Tenebrae for Maundy Thursday at the London Oratory

I attended the Service of Tenebrae for Maundy Thursday at the Brompton Oratory this evening, staying for Matins only. Unfortunately, due to the constraints of time, I had to leave just as the Office of Lauds was beginning. Tenebrae, meaning "shadows" or "darkness" is celebrated in the Latin Church on the evening before or the morning of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday. Since the liturgical "reforms" that followed the Second Vatican Council, this special service has sadly become all but extinct in most places.

Tenebrae is an immensely moving service, which involves the gradual extinguishing of the lighted candles within a church or chapel. After each psalm, the nine that compose Matins and the five of Lauds, 14 of the 15 candles on a triangular "hearse" are individually put out. The six altar candles are also extinguished as the Benedictus is sung. All the remaining lights in the church are then switched off or put out. The final lighted candle on the hearse is then hidden behind the altar - which results in total darkness.

As the church mourns the light, the strepitus (Latin for "great noise") is made by slamming antiphonals against music stands, banging breviaries against seats, or by stamping one's feet on the floor. This noise, coupled with the gloom, creates quite a powerful representation of the earthquake that followed Christ's death on the Cross. Following this strepitus, the hidden candle is returned to the top of the hearse, signifying Our Lord's Resurrection - the light which darkness could not overcome (cf. John 1:4).

The Oratory Fathers sang the Offices of Matins and Lauds, whist the world-famous Choir sang Victoria's Responsories, Handel's Benedictus, and Anerio's Christus factus est. The whole service followed the ancient customs of the Church, as set out in the pre-Conciliar Breviary. In all, this evening's Tenebrae for Maundy Thursday lasted nearly two hours - hence my having to leave after Matins.

Knowing that I would not be able to stay for the whole service, I decided to sit in the Chapel of the Seven Dolours, which looks towards the Choir gallery. The church was lighted only by the liturgical candles in the sanctuary and the many votive candles that always seem to fill every available space in the Oratory. As the priests chanted in the distance and the absence of light became more palpable, a sense of the mystical, of the shadows of death and eternity, was ever-present. As I looked over to the Lady Chapel, I seemed to be transported across the centuries: first to Fr Faber's day, then to 16th century Rome, and the time of St Philip Neri himself. As the shadows fought with glimmers of light, finally enveloping the cherubs and pillars in musty darkness, and as the Choir burst into beauty, the Divine presence - that ageless Love - was palpably moving amongst our hearts.

Here was faith undefiled, God coming amongst His people to impart Grace like dew-drops on the souls of those who had come to meditate on Christ's mystery, his suffering and death. Here was the sweet-smelling aroma of truth. Here was love. Heaven comfortably fitting into the present moment, and lifting up the soul.

If you haven't yet had the privilege of experiencing Tenebrae, then I can definitely recommend that you try and taste this treasure of the Church's tradition either during this, or some future, Holy Week. It is a service that paradoxically calms the soul, whist also calling it into the shadows and the dark places which Our Lord knows so well.

[Image: Tenebrae at the Brompton Oratory in 2008; source: the New Liturgical Movement blog]