Taizé

Why would thousands of Europeans travel to this tiny village in southern France and camp out for a week to sing monotonous songs with Catholic monks? The answer is deep within us all.


By Greg Warner

As the summer sun reaches its apex, a plaintive peal from the bell tower cascades across the rolling French pastureland. The pilgrims answer the summons, quietly trickling in from all directions to the darkened sanctuary for the mid-day prayer service.

Several thousand sit or kneel on the hard floor in near-motionless silence, many in postures of prayer. The pilgrims are noticeably young and earnest, most in their teens or 20s, in jeans and T-shirts, some draped with backpacks.
As the bells in the distance reach a crescendo, one white-robed monk emerges from behind the chancel and walks briskly to kneel at his assigned spot in the middle of the stillness. Other monks follow -- one at a time and then as a column of white -- until almost a hundred are kneeling before the altar.
Gradually the ringing subsides and all is still. A lone, crisp voice breaks the silence to sing: "Laudate omnes gentes, laudate Dominum. Laudate omnes gentes, laudate Dominum." By the second phrase, the brothers and pilgrims have joined in the song, some offering harmony. 

The simple chant – which in English means: "Sing praises, all you peoples. Sing praises to the Lord." – is repeated 20 to 30 times over the next five minutes. But the young worshipers are not shifting restlessly. They meditate, with eyes either closed or focused on the altar. Most kneel or sit on the floor throughout the hour-long service, while others fill the few bleacher-type seats available along the walls. 
Eventually, the chant is ended by an unseen song leader and another is begun. "Bonum est confidere in Domino. Bonum sperare in Domino." "It is good to trust in the Lord. It is good to hope in the Lord."

Whether the a capella chants are sung in Latin, English, German or one of a dozen other languages, the worshipers sing as one, whether or not they know the language. The chants reverberate through the dimmed sanctuary, creating a haunting, ethereal sound that swells and ebbs.

Three or four chants are followed by a Scripture reading in French and English, then a lengthy period of silent prayer. The silence lasts far longer than our bodies are accustomed to tolerating in stillness. The prayer – like many other experiences at Taizé – confounds my American concept of user-friendly worship. The chants and their translations are printed in a paperback songbook, but otherwise no instruction or interpretation accompanies worship at Taizé, even though it will be a foreign experience for most who attend. 

Indeed, challenging our expectations is part of the Taizé experience.
"Lots of things are going to be new to everyone -- and everyone is going to feel at home," predicts Brother Emile, my guide for the week. The repetition of the chants "opens up space for freedom," says Emile, a Canadian.

"You are spending time before God without setting limits to how long the song is going to last," he explains. "You lose yourself. Your whole body is in it."
Worshiping in Taizé is a leap of faith, not only for the youth group we have brought from America, but for the Europeans who have made this a favorite retreat of Christians for more than half a century. 

Brother Roger, founder of the Taizé community, issues the challenge that defines Taizé: "Dare to pray, dare to sing, until Christ sings in you more than you imagine."
About 2,000 pilgrims have accepted that challenge to spend this week in simplicity with the 100-plus monks of Taizé. The visitors will stay in camp-style dorms, large tent barracks or personal tents. The community will swell to 6,000 during the peak weeks of summer, Europe's hottest summer on record.

The pilgrims will worship with the monks three times a day – morning, noon and night. They will share the simple meals – a piece of bread, a bowl of tea and a pinch of chocolate for breakfast. Every breakfast. And they will share the work of the community – serving meals, washing dishes, cleaning dorms and bathrooms. In between there's time for Bible study, peer-group discussions, meditative walks through the countryside and spontaneous games of Frisbee.

There's no charge for the weeklong visit, but the pilgrims are asked to make a donation based on their ability to pay and the relative economy of their home countries. 

Living a monk's life is anything but isolated in Taizé. About 100,000 people will spend a week in the community during a typical year. Although visitors come from all over the world, most are from Europe and about half are Catholic. The vast majority are youth -- although in Europe that designation is applied to anyone under 30. They come as groups in tour buses, as church groups or small bands of friends, backpacking couples or lone seekers on pilgrimage. 

Mystery, simplicity, authenticity

Why would thousands of European youth and young adults travel to this tiny village in southern France and camp out for a week in sweltering summer heat to sing monotonous songs with Catholic monks?

