I don’t think we pay enough attention to posture these days. Liturgically, I mean.
When I first started in ministry half a century ago, most congregations were more or less sedentary, with not a lot of movement involved in their worship. People seem to prefer to stay put. So once they had parked in a pew, they’d just as soon settle in for the duration.
Apart from singing hymns and a few other pieces, worship was done sitting down. We sang hymns on our feet because the musicians told us that we’d sing better if we did—a good practical reason.
Most of the hymns and other songs we sang (but not all) were hymns of praise and enthusiasm, and deserved the reverent and respectful posture of standing. There’s theology in that reason, and for most hymns, it’s a viable rationale even now.
Prayer, on the other hand, was almost always done by the congregation sitting down. Not to be boisterous as singing might be, prayer was considered a quiet, personal, even private exercise. With head bowed and eyes closed, each person retreated into his or her own exclusive prayer-chamber.
Not a whole lot has changed these past five decades, at least not in understanding what the different postures might signal in terms of the theology behind our worship. But some things have changed, and point the way to new understanding.
We now stand at other times than just for hymns and songs of praise. We now stand for other reasons than we will sing better vertical, and it’s good to stretch our legs every now and then. We’ll stand to say a creed—confessing faith publically is praising God.
We are clearer now that standing is a posture of honor and respect. So, we stand, for example, for the reading of the Gospel. In the Gospel text, the Word Jesus Christ is most clearly present to us, and it is in reverence that we rise to our feet in greeting and welcome. I also like to think that standing for the Gospel reading indicates we are at attention and ready to hear our marching orders from the Master.
We also are called upon to stand up for the Great Thanksgiving as we approach the Lord’s Table. Again, it is a sign of our need to be attentive and reverential at this Holy Meal wherein we will be fed and nourished by spiritual food. Standing for prayer has biblical precedent to commend it (see 1 Samuel 1:26 and 1 Kings 8:22, as well as Matthew 6:5 and Luke 18:11). Note that kneeling for prayer is biblical also (see Luke 22:41 and Acts 7:60), yet most Presbyterians seem to stay seated instead.
The use of the Psalter on Sundays is a new development for most of us. The Psalm appears as a response to the Old Testament lesson, and is considered a reflection on or response to the reading. Most often, the Psalm is a prayer, and even though it is sung, may be offered seated. There are occasions, perhaps, when we should consider staying seated for a hymn with a prayerful tone.
Seated with heads bowed and eyes closed is not always the preferred posture for prayer. The closed quality of such prayers seems to deny the commonness of our common worship, as though one should go to church and, among the gathered community, indulge in one’s private devotions. If seen this in Catholic services, but in Protestant, even Presbyterian ones as well.
Praying with eyes wide open is a good option to consider. Especially at the Great Thanksgiving, we should be aware of the community around the Lord’s Table. The Prayers of the People deserve our awareness of our sisters and brothers uniting their prayers with our own.
The point is that posture has significance and adds meaning and emphasis to specific acts of worship.
In giving liturgical instructions, of course, about standing or sitting (or kneeling), one needs to be careful about choice of words as they might apply, or not, to worshippers with disabilities.
When do you stand and when do you sit during Sunday worship? What changes would you suggest?
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Readers
In many, if not most, Protestant churches these days, members of a congregation come forward each Sunday to read the Scripture lessons. This has become popular since the modern “liturgical renewal movement” was crystallized by the Second Vatican Council in the 1960’s.
The idea is that the Christian Scriptures themselves arose out of the early church gatherings, and even then non-clergy would read from the ancient writings, and from new gospels and letters that would one day become “scripture.” Therefore it’s appropriate to have people from our congregations do the reading today. In many churches, the reader actually emerges from the pew to the lectern as a physical symbol of this meaning.
It’s a good idea because it stresses the responsibility of the people in the pews to be conversant enough with the Bible to be able to read a passage publicly every now and then.
Certainly, a prime principle of the Protestant Reformation was the restoration of the Scripture to the people, available to everyone in their own language. Having lay people read from the Bible in Lord’s Day worship emphasizes that principle.
One other advantage is seen on the other side of the coin. A layperson reading Scripture counters any notion that the Bible belongs to the clergy, as though no one else were worthy of presenting Holy Writ orally. Even if rank clericalism is rare, it can be implied if lay people are not permitted the privilege of reading Sunday’s lessons aloud in worship.
All that being said, there are some issues to be considered.
First of all, not everyone in a given congregation should be a reader. Shyness, incapability, lack of interest, and any one of a hundred other reasons would eliminate one from the list of potential readers. Therefore, some selection process is needed.
