What, precisely, is The Gloaming?
Well, it’s an old English word for the magic light right at dusk, the kind of light movie directors halt whole productions to wait for. It’s old English, but it was forgotten in England, only remembered in Scotland, and rediscovered by English romantics reading Scottish poetry (got all that?!). Basically it’s a word for what the light does just as evening begins. It gloams.
At our church it’s a description for a new worship service on the 4th Saturday evening of the month at 5 pm in the East Chapel. John Arndt will lead our music with his bluesy brand of of music, pushing past “contemporary” as he does to draw on the riches of tradition in a new way. One thing I like about our service’s weird name is that it echoes the name of the band John co-founded: The Brilliance.
I’ve long wanted an evening worship opportunity at our church. For decades United Churches had Sunday evening services, and ours was a pilgrimage opportunity for folks all around the GTA and via the radio. That service is long gone, but I suspect we have a muscle memory of worshiping in the evening. Places with heavy Catholic populations know about having mass in the evenings. That is a suitable time for Christian worship because it is the start of the day, Jewishly speaking. The evening is the beginning of a day, which is why Jews celebrate Shabbat—Saturday—on Friday evenings. Genesis records “And it was evening, and it was morning, the first day”—so biblically speaking, the day starts with the gloaming.
I had wanted an evening option partially to accommodate folks out of town for the weekend who might come back in town in time for Sunday evening. But talking to some of our families who escape to ski slopes I got the input—nah, don’t do this for us, we either stay over Sunday night, or if we rush back Sunday night for school and work Monday we won’t be coming to church in the midst of the dash. So we shifted to Saturday. The time is designed to allow folks to worship on their way out for the evening. ‘There was evening, and there was dinner out, the first day.’ That’s not actually in Genesis, don’t go looking.
My sermon will be more conversational, less lectury, than usual. And we will celebrate the Lord’s Supper together. Forms of Christian faith that are growing are more tactile, they draw on more senses than just the ear. “Taste and see that the Lord is good,” the psalmist insists, so we will do so at The Gloaming.
This launch does not match the wisdom I was first handed on how to start a new worship service. Back then, the advice you bought at conferences was to blanket the neighbourhood with flyers. People would come try out a new service. Half those at the first service would come back. Half of those would come back the third time. And that’s your congregation. Marketing, attrition, and you’re done.
Well, obviously, we’re not doing it that way. We’re starting quietly. We’ll grow by word of mouth. And we’ll fill more of our weekend with the praise of God. We look forward to your joining us to do so.
One of my favourite prayers comes from the very earliest church (it might be earlier than some parts of the New Testament). It’s called the Phos Hilaron, sometimes translated “Gladsome light,” but you can hear the English words’ etymologies in it—“hilarious light.” It goes like this:
O Gladsome Light,
pure brightness of the ever-living Father in heaven,
O Jesus Christ, holy and blessed.
Now as we come to the setting of the sun,
And our eyes behold the vesper light,
We praise thy name O God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
Thou art worthy at all times to be praised by happy voices
O Son of God, O Giver of Light,
And to be glorified throughout all the worlds.
Amen. See you Saturday.