"There is something that happens in the prayer [chants] -- an openness to mystery, simplicity, authenticity," says Emile.

Many visitors – perhaps most – come on a personal spiritual quest, although the object of their quest varies greatly. Some are seekers exploring Christianity in a focused but non-threatening setting. Others are looking for a Christian experience that is more personal, even intimate. For many repeat visitors, it is an annual pilgrimage of spiritual renewal. Others seek a return of the mystical to their intellectualized faith. And some seek a connection to the church universal, which is nurtured by Taizé's international flavor and ecumenical mission. In a world torn by religious and ideological strife, they are gratified to find at least one place on earth where Christians from many nations and faith traditions, in a climate of acceptance, can unite behind a simple objective -- to worship God in the beauty of song.But the attraction cited most often is simply "the spirit of Taizé," which the pilgrims say they find nowhere else. Though vaguely described, it has something to do with the simple piety and beauty of the worship and the air of acceptance fostered by the brothers.
"Something very personal comes to life," says Brother Emile. "What is valued here is the real you. And that is a great relief to people."

Even as contemporary worship in the States emphasizes intimacy with an accessible God, Taizé worship allows Europeans to personalize their relationship with God.
For Europeans, the contrast is stunning. Worship in the traditional churches on the continent is word-heavy. The creeds, liturgies and intellectualized sermons leave many Europeans awash in verbiage but starved for connection and warmth. Since the Enlightenment, laments one observer of the Taizé experience, worship is: "Words, words and more words." 

At Taizé, however, it is the scarcity, or even the absence, of words that gives worship its distinctive power.

"Short chants, repeated again and again, give it a meditative character," the brothers explain in a brief introduction printed in the paperback songbook. "Using just a few words, [the chants] express a basic reality of faith, quickly grasped by the mind. As the words are sung over many times, this reality gradually penetrates the whole being."

A reconciling vision

Brother Roger founded the Taizé community in 1940 as a refuge for Jews hiding from Hitler. After World War II, it took in Germans released from war prisons, then served as a home for children orphaned by the war. In 1949, a small band of brothers took lifelong vows "to celibacy, to material and spiritual sharing, and to a great simplicity of life." 

Today the brothers of Taizé come from more than 25 countries. Most are Roman Catholic, and the community lives under the authority of the Pope. But many brothers come from other Christian traditions and are not expected to convert. Visitors to the community have included not only Pope John Paul II but several Orthodox metropolitans and the Church of England's archbishops, as well as Protestant leaders.

In the 1950s, Taizé brothers began establishing communities outside France – now in Asia, Africa and South America – to work and live with the poor, street children, prisoners, the dying, and those who are "wounded in their depths by broken relationships."

Although Taizé is widely known for its unique worship, its ministry of reconciliation – "between divided Christians and separated peoples" – is what defines the community to its members. The brothers talk of "the spirit of Taizé" not as a way to worship but as a way to live. 

"This is not a movement," the ever-patient Brother Emile explains. Although visitors from around the world often start worshiping in the pattern of Taizé when they return home, Emile says, "We don't want it to be called a Taizé prayer." The brothers have no intention of reforming Catholic or Protestant worship or establishing a sect or church-planting movement. "It would be pretentious to try to reform the church," says Emile. "But the church is at the heart of our concern."
So visitors are encouraged to become catalysts for renewal within their own congregations and traditions. "We would like people to become part of the church and to help the church move forward. For some it has meant a commitment to their church," Emile says. "Others" – he means those with no congregation or in unreceptive congregations – "become people of hope. We want to help people persevere."

It's now common to find Taizé services held regularly in France, Germany, Poland and most large cities in Western Europe and the United States. The brothers occasionally hold large meetings in other countries -- 16 so far. A massive Taizé gathering in Paris recently drew 80,000 worshipers.
The special attraction of Taizé to youth and young adults started in the late 1950s and flourished in the countercultural '60s. Not all the appeal was spiritual, however. Longtimers say experimentation with sex and hallucinogens crept in during the freewheeling '60s and '70s. 

The community's popularity with youth waned somewhat in the '70s and '80s but came back strong in the '90s – attendance tripled after the Berlin Wall fell – and as non-traditional spirituality found new life in the postmodern context.

