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| Photo credit: newsperuse.com |
Plainsong
at Vespers
sung
by a handful of Episcopalian sisters
in
a little convent chapel in New Jersey,
whisked
me back a few decades
to
a summer weekend
at
Weston Priory in Vermont,
to
celebrate the Feast of St. Benedict;
whisked
me back to my Catholic Charismatic days,
when
I was willing to travel anywhere
to
participate in vibrant congregational worship.
At
the priory
I
witnessed what many never see,
monks
dancing in a circle,
their
slow, graceful sweeps
billowing
white hooded frocks
in
the gentle breeze.
They
sang fresh, mellow songs
that
were wending their way
into
contemporary liturgies.
The
monks invited a few of us
to
join their sunrise worship.
We
quietly gathered in a rude garret
with
a wide many-paned window
that
offered pre-dawn darkness.
Sitting
upon pillows strewn on the floor,
we
melded with the stillness.
One
by one the Benedictines entered
with
their prayer books
and
sat meditatively.
After
a time
they
softly read Scripture,
prayed,
and chanted mellifluous praise.
Suddenly,
a brown field mouse
scampered
among us,
flitting
betwixt and between.
No
one stirred at all.
Beyond
the panes
blackness
gave way
to
the rising sun;
streams
of warm glow
dissolved
the morning mist
above
a placid pond.
Splashes
of magenta and lavender
petunias
drenched in dew
emerged
at water's edge.
Maude
Carolan
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