The reading of the Word of God in Scripture to the gathered faithful is a critically important task. It requires at the very least people who are capable of communicating what is on the printed page through their voices.
Some Lutheran churches today, for example, will reserve the reader’s role to the deacons. As servants of the worship service, this is one duty that fits their title. But they do not leave it at that. Just because a person is a deacon doesn’t mean that he or she can do the job. So, deacons must be trained to do what deacons do, including read Scripture out loud.
People who would be readers, however selected, should be trained most likely by the pastor. All the important lessons learned in seminary speech classes should be resurrected and taught to the lay readers—projection, inflection, diction, pronunciation (especially of names) and so forth.
Busy pastors may not want to be bothered with this, but there is nothing more deflating than having a great sermon undermined by a poor reading of the Scripture lesson it is based on. If for no other reason than self-protection, pastors will see to it that lay readers are equipped to do an outstanding job.
One way to support initial training is to call brief after-church meetings of lay readers for the up-coming month or season, just to run over the lections they will encounter. This will help their comfort level and improve the quality of their reading.
Lastly we come to the issue of who reads the Gospel. In many churches it is reserved to the preacher (pastor/minister) rather than the lay reader. The reason behind this is that the pastor is the “Minister of Word [and Sacrament]” and by virtue of this office is the one to read that part of God’s Word where Christ is seen in his public ministry. Since as often or not the sermon is rooted in the Gospel reading, this makes considerable sense.
The Gospel narrative is set apart in another important way to indicate that it is of a different quality from the other readings. Because the Gospel presents Christ, the Word Incarnate, it is appropriate that the congregation stand to hear it read as a sign of reverence and respect.
A practical consideration is that it may be good for the preacher to hear the sound of her own voice just before speaking. On the other hand, as a friend of mine suggests, he welcomes the opportunity to hear the Gospel in another voice before he begins to preach on it. Sometimes it prompts a fresh insight for the sermon.
The role of lay readers is an important one, and is worthy of attention and encouragement from the pastor and others responsible for the worship of the congregation.
Do you have lay readers in your congregation? Are they usually deacons? What training do they receive?
The idea is that the Christian Scriptures themselves arose out of the early church gatherings, and even then non-clergy would read from the ancient writings, and from new gospels and letters that would one day become “scripture.” Therefore it’s appropriate to have people from our congregations do the reading today. In many churches, the reader actually emerges from the pew to the lectern as a physical symbol of this meaning.
It’s a good idea because it stresses the responsibility of the people in the pews to be conversant enough with the Bible to be able to read a passage publicly every now and then.
Certainly, a prime principle of the Protestant Reformation was the restoration of the Scripture to the people, available to everyone in their own language. Having lay people read from the Bible in Lord’s Day worship emphasizes that principle.
One other advantage is seen on the other side of the coin. A layperson reading Scripture counters any notion that the Bible belongs to the clergy, as though no one else were worthy of presenting Holy Writ orally. Even if rank clericalism is rare, it can be implied if lay people are not permitted the privilege of reading Sunday’s lessons aloud in worship.
All that being said, there are some issues to be considered.
First of all, not everyone in a given congregation should be a reader. Shyness, incapability, lack of interest, and any one of a hundred other reasons would eliminate one from the list of potential readers. Therefore, some selection process is needed.
The reading of the Word of God in Scripture to the gathered faithful is a critically important task. It requires at the very least people who are capable of communicating what is on the printed page through their voices.
Some Lutheran churches today, for example, will reserve the reader’s role to the deacons. As servants of the worship service, this is one duty that fits their title. But they do not leave it at that. Just because a person is a deacon doesn’t mean that he or she can do the job. So, deacons must be trained to do what deacons do, including read Scripture out loud.
People who would be readers, however selected, should be trained most likely by the pastor. All the important lessons learned in seminary speech classes should be resurrected and taught to the lay readers—projection, inflection, diction, pronunciation (especially of names) and so forth.
Busy pastors may not want to be bothered with this, but there is nothing more deflating than having a great sermon undermined by a poor reading of the Scripture lesson it is based on. If for no other reason than self-protection, pastors will see to it that lay readers are equipped to do an outstanding job.
One way to support initial training is to call brief after-church meetings of lay readers for the up-coming month or season, just to run over the lections they will encounter. This will help their comfort level and improve the quality of their reading.
