIL AND PROMISE OF EVENSONG

Monday afternoon , July 5, 1999

The Cathedral of St. John the Evangelist

Spokane, WA

Isaiah 6:1-8;  Romans 12:1-2; 9-21 

Why gather here this afternoon? Why begin our week together with worship -  with Evensong? The question begs a simple answer, but really there is none.  Most of us come, I suspect, eager to hear a fabulous instrument,  to  appreciate and be dazzled by two consummate artists, to be seized by these great choirs - and yes, to have our spirits nourished. Beyond that we fall into a thicket of motives almost a sacrilege to disentangle. Cynics, of course, make a field day of pointing to the hypocricies of those who wander into any church for whatever reason.

Dr. Buttrick suggested that whenever we face accusations of filling our pulpits and pews, organ benches and choirs with hypocrites, we simply nod our heads in agreement and suggest there is always room for one more.

I

So why this Evensong? Why our presence here? Is it because, perhaps, we seek - dare we say it - perhaps we seek to encounter a transcendent reality independent of ourselves - a reality as Evelyn Underhill writes, "existing before us, and more or less deeply colored by mystery?" I wonder. Is there such a reality? Artists and  poets, saints and  seers, composers  and prophets - and perhaps something deep inside and among us, hint there is. The prophet Isaiah, known for his social justice passion, began his ministry in the temple with an explosive, almost psychedelic immersion in smoke, color, shaking foundations and seraphic visions.

Is such a vision for real? I was struck with a wonderful allusion to this almost mystical order not long ago. A radio reporter introduced the works of a Mexican artist named Remedio Varas. The Varas paintings stand unique, said the commentator, because they try to blend the worlds of science and art. The paintings all say, "What we see is not all there is." One painting, for instance, illustrates a conventional room, but in the ceiling we see a hole - something beyond; in the corner we catch a glimpse of a passageway  leading who knows where, perhaps to many rooms of a vast mansion stretched across sprawling grounds. The painting asks a basic question: "What lies behind the wall? What exists beyond the barrier?" This conviction of the Absolute and the Eternal - someone in whom we live and move and have our being, an Alpha and Omega who precedes and succeeds us, anchoring, inviting, embracing, receiving us - lies at the source of our worship.

Isn't that why we gather here in this beautiful room? Isn't that why we include this lustrous Skinner and euphonic choir? Why else the  stained glass, the stenciled ceilings, the delicately carved pulpit.

If people enter this house and say this isn't the real world - they are right! This nave, its symbols,  art, music, architecture point to another order, an order that surely does not look like this, but is nonetheless real. At Evensong we search for and catch a glimpse, we listen for and perhaps sense a descant for one whom the Psalmist refers to as the "high and lofty one who inhabiteth eternity" and whom the great mystic Nicolas of Cusa names, "The vision of God."

 II

Yet, we need be wary of peril in pursuing this "Vision of God." And those of us who, if you will,  resonate to aesthetics and who worship in splendid surroundings like this, face the peril most acutely. You see, we represent many traditions here this afternoon, and some of us, including the clown in the pulpit, although we treasure the vision of God -  some of us sense in these settings we can also encounter what the Reformed tradition calls "the sovereign will of God." This glorious cathedral, its glorious stained glass images of Christ's life, its radiant depiction of the martyrs and heroes of the faith from Jesus through the very founder of this Anglican Diocese,  its Rose and Trinity windows, - this Cathedral  is designed to lead us toward the vision of God; this lectern, dotted with Chrysostem and Savanarola, John Wesley and  one whose later ministry electrified the world from right across the street from my church in Boston,  Phillips Brooks  - this pulpit is designed to confront us with the sovereign will of God. Discovering a vision of God, we tend to immerse ourselves in it, to melt into it, to be swept up, to find ourselves carried away; to become living souls in that other heavenly order. . . surely, a legitimate Christian hope. But we need be careful.

I come from a tradition where, terrible as it is to remember, my Congregational forebears destroyed buildings like this and erected those pristine meeting houses you see dotting the New England landscape. Our forebears became violent iconoclasts  because they feared churchgoers would begin to worship the symbols, the art, the music, the architecture rather than the living God. And where did they encounter this sovereign will of God? Where, this confrontation with an ethical Providence? Through the study, the reading, the illumination of the Word - and the Bible and  pulpit took their place beside eucharist and altar.

This tension between the Vision of God and the will of God, built right into the granite and  glass, the iron and wood of this splendid nave continues to flourish. The tension is illustrated with a wonderful Sunday morning debate taking place some years ago between Reinhold Niebuhr, as all of you know a fantastic preacher, monumental theologian, a member of the UCC . Niebuhr engaged in the debate with his wife Ursula, easily as brilliant as her husband, a professor at Barnard College -  and a devout Anglican. The debate takes place as the Niebuhrs anticipate attending a  service at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York. They arrive after the sermon. Mrs. Niebuhr initiates the debate by saying, "We Anglicans do not need a sermon if we have the service. There is more genuine religion in a well-sung liturgy than in any sermon." Niebuhr agrees with her that a good

boys' choir can cover a multitude of sermons, and wishes there were more churches where one could hear both a vigorous sermon and a good choir. Then they begin to discuss which of their traditions has the better preachers. They agree there are many good preachers within Anglicanism, but that on the whole, Methodists, Presbyterians, Lutherans, Congregationalists and Baptists probably have a higher percentage of good preachers. "You may have more good preachers," replies Mrs. Niebuhr, "But you need them more desperately and do not have them in proportion to your need. We do not need them." Niebuhr suggests every church needs them. "The encounter with the numinous, the deep, the transcendent order is not enough. God may stand at a distance from our humanity," he says,

"but let God speak truth out of that distance. This is prophetic religion: God speaking to us, and not our simply aspiring to the infinite."  Ms. Niebuhr responds to his brooding: "The Bible is well enough," she says. "But there is a little frock coated man behind the Bible in your church, who sometimes imagines himself God."

"We were off," says Niebuhr, "on an old argument."

Ah, the promise and the peril of Evensong. Just as we begin to float with the echoes of the choir into the arches and the vaults of the sanctuary, a raucous, scratchy voice from beyond breaks in upon us. It confronts us with the will of one who commands our loyalties, who worries about how we treat one another -  beginning with how we rectors or  Sr. Minister types treat you gifted and able professionals on our church staffs and how we both treat our volunteers, those in our choirs eager to lift their voices for the Glory of God;  yea, at Evensong we meet One who confronts us with choices we must make with our money, our time, our vocations.

The Word tackles our self deception, it knows how easy we go on ourselves and how tough we are on others .  It reminds us that we attach too much credibility to our own innocence and give ourselves most of the benefit of every doubt.  It calls us to faithful discipleship in God's world: discipleship amid the worlds of reconciliation, justice and peace, reminding us that our salvation is both personal and social.

So why are we here? Why begin with Evensong? To catch a glimpse of and perhaps to be absorbed into a radiant vision of eternity; to be confronted by a word calling us to responsibility for our neighbor. Indeed, as Thomas Troeger prays with us:

   Here renew your servants vision,
   that by faith we may attain
     Peace and hope, renewed compassion,
     strength to comfort those in pain,
   Tears and grief transformed to gladness in your   
        everlasting reign."

God grant it may be so.