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| Some
twenty years ago I visited Taizé in France. I arrived there
during the Easter season, when all around the earth was awakening
after the cold of winter. I went there at a time when my heart knew
its emptiness and longed for some buds of hope. A Paschal candle stood in the darkened church, a profusion of spring blossoms at its base. |
| Three
times a day everyone drew towards the Church of Reconciliation for
prayer in common. It happened that my first experience of this was
the Saturday evening Resurrection common prayer. Each person held
a candle so that the church was ablaze with a gentle glow of light.
The risen life of Christ was proclaimed by those who derived their
strength and peace from his light, and those less certain could watch
and ponder as we chose.
In the beauty of the French countryside the daily rhythm of prayer, work, discussion and meals unfolded. As I came to know the young people with whom I was sharing my time at Taizé, I gained a new respect for the creative life of each individual. Together we sought to understand something of the mysterious journey of faith. |
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| One evening, when the common prayer was over, I discovered a small group singing, nestled under a tree with a guitar. At first I hesitated to draw near, fearing that they would prove to be a "Pentecostal" group, very sure of their own relationship with Christ, and eager to lead a waverer like myself along their path. I approached and found a group of people quietly celebrating the joy of each others' presence. Underneath the stars that night we sang a canon telling of a spiritual link a tribe of Indian people had with their land. We sang a peace song, with a bond between us of the sort that brings peace, as each person was respected. The most moving liturgy for me at Taizé was on the evening when an icon of the cross was adored, a ceremony which appeared to me to have its roots in the Orthodox tradition. A group of brothers went forward to carry the icon of the cross reverently into the centre of the church and laid it down. Those who wished took turns to go forward, and kneeling in a circle they placed their heads against the wood of the icon in prayer. A major way that respect was expressed at Taizé was in the use of languages. The young people gathered at Taizé were from many lands and spoke a variety of languages. Always, in a gentle unobtrusive way, the need for translation was catered for. As an English speaker at the time I was there, I was in a minority, but always someone was nearby to quietly explain what was going on. In discussion groups there was translation, and during talks in the Church, people gathered together with a brother who could translate. All of this took a lot longer of course, but it was an integral part of the atmosphere of respect for all that permeated life at Taizé. It is a long time now since my visit to Taizé. The community there will have changed as I have. But my week there remains an important place on my journey, for there I came to understand the importance of respect for the gem that is each individual, and I saw how people of many beliefs could seek understanding. |
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