Lastly we come to the issue of who reads the Gospel. In many churches it is reserved to the preacher (pastor/minister) rather than the lay reader. The reason behind this is that the pastor is the “Minister of Word [and Sacrament]” and by virtue of this office is the one to read that part of God’s Word where Christ is seen in his public ministry. Since as often or not the sermon is rooted in the Gospel reading, this makes considerable sense.
The Gospel narrative is set apart in another important way to indicate that it is of a different quality from the other readings. Because the Gospel presents Christ, the Word Incarnate, it is appropriate that the congregation stand to hear it read as a sign of reverence and respect.
A practical consideration is that it may be good for the preacher to hear the sound of her own voice just before speaking. On the other hand, as a friend of mine suggests, he welcomes the opportunity to hear the Gospel in another voice before he begins to preach on it. Sometimes it prompts a fresh insight for the sermon.
The role of lay readers is an important one, and is worthy of attention and encouragement from the pastor and others responsible for the worship of the congregation.
Do you have lay readers in your congregation? Are they usually deacons? What training do they receive?
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Supper with the Saints
Growing up in the Midwest, I was accustomed to seeing stained glass windows in churches. Their bright day-lighted colors and iconic designs portrayed Jesus and his followers and other faithful souls of ancient times.
Coming to the Northeast and New England in particular I encountered another architectural style, simpler, plainer, including clear class in the windows. The Puritan view certainly accounts for the simplicity, wanting as they would to avoid any distractions from prayer and proclamation.
I soon discovered, however, that there was another reason for the clear glass windows, or at least another benefit.
Many of the typical white, steepled, churches in the villages of New England are located next to the burial ground of the church. When gathered for worship, the saints inside the church can look out and see the grave markers of their friends and ancestors, the saints gone before them. Believers gather around the Lord’s Table and a mere glance out the window recalls other faithful souls preceding them in the parade of the people of God.
One of the churches near my home recently built a new worship space attached to their traditional New England style structure. It was erected so that it would be next to the graveyard, and the wall to that side was mostly clear glass to make sure the worshipping congregation could not miss the historical and spiritual presence of the previous generations.
Far from being merely a quaint custom, this New England practice of having windows to look out of rather than just at, has something important to teach us—especially when the view is of the grave stones of the faithful.
There’s something to be said for continuity.
In so many ways, it is easy to fall into the trap of thinking that the world started with us. Neglecting the lessons of history can be a very dangerous thing. For one thing, there is considerable hubris to the idea that we got here on our own, without benefit of the labors of anyone gone before us.
Even in matters of faith, we have all been blessed by the examples set for us by heroes and heroines of the past. Our own kinfolk and others we’ve known have brought us along. But there have also been many we have not known personally, folks we’ve come to know through the stories of God’s faithful through the centuries.
Remembering those saints and recalling them as we worship helps us realize that we are part of an on-going, great and wondrous body of people called the church of Jesus Christ. Such continuity is encouraging and challenging as we plunge onward along the pathways where Christ leads us today. It is also a cause for celebration.
Our Eucharistic liturgy in the Book of Common Worship (1993) provides some clear-glass windows through which we come to the Lord’s Supper with the saints.
The introductory lines to the sung Holy, Holy, Holy make it clear we do not worship God alone:
Therefore we praise you,
joining our voices with the heavenly choirs
and with all the faithful of every time and place,
who forever sing to the glory of your name:
The Eucharistic prayers often conclude with something like this in Great Thanksgiving A:
In union with your church in heaven and on earth,
we pray, O God, that you will fulfill your eternal purpose
in us and in all the world.
or this in Great Thanksgiving B:
Give us strength to serve you faithfully
until the promised day of resurrection,
when with the redeemed of all the ages
we will feast with you at your table in glory.
or again in Great Thanksgiving D:
In your mercy, accept this our sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving,
as, in communion with all the faithful in heaven and on earth,
we ask you to fulfill, in us and in all creation,
the purpose of your redeeming love.
or from Great Thanksgiving F:
And grant that we may find our inheritance with
[the blessed Virgin Mary, with patriarchs, prophets, apostles,
and martyrs, and]
all the saints who have found favor with you in ages past.
We praise you in union with them
and give you glory through your Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.
Thanksgiving for and with the saints propels us into the future with confidence in God’s faithfulness, just as God has always been faithful according to many witnesses.
How to you remember the people of the past in your worship? Who are saints to you?
Coming to the Northeast and New England in particular I encountered another architectural style, simpler, plainer, including clear class in the windows. The Puritan view certainly accounts for the simplicity, wanting as they would to avoid any distractions from prayer and proclamation.
I soon discovered, however, that there was another reason for the clear glass windows, or at least another benefit.