A vague longing

Few American teenagers would find Taizé appealing, at least at first blush. This is not the Cornerstone Festival or Student Life Camp. But perhaps that's the point. American teens and young adults have an entire industry -- youth ministers, discipleship camps, rock festivals, recording companies, product vendors, radio stations -- designed to train them in the faith, or at least train them to become reliable Christian consumers.

In Europe there is no such Christian subculture -- for youth or anyone else. In some countries, France for instance, there is a structure for youth work within traditional churches, but those established churches have long been viewed as out of step with mainstream culture, by both youth and adults. Although a majority of the French would identify themselves as Christians, barely one in 20 attends church regularly, leaving many to wonder if the traditional churches have a future. 

"The real scarcity for [European] young people today is the scarcity of faith communities," laments Brother Emile. "There is a predominant sense of isolation, aloneness."

Then there is Taizé.

For people experiencing the Taizé prayer songs for the first time, Emile says, it is "like jumping into the water." For many, the simple chants awaken a spiritual longing they have recognized only vaguely.

"The obstacles to faith are very superficial and fall with the first prayer," Emile says with a special tenderness. "They often say, 'Now I know why I am here.' That's the surprise – to discover that beauty and prayer go together."

Americans might call what Taizé does youth evangelism. Young people in Europe -- France and Germany particularly -- commonly bring their non-Christian friends to Taizé to introduce them to personal faith in a nonthreatening setting. "They know they will be respected," says Emile.

All visitors are assigned to a small group, according to their language. The groups meet for an hour or two a day, during which participants talk about the worship, the Bible study topic and their different faith experiences.

The spirit of Taizé 

Bo-Johan Franke and Henk Wanten are repeat visitors and 30-something members of my small group, which is composed mostly of Europeans eager to practice their English. Many repeat visitors started coming to Taizé as teens -- one man in another small group was making his 28th visit.

Bo-Johan, a Lutheran church musician from Sweden, describes the Taizé spirit as "this open way to treat people, to listen and respect other people."

"You can't teach anyone what the spirit of Taizé is. It's like no place on earth," he explains.

"You have to see it for yourself," agrees Henk, a quiet German. Henk is a serious seeker, a Catholic who lived and worked as a volunteer at Taizé for six months and considered taking vows as a brother. His quest for spiritual meaning already has taken him on a six-month pilgrimage -- walking the length of Spain on foot -- to the shrine of Santiago de Compostela.

Typical of the American visitors in attendance this week is Matt Tomlin, a college student and fellow church member of mine from Jacksonville, Fla. For Matt the Taizé experience was both strikingly different and strangely attractive. "I found myself in a different way of life," he said.

"It took me a few days to get into the groove of worship three times a day, eating small meals and working in the heat only to serve others," Matt said. 

While the others in our American group were intrigued by Taizé, Matt seemed moved in a deeper way. He seemed at home. "As the days passed, people noticed a big change in me -- and [in] the people around me who were trying to find their way to God," Matt said. Because of his experience, Matt is considering returning to Taizé someday as a volunteer.

Utility and modesty

As we make our way to the sanctuary for the evening prayer, we walk past the hodgepodge of modest, practical buildings that have accumulated on the campus over the years. There are no Romanesque structures such as you find in the ruins of nearby Cluny, once Europe's most important monastery. There are no stone Gothic towers or cloister gardens at Taizé. The only distinctive architecture is the Orthodox-style onion domes on the sanctuary, a gesture to signal the community’s openness to non-Western traditions.

Teenagers posted near the entrances hold placards commanding "Silence" in half a dozen languages. As they enter, bare-shouldered women are offered shawls to maintain modesty. A handful of enforcers – some of the many young volunteers -- gently remind worshipers not to talk as they wait for the service to begin.

The sanctuary is simple and utilitarian, built about 30 years ago and expanded several times to accommodate the growing crowds. The familiar orange drapings behind the altar and soft lighting set the mood for the contemplative worship.

A low hedge of artificial shrubs marks off the area reserved for the monks. Brother Roger, in his wheelchair, is wheeled in unnoticed to the back of that area just before the service starts. Once a week, when his health permits, Brother Roger delivers a brief homily at the conclusion of the service.

After each service, as the brothers file out, at least one remains behind to offer counseling to anyone who desires it. Otherwise, the monks have no interaction with the pilgrims during the worship, except when they dispense Communion in the morning.

