It is no secret that I’m a big fan of architecture, and specifically, ecclesiastical architecture. Grand old spaces (like our Sanctuary) stand as a testament to our faith, a witness to our values and theology, and a profound space through which our lives journey, even as it stays consistent and, more or less, the same (maybe just with LED lights, now…). I am frequently amazed at how church weaves through our everyday lives, from providing a framework for exploring the liturgical seasons, to helping us navigate the complexity of society and the “outside world,” to celebrating life’s greatest joys, and to being there in times of deep sorrow. Each year, we have the distinct privilege to honor and remember those who have gone before us to their eternal rest (translated as “Requiem aeternam” in Latin) on All Saints’ Day, November 1. This year, November 1 falls on a Sunday, making the occasion a little more special.
In keeping with our pattern, the Sanctuary Choir presents Eleanor Daley’s sublime and haunting Requiem, whose movements will be sung throughout the 10:00 a.m. worship service. A prominent Canadian composer, Daley was commissioned to write a work and ultimately chose to compose a Requiem upon learning the commissioner was caring for a terminally ill loved one at the time. Alongside texts for the Requiem Mass, Daley used other liturgical sources such as the Book of Psalms, the Book of Revelation, The Burial Service, and one line from the Missa pro defunctis.
I focus on the text, Requiem aeternam, since it bookends this incredible work. The same haunting words and musical opening find us at the closing. Between the opening and closing, we’ll have shared in the Sacrament of Communion; we’ll have sung hymns and heard a message from the pulpit; we’ll have read aloud the names of those who have died this year. And yet, the same words apply. The same building holds our joys and sorrows. The same space will do so for years to come, as it has done for almost a century.