Yesterday, I joined with millions around the world, and watched the final good-bye to
Queen Elizabeth II. I was deeply moved by the simplicity of the services at
Westminster Abbey and
St. George’s Chapel.
Sure, there was the pageantry I expected from the Brits and the Anglican tradition. What I didn’t expect, and what continues to resound in me, is the silence that defined much of the mourning soundscape.
Crowds in the streets were reverently silent. The church goers entered and held themselves in a quiet reverence. There was the 2 minutes of silence that was planned. And then there was the piper, the queen’s private piper, whose drones and melodic strains of the lament,
Sleep, Dearie Sleep, faded into silence.
While the music of the hymns, the solemn beats of the marches, the last post and the rich timbres of the pipe organs connected us in our grief, for me, it was the silence that was most poignant.
Sometimes silence can be uncomfortable. It didn’t feel like that for me. The silence was a musical pause in the pageantry and commemoration for reflection and collective mindfulness, a pause from content.
This pause of silence allowed me to look around and take in with wonder and gratitude, all that was unfolding in the Anglican ritual, the intentional planning, the message and spirit of a remarkable life – it gave me time to breathe and remember.
Rituals of mourning are often intentional and hold their liturgies and traditions. For example, cremation and sprinkling ashes, shiva, 40th day celebration, special meals, prayers, wailing, celebrations of life and keening – all have their religious and cultural histories and hold personal meaning for the mourners.
Music plays a significant role in many of these mourning rituals. It appears so does silence. May we not be afraid and embrace the good things that come from silence in the soundscape of mourning.
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