Although Taizé is a Roman Catholic monastery, the brothers accommodate visitors of all faiths and welcome those with none. Traditional Catholic practices are everywhere evident, such as worship with icons and a weekly prayer service around the cross. But veneration of Mary and other lower-consensus practices are minimized. The three daily prayer services are broadly drawn, while a more traditional Catholic mass and Orthodox services are offered at other times. 

Only once during our visit did sectarian tension surface. Communion is celebrated at every morning service, and no attempt is made to serve only Catholics. After accepting the elements for several days, I asked one of the brothers after the service if Protestants like me are welcome, since I don't agree precisely with the Catholic doctrine that the elements literally become the body and blood of Christ. His answer showed both Taizé tolerance and monkish ambiguity: I should act as I would at home, Brother Rob advised, but perhaps now was the time for me to consider if the Catholic teaching is true, he added. 

The issue later prompted a lively but inconclusive discussion among my small-group peers. I decided not to partake the next morning. But for the first time during my stay, I felt like an outsider -- definitely not a Taizé value.

Following the echo

This night was to be the weekly candlelight service – a beautiful sight when the yellow glow of 2,000 candles illumines young faces and the sanctuary's orange paraments – but it has been scrapped. Temperatures have climbed into the mid-90s and it's feared the candles will raise the temperature dangerously high inside the sanctuary – which has no air conditioning. (Surprisingly, the summer's record heat wave, which killed 15,000 people in France alone, had little effect on Taizé visitors, Emile reported.)

A large number of Swedes are in attendance this week, taking advantage of a national holiday. Among the chants chosen tonight is the Spanish "El Senyor," but we sing it in Swedish: "Meine Hoffnung und meine Freude, meine Starke, meine Licht…." 

The non-Swedes, myself included, struggle with the pronunciation. During some repetitions, I sing the English translation that's provided: "In the Lord, I'll be ever thankful, in the Lord, I will rejoice. Look to God, do not be afraid…." But as we sing, the chant becomes a gift of welcome to our Swedish brothers and sisters, and we feel larger for the effort.

As the evening service winds down, the brothers of Taizé slowly rise and disappear behind the chancel. But the chants continue, even as the pilgrims begin to trickle out. Many linger, some as long as half an hour, singing, meditating and praying. Eventually only the voices of the song leader and a handful of the faithful echo through the sanctuary, until they too evaporate.

Meanwhile, a party has started at the Oyak, an African word that denotes the community's gathering place. It's a snack bar, rudimentary outdoor café and after-hours campfire circle (with plenty of guitars but thankfully no fire). 

Here energetic European youth will sing for hours – mostly American rock songs from the last four decades – and they know the words better than our American youth. The singing is intermingled with that other time-honored camp tradition – flirtation. These are youth after all, and some experiences are universal. 

Tonight there will be long goodbyes and the swapping of emails. Another week at Taizé is coming to an end. Some lives have been changed forever, other souls only stirred briefly. 

"I have failed to keep the lessons of Taizé in the past," confesses my realistic German friend, Nicole. The pressures of work and life in general can easily overtake good intentions. But she prays this time will be different. 

Bo-Johan hopes he can "help that little bit of faith" that he finds in others come to life.

Each of 2,000 people leaves with a different experience. They may never return. Their futures may never intersect. But they seem in accord about "the spirit of Taizé" – this vision of the Christian life that is at once diverse and unifying, understandable yet mysterious, simple yet inexhaustibly rich.

- Greg Warner is executive editor of FaithWorks (greg@faithworks.com).


ta-ZAY? ti-ZAY? ty-ZAY? TY-zay?

What's in a name?

I had heard about Taizé for several years but never knew how to pronounce it. Surely going to the source would be the best way to settle the debate. Is it ta-ZAY or ti-ZAY? Maybe ty-ZAY or TY-zay? But even in the French village and monastery that bears the name, no consensus emerges. Filtered through a dozen or more native languages spoken by the monks and volunteers, the variations on "Taizé" are endless. And in a community devoted to acceptance and tolerance, there's no desire to force the issue. I finally settled on "ta-ZAY" … for now. As they say around here, Vive la différence!

React!  Why do you think Taizé worship is becoming more popular, even in the U.S.?