the kata of Compline
Compline: prayer for the end of the day. From the Latin meaning ‘completion.’
We had a lovely mother-and-daughter team staying with us for a couple of nights. Airbnb has space on the review page to leave a private note to the host (that would be us.) The daughter of the duo was very kind and gently suggested that if we were going to throw a big party, we might want to warn our guests. Well, yes, that is very true. But we didn’t throw a big party. We just had some people over after Compline. We do it every month.
Slowly, at the age of 63, I am beginning to understand that the rest of the world doesn’t live the way I do. Compline dinner is automatic. I send out a group email to find out how many will be here. Celeste says she’s out of town, the Larsons are going up to Yosemite so they can’t come. And I forgot to ask Christina and Aaron but they know when Compline is and that the door is always open. And anyway, I counted wrong and ran out of pasta. I’m feeding children and have to remember how they can eat. Lauren doesn’t sing Sunday with St.Pauls any more but she still sings Compline. She left us for a paying gig at St. Mary Maytag (called that because of the way it looks.) But she and the precious Derek come just because. Friends ask very politely if they can bring their sweeties. When the Larsons aren’t with us, this crowd is 20 to 35 years younger than the hostlers of the Prancing Pony. And it’s all because of the service of Compline.
Within the Protestant confession of the Church Temporal many have Sunday evening services. The Baptists, some Methodists, Pentecostal and so many others come back to church on Sunday evenings for prayer and song to end the day. (Philip’s old home church, Bellepoint Baptist in Hinton WV, served the Lord’s Supper at the Sunday evening service.) Such is the service of Compline, one of the oldest offices in Christian liturgy, prayer at the end of day. With three chanted Psalms, collects (designated prayers spoken by the priest) and communal prayers, this ancient service is a balm to the soul and a cleansing for the mind. No one is going to ask you to confess, there is no altar call and you don’t show any bona fides at the door. Just come, sit and be. So why ain’t I there? Well..... it’s complicated.
I loved Judaism before I confessed Christ. And, as I always do, I went over the deep end in my understanding of whose text belongs to whom. Deep in my heart, dear, I would have Christian services completely devoid of any Hebrew scriptures. The Church Temporal have misused our Mother’s Scriptures for so long, I just don’t want us to use them. (I must state here that both Stephen Saxon and David SchIosser insist that there is plenty of Hebrew Scripture to share. But I do hold a grudge, and this one is against my own church.) It was in this frame of mind that I sat in the narthex (front hall) of St. Paul’s, listened to three sung psalms and decided that I didn’t like the Compline Service. But I like to cook and to serve through cooking. From this impulse came the monthly Compline dinner.
So they walk in, come straight back to the kitchen, grab a glass from the collection under the Altar, pour themselves some wine and start talking. “What have you been doing?” becomes “What have you been singing?” Tonia tries to explain the story of the opera she is currently singing. (I humbly asked if it made more sense than “Forza del Destino,” and my very favorite soprano said, “Destino doesn’t make any sense at all.”) That’s how it goes at Compline Dinner, a whole lot of music talk, some politics and even horse racing, just a whole lot of talk and eating. Perhaps this was what concerned our overnight guests was a bunch of folks drinking and talking and making a certain amount of noise. Perhaps our guests dinners are more decorous. I never mean to offend.
So I promise that, from now on, when I have guests staying, I will warn them about Compline Dinner. I will say, “There are some folks coming over for dinner after an evening service.” That is all the warning they will get. This isn’t a big party, it’s just dinner and a lot of talk.