Many of the typical white, steepled, churches in the villages of New England are located next to the burial ground of the church. When gathered for worship, the saints inside the church can look out and see the grave markers of their friends and ancestors, the saints gone before them. Believers gather around the Lord’s Table and a mere glance out the window recalls other faithful souls preceding them in the parade of the people of God.
One of the churches near my home recently built a new worship space attached to their traditional New England style structure. It was erected so that it would be next to the graveyard, and the wall to that side was mostly clear glass to make sure the worshipping congregation could not miss the historical and spiritual presence of the previous generations.
Far from being merely a quaint custom, this New England practice of having windows to look out of rather than just at, has something important to teach us—especially when the view is of the grave stones of the faithful.
There’s something to be said for continuity.
In so many ways, it is easy to fall into the trap of thinking that the world started with us. Neglecting the lessons of history can be a very dangerous thing. For one thing, there is considerable hubris to the idea that we got here on our own, without benefit of the labors of anyone gone before us.
Even in matters of faith, we have all been blessed by the examples set for us by heroes and heroines of the past. Our own kinfolk and others we’ve known have brought us along. But there have also been many we have not known personally, folks we’ve come to know through the stories of God’s faithful through the centuries.
Remembering those saints and recalling them as we worship helps us realize that we are part of an on-going, great and wondrous body of people called the church of Jesus Christ. Such continuity is encouraging and challenging as we plunge onward along the pathways where Christ leads us today. It is also a cause for celebration.
Our Eucharistic liturgy in the Book of Common Worship (1993) provides some clear-glass windows through which we come to the Lord’s Supper with the saints.
The introductory lines to the sung Holy, Holy, Holy make it clear we do not worship God alone:
Therefore we praise you,
joining our voices with the heavenly choirs
and with all the faithful of every time and place,
who forever sing to the glory of your name:
The Eucharistic prayers often conclude with something like this in Great Thanksgiving A:
In union with your church in heaven and on earth,
we pray, O God, that you will fulfill your eternal purpose
in us and in all the world.
or this in Great Thanksgiving B:
Give us strength to serve you faithfully
until the promised day of resurrection,
when with the redeemed of all the ages
we will feast with you at your table in glory.
or again in Great Thanksgiving D:
In your mercy, accept this our sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving,
as, in communion with all the faithful in heaven and on earth,
we ask you to fulfill, in us and in all creation,
the purpose of your redeeming love.
or from Great Thanksgiving F:
And grant that we may find our inheritance with
[the blessed Virgin Mary, with patriarchs, prophets, apostles,
and martyrs, and]
all the saints who have found favor with you in ages past.
We praise you in union with them
and give you glory through your Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.
Thanksgiving for and with the saints propels us into the future with confidence in God’s faithfulness, just as God has always been faithful according to many witnesses.
How to you remember the people of the past in your worship? Who are saints to you?
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Crossing
“This sign [of the cross] was not only used in the churches in very ancient times: it is still an admirably simple reminder of the cross of Christ.” – Martin Bucer
I grant you that Bucer was referring to making the sign of the cross as part of the rite of Baptism. Nevertheless, it’s a noteworthy statement to come from a Protestant reformer in the 16th century. For Bucer, not absolutely everything Roman should be abandoned—there were some things to be retained in the new order. At least in the Sacrament of Baptism, the sign of the cross was found worthy.
Bucer’s sensible attitude has not prevailed in much of Protestantism, especially in the Presbyterian branch. For us, the rule is usually, “If it has so much as a whiff of Roman Catholic to it, it is strictly verboten.” So it goes with the Eucharist, for example. If they celebrate the Lord’s Supper every week, then that’s the reason we don’t. God forbid we should become too “Catholic.” In similar fashion, we have mostly managed to steer clear of anything so Romanish as making the sign of the cross.
Except maybe Martin Bucer has prevailed after all. In the Book of Common Worship (1993) the sign of the cross is suggested and permitted in the services of Baptism, by the minister over the people. When the baptized person is anointed with oil, the sign of the cross may be used in its application. (This is true as well when anointing is done in the services of wholeness.) In the Vigil of the Resurrection after the Thanksgiving for Our Baptism, individuals may dip their hands in the water and sign themselves.
The connection of the sign of the cross with Baptism was made powerfully clear to me when the Daily Prayer Task Force, of which I was part, met for four or five days at St. Meinrad’s Seminary in Indiana. Our purpose was to experience Daily Prayer with the fathers and brothers.
