After a month of continuous preaching at Evensong Tuesdays, I had the night off tonight. Still, I was drawn to attend this most wonderful service of liturgical prayer.
Evensong is home for me. It's my home because of the simplicity and beauty of the service, and because of the communal meal we share afterwards.
I began attending Evensong at a time when my soul was in a tremendous state of upheaval: anxiety, stress, and uncertainty. The silent and contemplative format of the service invited me to slow down and let God deal with me. We live in such a noisy world, we glorify noise actually, and in this noise we can barely hear ourselves think, nevermind hear God speak to us. But speak to us he does. We just need to slow down and listen. In places of silence flows Life, in places of silence flourishes communion with God, communion we all so desperately seek.
The interesting thing is that at first, I didn't really like the community, I didn't really like the people. The reason for this was that I had very little in common with most of the people attending the service, they were all very different from me. Dinner conversations were uncomfortably quiet.
But such is the power of God, that He draws a crowd of the most unlikely people together, not because they have the same "preferences" or "styles" or "interests", but because they realize their own need, a need applicable to us all, salvation. And the reason we meet and sing God's praises each week is because this need has been "met", "fulfilled", "accomplished" in Christ Jesus, God's "Yes!" to this world, God's "Amen" to us. This work of being drawn together, then, is not our doing, it's all God's doing, it's him calling us together to be the Church. I's all an act of pure love, grace, and mercy on God's part.
What a privilege it is to witness transformation. Not only the transformation of others, but our own. It's what the monastics call "continuous conversion", a constant re-directing of heart, mind, and body towards God, a continuous transformation of soul: from death to life, from dark to light. What a blessing it is to go from disliking a group of people to enjoying a weekly meal with them, sharing lifes ups and downs. This is the core of the gospel, the good news: In Christ, we have reconciliation not only with God, but with neighbour too. Indeed, we have reconcilliation with all creation!
I'm already looking forward to next week. It's my turn to preach. The text: Revelation 4. I can't wait.
Evensong is home for me. It's my home because of the simplicity and beauty of the service, and because of the communal meal we share afterwards.
I began attending Evensong at a time when my soul was in a tremendous state of upheaval: anxiety, stress, and uncertainty. The silent and contemplative format of the service invited me to slow down and let God deal with me. We live in such a noisy world, we glorify noise actually, and in this noise we can barely hear ourselves think, nevermind hear God speak to us. But speak to us he does. We just need to slow down and listen. In places of silence flows Life, in places of silence flourishes communion with God, communion we all so desperately seek.
The interesting thing is that at first, I didn't really like the community, I didn't really like the people. The reason for this was that I had very little in common with most of the people attending the service, they were all very different from me. Dinner conversations were uncomfortably quiet.
But such is the power of God, that He draws a crowd of the most unlikely people together, not because they have the same "preferences" or "styles" or "interests", but because they realize their own need, a need applicable to us all, salvation. And the reason we meet and sing God's praises each week is because this need has been "met", "fulfilled", "accomplished" in Christ Jesus, God's "Yes!" to this world, God's "Amen" to us. This work of being drawn together, then, is not our doing, it's all God's doing, it's him calling us together to be the Church. I's all an act of pure love, grace, and mercy on God's part.
What a privilege it is to witness transformation. Not only the transformation of others, but our own. It's what the monastics call "continuous conversion", a constant re-directing of heart, mind, and body towards God, a continuous transformation of soul: from death to life, from dark to light. What a blessing it is to go from disliking a group of people to enjoying a weekly meal with them, sharing lifes ups and downs. This is the core of the gospel, the good news: In Christ, we have reconciliation not only with God, but with neighbour too. Indeed, we have reconcilliation with all creation!
I'm already looking forward to next week. It's my turn to preach. The text: Revelation 4. I can't wait.
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