York and the Minster
In the last couple of years, the time and place that have had the most profound impact on me have been York, England at 5:15 P.M. At that time each day at York Minster, the cathedral in that small, northern English city, Choral Evensong is sung – as it has been for hundreds of years. Sitting in the choir (the location near the center of the church where the service takes place) during Evensong brings a deep sense of well-being: in a spot where the same transcendent thing happens every day, as it has from at least the time of Henry VIII.
York is an ancient city that dates back to the Roman Empire. In fact, outside the Minster is a statue of the Emperor Constantine who was crowned in York and led the Roman Empire to Christianity. It has Viking and Norman, as well as Roman and modern, history. The site of the city was geographically key, as it sits between the rivers Ouse and Foss. A church was on the site of the Minster in the 7th Century, and the current structure, which is on high ground looking over the rivers, was completed in the 15th Century.
Entrance to the choir from the transept
A participant enters the choir from the high-ceilinged transept and takes a seat among the choir stalls. You look up into the distant arches that support the cathedral’s roof, where the light is even more obscure. You are aware of how others have sat in this space at this time for centuries. In the Middle Ages and onward, evensong was a stop on the way home from work for city dwellers – butchers and stonemasons and other crafts people. It marked the end of the working day and a source of restoration after hours of what was generally demanding physical labor. The sense of quiet, of peace, within this huge space is remarkable. One can imagine a rich life centered on taking an hour out of each day to absorb the sound of the organ, the choir, the readings and the quiet of the Minster.
The Minster choir
The days are especially short in the north of England at this time of year and the light coming through the rose window of the western front of the Minster in the late afternoon is especially diffuse. A bell rings, and the choir sings distantly from a side aisle. The organ plays as the choir of men and boys (and men and girls on alternate days) processes along with the Cathedral clergy in to the candlelit choir. The choir stalls are marked with the names of the members of the chapters of the York dioceses, the Archbishop, the Dean, other officials and the parish rectors – deepening the sense of history and place. By now the stain glass windows at this time of year have gone dark, and the light inside the Minster is soft and shadowed.
At York today almost all of the music performed is of historic high quality – reflecting on the splendor of English choral tradition, including the high points of Byrd and Tallis. It also includes much music from the same period (of about 1400-1600) of other great composers of polyphonic music for the church like Palestrina and de Lassus. The service is generally in English and at its center is the chanting of three or four Psalms in the traditional King James Bible text: with the Psalms changing daily. It is good to remember what timeless, beautiful poetry the Psalms can be in the King James version. The sense of history, of stability and the dedication to the beauty of the text and music combines to create a powerfully uplifting daily experience and a uniquely rewarding sense of place. It is the combination of light, space, music, text and even smell combined with the peace and grandeur of the setting that makes being there so memorable.
Transept window
Why should that be so for a Jewish kid from New Jersey? The question is especially remarkable given the massacre of the Jews of York in 1190. During anti-Semitic rioting in the north of England, York’s 150 Jews took shelter in a local fortress in which they died after setting fire to it in order to escape conversion or death by the rioters. But that millennium-old event resonates less with me than the here and now of Evensong – an experience that moves me even though it is part of a ritual that was not part of my upbringing and of a religion that I don’t practice. The beauty and power of the place and the experience still reach me. So, while place is bound up with identity, it is different in important ways. Place is transferable and adoptable. It can be a positive force that is sharable and brings people together.
We seek out the light of the Minster as sunlight becomes more scarce. We care about place because it provides shelter and security in a world that often feels unstable and threatening. Even among people we don’t know at the service, you feel a sense of connectedness with the choir and the other participants in the shared occurrence of music, text and history. A space with a deep sense of place provides that. Part of what offers that sense of place is the uniqueness of its situation – the distinctiveness of the architecture, the old, small winding streets, the beer and pub grub, the tea and “fat rascals” (the local scone) – all contribute to the specialness of the locality. There is also an authenticity to York that contributes to its power. While many tourists visit York, and cathedrals are traditional destinations for pilgrims, York continues to be where local people shop, eat and worship. Its history and customs still feel “real.”
With the days at their shortest, the physical and spiritual light of the Cathedral and daily Evensong take on additional resonance. The holiday season intensifies the experience. At this dark time in the year, I wish you light, peace and joy, a merry Christmas and the happiest of New Years.