So we went to church twice a day. As we entered, we could not miss the receptacles with “holy water” inside each door. (The receptacle was the same size and same octagonal shape as the baptismal font in the church I served at the time.) In passing, each monk dipped a hand in the water and made the sign of the cross, head to breast, shoulder to shoulder. The same gesture was repeated as they left.
Being with the Romans, it seemed appropriate to do as the Romans did. As I entered, the water from the “baptismal font” and sign of the cross self-imposed was a reminder that it was by baptism that I came into the church. As I left, the same gesture was a reminder that I was to go out and live my baptism by taking up my cross and following the risen Lord. It didn’t take long for the impact of signing myself to hit me with a wallop. This is a powerful symbolic act, and, as Bucer put it, one that “was not only used in the churches in very ancient times, [but] is still an admirably simple reminder of the cross of Christ.”
I have also worshiped many times with the Monks of New Skete, a monastery-parish of the Orthodox Church of America nearby where I live. The sign of the cross is an integral part of their worship—both as made by the priest and by the people. Signing oneself is a physical way of identifying with what is being said: always when the Trinity is mentioned, often when one identifies with a particular prayer intention or petition, even when one simply affirms faith. In many ways, you sign yourself in Orthodox worship much as an enthusiastic Protestant might shout “Amen!” to a point well taken.
This experience with the folks at New Skete has also enriched my personal use of the sign of the cross. (I tend to cross myself in Orthodox style, ending right shoulder to left, so that my arm is across my chest—this, according to Orthodox interpretation, leaves the person in the posture of prayer.) When I worship there, I feel actively, physically involved in the liturgy.
My usual place of worship is a Lutheran church where a number of people in the congregation sign themselves in the course of the liturgy, and I have grown to feel comfortable in joining them in the custom.
Perhaps many Protestants resist signing themselves because they perceive it as a superstitious act—like the prize fighter making the sign to secure God’s power behind his punch, or the ball player at bat asking for God to help him hit a curve ball, or as a means of garnering less athletic blessings in everyday life. For some it is superstition, just as for some Protestants prayer verges on superstition, a means of getting what we want rather than opening ourselves to what God wants. We do not abandon prayer, however, simply because some treat it in superstitious fashion. Nor should we abandon signing ourselves with the cross of Christ.
Do you sign yourself with the cross? Where and how did you decide to do this? How has making the sign of the cross affected your worship?
I grant you that Bucer was referring to making the sign of the cross as part of the rite of Baptism. Nevertheless, it’s a noteworthy statement to come from a Protestant reformer in the 16th century. For Bucer, not absolutely everything Roman should be abandoned—there were some things to be retained in the new order. At least in the Sacrament of Baptism, the sign of the cross was found worthy.
Bucer’s sensible attitude has not prevailed in much of Protestantism, especially in the Presbyterian branch. For us, the rule is usually, “If it has so much as a whiff of Roman Catholic to it, it is strictly verboten.” So it goes with the Eucharist, for example. If they celebrate the Lord’s Supper every week, then that’s the reason we don’t. God forbid we should become too “Catholic.” In similar fashion, we have mostly managed to steer clear of anything so Romanish as making the sign of the cross.
Except maybe Martin Bucer has prevailed after all. In the Book of Common Worship (1993) the sign of the cross is suggested and permitted in the services of Baptism, by the minister over the people. When the baptized person is anointed with oil, the sign of the cross may be used in its application. (This is true as well when anointing is done in the services of wholeness.) In the Vigil of the Resurrection after the Thanksgiving for Our Baptism, individuals may dip their hands in the water and sign themselves.
The connection of the sign of the cross with Baptism was made powerfully clear to me when the Daily Prayer Task Force, of which I was part, met for four or five days at St. Meinrad’s Seminary in Indiana. Our purpose was to experience Daily Prayer with the fathers and brothers.
So we went to church twice a day. As we entered, we could not miss the receptacles with “holy water” inside each door. (The receptacle was the same size and same octagonal shape as the baptismal font in the church I served at the time.) In passing, each monk dipped a hand in the water and made the sign of the cross, head to breast, shoulder to shoulder. The same gesture was repeated as they left.
Being with the Romans, it seemed appropriate to do as the Romans did. As I entered, the water from the “baptismal font” and sign of the cross self-imposed was a reminder that it was by baptism that I came into the church. As I left, the same gesture was a reminder that I was to go out and live my baptism by taking up my cross and following the risen Lord. It didn’t take long for the impact of signing myself to hit me with a wallop. This is a powerful symbolic act, and, as Bucer put it, one that “was not only used in the churches in very ancient times, [but] is still an admirably simple reminder of the cross of Christ.”
