Taizé

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Written March 2021

It was 1983 when I was first introduced to the music of Taizé. The assembly of the World Council of Churches gathered on the campus of the University of British Columbia in Vancouver, a large tent symbolising people on the move where delegates gathered for worship. There was a range of music, some traditionally 'church' with hymns composed for the occasion and a range of sacred music from around the world. But the one uniquely new for me was the quiet chanting of the music from Taizé. I shall never forget the hauntingly repetitive phrases of Veni Sancte Spiritus, with the solo soprano seemingly lifting us heavenwards: Come Holy Spirit. I brought a copy of the assembly worship book back to London and shared it with The Salvation Army's music department. I heard no more from them. Taizé and the song of a widening world doesn't quite match its brass bands and distinctive style of choral music.
 
But that didn't stop us listening to our Taizé CDs at home or from using them in several retreats we were asked to lead. The senior leadership team for the United Kingdom met at the Carfax Hotel in Bath, and as we together with them reflected on the challenges of the day, listened in silence:O Lord, Hear My Prayer.... when I call answer me. And when some of the Sudbury congregation gathered at the Clare Priory in Suffolk, once again it was Taizé: Jesus, Remember Me .... when you come into your kingdom. They didn't seem to mind. It suited the occasion. Sometimes in retreats there'd be a prayer trail set out in a garden, with a few key points on perhaps a dozen cards for participants to ponder as they followed, two by two. Elsewhere we might have used the 'victim to survivor to wounded healer' format we'd learned elsewhere. Sometimes we just offered a sketch pad and pencil to draw something meaningful, and explain why. A retreat isn't just about having a break, though a time for rest is essential. A time of reflection can be hard work, emotionally. And sometimes the challenges can even accentuate the very reasons why they were encouraged to attend. We cannot control the outcome.
 
Apart from St Julian's, we'd been to others in earlier years, our alternative to a 'city break', with a variety of enriching experiences. At St Mary's, West Malling, Kent, we celebrated Rogation-tide with the community which incorporates an agriculturally-oriented rehabilitation programme. It was time to bless the crops. And at Bethany House in suburban Portsmouth we shared the nuns' daily devotions but then slipped out to visit the Mary Rose and HMS Victory, complete with a quayside parade by the band of the Royal Marines - martial music again. And in later years with Margaret in care I'd been to Burrswood with its high standard accommodation and to the more basic room at The Friary, Aylesford, with surely the best porridge oats in the world. Both were within easy reach of London. None used Taizé while we were there.
 
With a son living in Geneva just a couple of hours drive from Taizé in France, it was inevitable that sooner or later I'd be invited to join him there. And I was! We drove to a self-catering apartment in Cluny, with Taizé a few kilometres away, so we had time to look around the town, famed for its abbey once a leader in Europe's monastic tradition, and still boasting stables where Napoleon had established a stud farm for breeding horses.
 
We attended the sessions held several times each day in the main auditorium. We found a place, squatting on the floor with a few hundred other participants. The brothers processed to take their places, one of them at a simple organ. There it was: Veni Sancte Spiritus; Jesus Remember Me; O Lord, Hear My Prayer. This is followed by scripture, and then the silence. It gave us time to empty ourselves of anxieties; time to think through some of the confusions of the day and time to see a way ahead. We were together, but still alone, engaging in a time of renewal in a beautiful setting. We sat under a cloudless sky at night, gazing up at stars that seemed nearer than ever.
 
We paid a visit to the small Taizé church where the founder, Brother Roger, is buried. His vision - born out of Europe at war - lives on. He wanted to encourage participants to live in the spirit of kindness, simplicity and reconciliation. The ecumenical foundation of the centre helps bridge differences between denominations, faiths, cultures and even age groups. The highlight of the visit for many is Saturday evening, with hundreds in the sanctuary lighting candles, a symbol of peace. ‘My Peace I Give You’, sang the brothers. We joined them. 
 
Taizé is a working community; visitors take their share; the brothers are always on the go, and it's not only prayer, chanting and silence; their pottery has become almost as well known as their music. I came away with a mug and a teapot. The vase has a few daffodils in it as I write. I sent post cards to a few. Wendy used hers for a watercolour - the stream that flows alongside its outdoor 14 stations of the cross. 'It seemed such a peaceful scene,' she tells me. The painting graces the bedroom wall.
 
Each year since the visit, I've had the booklet of a dozen bookmarks, each month with a prayer written by one of the brothers. Rather than one of those, I offer you the words of one of the chants as my greeting as we conclude Lent and approach Easter:
   
March 2021
 
Written after the visit:   Peace at Taizé
Listen here:  Veni Sancte Spiritus