I have also worshiped many times with the Monks of New Skete, a monastery-parish of the Orthodox Church of America nearby where I live. The sign of the cross is an integral part of their worship—both as made by the priest and by the people. Signing oneself is a physical way of identifying with what is being said: always when the Trinity is mentioned, often when one identifies with a particular prayer intention or petition, even when one simply affirms faith. In many ways, you sign yourself in Orthodox worship much as an enthusiastic Protestant might shout “Amen!” to a point well taken.
This experience with the folks at New Skete has also enriched my personal use of the sign of the cross. (I tend to cross myself in Orthodox style, ending right shoulder to left, so that my arm is across my chest—this, according to Orthodox interpretation, leaves the person in the posture of prayer.) When I worship there, I feel actively, physically involved in the liturgy.
My usual place of worship is a Lutheran church where a number of people in the congregation sign themselves in the course of the liturgy, and I have grown to feel comfortable in joining them in the custom.
Perhaps many Protestants resist signing themselves because they perceive it as a superstitious act—like the prize fighter making the sign to secure God’s power behind his punch, or the ball player at bat asking for God to help him hit a curve ball, or as a means of garnering less athletic blessings in everyday life. For some it is superstition, just as for some Protestants prayer verges on superstition, a means of getting what we want rather than opening ourselves to what God wants. We do not abandon prayer, however, simply because some treat it in superstitious fashion. Nor should we abandon signing ourselves with the cross of Christ.
Do you sign yourself with the cross? Where and how did you decide to do this? How has making the sign of the cross affected your worship?
Sunday, September 19, 2010
I Love a Parade
It’s been years now since I saw a video on liturgical renewal featuring Robert E. Webber, professor at Northern Baptist Theological Seminary in Lombard, Illinois, but it left a lasting impression on me. In the video, Webber strongly advocated having at the top of the worship service a formal procession of choir and clergy with other worship leaders, moving from the entrance to the front of the room during the congregational singing of a hymn.
I remember being impressed with how strongly he urged viewers to go home and establish a procession as a necessary ingredient to Sunday worship. Webber was sure this would make a significant improvement in the quality of liturgy. I think he had a point.
I don’t remember all Webber’s reasons that everyone ought to start off with an entrance processional, but over the years I’ve come up with my own.
While the active participants in a processional would seem to be the leaders/enablers of the people’s worship, in a real way the people themselves take part. They are not mere bystanders viewing the festivities from the curb. The people are drawn into the procession by their singing, and by following its progress from entrance to front.
The procession will be headed up by a person carrying a large cross—that person is known as a “crucifer,” a cross-bearer. This becomes the visual focus of the procession that all can follow. The cross, of course, is the sign of our risen Lord, whom we are to follow throughout life. As we begin our Lord’s Day worship, we are visually reminded who has led us to this place.
The first words preceding the processional hymn will call the people’s attention to the cross—the people then stand and face the entrance and turn to follow the cross as it passes. This part of the service is led from the baptismal font, which is ideally placed near where people come into the church.
A procession is, like all liturgical actions, symbolic. The parade of worship leaders stands for the entrance of all worshippers as well, and the procession then has the effect of assembling the people into one worshipping community.
There is a certain solemnity to a formal procession. It signals the seriousness of the occasion. We do not “come before” the Almighty casually. The procession in song is in effect an audio-visual call to worship that sets the tome for the whole service.
At the same time, the action is celebrative. We all love parades because they ring with rejoicing, and the procession into church should be no exception. The hymn accompanying the entrance will be up-beat and all will sing full-voiced.
There are those, I suppose, who can go over the top with a processional and make it into a spectacle. The marchers can proceed in lock-step via a round-about route, when all they need to do is go directly from one place to another, rejoicing. There does not need to be fretting and fussing over details. If someone makes a “mistake,” it just proves they are human. Overdoing this entrance parade can make the whole thing stilted and rigid, and ultimately boring.
(The other half of the processional is the exit parade, the recessional. The symbolic significance is very much the same, except now we are entering the world following our Lord. Again the congregation participates in the parade visually and vocally.)
Now all of this is well and good, and having a procession to start off our worship service is a good idea, but there are barriers to what I’ve described—architectural barriers.
For example, in two of the churches where I often preach, a processional of choir and clergy and other worship leaders would be very difficult, if not impossible, without major architectural changes.
In one church, the choir is situated at the back of the congregation, just inside the entrance. So they have no place to process to—they’re already there. This arrangement is designed to provide maximum choral support for congregational singing. It also minimizes treating anthems as performances and encourages choral work as accompaniment to prayerful contemplation.
The other church arrangement is different. The choir is placed behind the pulpit and lectern on a high platform. To get there they’d not only have to climb a number of steps, but funnel through a small gate to their places. When I’ve preached there, the worship leaders assembled in a coat room off the choir loft, and simply took their places when the service was ready to start. The good part of that arrangement is that, considering the configuration of the whole room, the choir is in an excellent position to encourage congregational singing.
For a processional coming in and an exiting recessional, a lot depends on what architecture offers or restricts. Sometimes minor changes or rearrangement of furniture can make enough difference.
Do you have a processional/recessional in your worship service? Do you have a crucifer? Does your architecture present barriers?
I remember being impressed with how strongly he urged viewers to go home and establish a procession as a necessary ingredient to Sunday worship. Webber was sure this would make a significant improvement in the quality of liturgy. I think he had a point.
I don’t remember all Webber’s reasons that everyone ought to start off with an entrance processional, but over the years I’ve come up with my own.
While the active participants in a processional would seem to be the leaders/enablers of the people’s worship, in a real way the people themselves take part. They are not mere bystanders viewing the festivities from the curb. The people are drawn into the procession by their singing, and by following its progress from entrance to front.
The procession will be headed up by a person carrying a large cross—that person is known as a “crucifer,” a cross-bearer. This becomes the visual focus of the procession that all can follow. The cross, of course, is the sign of our risen Lord, whom we are to follow throughout life. As we begin our Lord’s Day worship, we are visually reminded who has led us to this place.
The first words preceding the processional hymn will call the people’s attention to the cross—the people then stand and face the entrance and turn to follow the cross as it passes. This part of the service is led from the baptismal font, which is ideally placed near where people come into the church.
A procession is, like all liturgical actions, symbolic. The parade of worship leaders stands for the entrance of all worshippers as well, and the procession then has the effect of assembling the people into one worshipping community.
There is a certain solemnity to a formal procession. It signals the seriousness of the occasion. We do not “come before” the Almighty casually. The procession in song is in effect an audio-visual call to worship that sets the tome for the whole service.
At the same time, the action is celebrative. We all love parades because they ring with rejoicing, and the procession into church should be no exception. The hymn accompanying the entrance will be up-beat and all will sing full-voiced.
There are those, I suppose, who can go over the top with a processional and make it into a spectacle. The marchers can proceed in lock-step via a round-about route, when all they need to do is go directly from one place to another, rejoicing. There does not need to be fretting and fussing over details. If someone makes a “mistake,” it just proves they are human. Overdoing this entrance parade can make the whole thing stilted and rigid, and ultimately boring.
(The other half of the processional is the exit parade, the recessional. The symbolic significance is very much the same, except now we are entering the world following our Lord. Again the congregation participates in the parade visually and vocally.)
Now all of this is well and good, and having a procession to start off our worship service is a good idea, but there are barriers to what I’ve described—architectural barriers.
For example, in two of the churches where I often preach, a processional of choir and clergy and other worship leaders would be very difficult, if not impossible, without major architectural changes.
In one church, the choir is situated at the back of the congregation, just inside the entrance. So they have no place to process to—they’re already there. This arrangement is designed to provide maximum choral support for congregational singing. It also minimizes treating anthems as performances and encourages choral work as accompaniment to prayerful contemplation.
The other church arrangement is different. The choir is placed behind the pulpit and lectern on a high platform. To get there they’d not only have to climb a number of steps, but funnel through a small gate to their places. When I’ve preached there, the worship leaders assembled in a coat room off the choir loft, and simply took their places when the service was ready to start. The good part of that arrangement is that, considering the configuration of the whole room, the choir is in an excellent position to encourage congregational singing.
For a processional coming in and an exiting recessional, a lot depends on what architecture offers or restricts. Sometimes minor changes or rearrangement of furniture can make enough difference.
Do you have a processional/recessional in your worship service? Do you have a crucifer? Does your architecture present barriers?
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Stepping Back
Sometimes it’s just a good idea to take a step back and look at what we’re doing in worship. We can get lost in the details of picking hymns or writing prayers or crafting sermons and lose sight of the larger picture.
There are at least two overarching perspectives to be considered when we ponder the event, the “happening” that we call Christian worship.
Corporate Worship
One is the fact that Christian worship is always corporate worship—a group experience. The Church is essentially a “gathering” of people, those who are “called out” from the general population of humankind, the “ekklesia.” We assemble in “congregations,” from the Latin for “gather together.”
At no time and in no place is the Church more the Church than when gathered at the hour for worship on the Lord’s Day.
There are those who get nervous about such assertions because they think they reject the authenticity of individual prayer, or even suggest that Christians have no solo access to God. On the contrary, understanding worship, all worship, to be corporate, supports the notion of personal prayer.
When we were in the initial stages of planning the Daily Prayer book, we each were assigned a prayer book to use for ourselves. For most of us, this would be a one-person exercise. The one I used was Christian Prayer: The Liturgy of the Hours, published by the Catholic Book Publishing Company in 1976. It is an impressive, if ponderous, 2000-page resource. I used it for more than six months, morning, midday, evening, and night.
I remember clearly one morning sitting at my breakfast table reading aloud the morning service, when there came over me the “aha” realization that I was not doing this alone, that somewhere in many places there were others praying the same prayers, reciting or singing the same psalms, meditating on the same scripture. My little breakfast-table worship was part of the Church’s worship. So it is with every Christian who prays or reads the Word in scripture—that single person is with the whole Church at worship.
One implication of this is, however, that solo prayer or praise without the shared experience of worship with others is on thin ice. It is in the community of God’s people, gathered by God, that we find support and encouragement to bravely open ourselves to the Spirit, submit ourselves not only to God, but to one another “in the Lord,” and welcome change and renewal for our lives. Without that community to hold us upright, our privatization of prayer is in jeopardy of dropping into self-righteous self-service, a self-centered “me-and-God” attitude hardly worthy to be called worship.
Divine Initiative
We’ve got to get over the notion that worship of Almighty God is a really good idea that we dreamed up. It’s not our idea at all. It’s God’s.
Here’s that New Testament word for Church again: “ekklesia,” referring to those who are “called out” by God to be God’s own people, summoned by Christ to be his disciples.
This is why we use a Call to Worship at the beginning of our services, words from Holy Scripture summoning us to come together and praise God. This is clearly not our summons, it is God’s.
If the local custom is to begin the Sunday morning gathering with announcements, there would appropriately be a welcome from the worship leader to all, especially visitors, newcomers. This should not be given from the pulpit or lectern, but from the aisle among the people, in order to distinguish it from God’s welcome in the Call to Worship, spoken from pulpit or platform.
It’s important to remember this Divine Initiative. We don’t come on our own motivation to worship in order to reach out to God. Flip that around. We come to worship because God has already reached out to us in Jesus Christ, and called us to come celebrate that glorious fact.
A good part of Christian liturgy is remembering (anamnesis) what God has done in order to be more alert to what God is doing in our lives, in our world. God has taken the first step in accomplishing our salvation in the Incarnation, the entrance of the Divine into human form, into human history. In the birth, life, ministry, death, resurrection and ascension of Jesus Christ, God has called us, claimed our lives. Because of what God has done in Jesus Christ, we know God’s persistent presence with us, within us.
Our worship, then, is response to the Divine Initiative, a ritual of common remembering and thanksgiving, renewed commitment, and celebration.
These are two broad but critical matters to keep in mind about worship, yet I’m sure you can think of others equally as important. Drop me a comment or two.
There are at least two overarching perspectives to be considered when we ponder the event, the “happening” that we call Christian worship.
Corporate Worship
One is the fact that Christian worship is always corporate worship—a group experience. The Church is essentially a “gathering” of people, those who are “called out” from the general population of humankind, the “ekklesia.” We assemble in “congregations,” from the Latin for “gather together.”
At no time and in no place is the Church more the Church than when gathered at the hour for worship on the Lord’s Day.
There are those who get nervous about such assertions because they think they reject the authenticity of individual prayer, or even suggest that Christians have no solo access to God. On the contrary, understanding worship, all worship, to be corporate, supports the notion of personal prayer.
When we were in the initial stages of planning the Daily Prayer book, we each were assigned a prayer book to use for ourselves. For most of us, this would be a one-person exercise. The one I used was Christian Prayer: The Liturgy of the Hours, published by the Catholic Book Publishing Company in 1976. It is an impressive, if ponderous, 2000-page resource. I used it for more than six months, morning, midday, evening, and night.
I remember clearly one morning sitting at my breakfast table reading aloud the morning service, when there came over me the “aha” realization that I was not doing this alone, that somewhere in many places there were others praying the same prayers, reciting or singing the same psalms, meditating on the same scripture. My little breakfast-table worship was part of the Church’s worship. So it is with every Christian who prays or reads the Word in scripture—that single person is with the whole Church at worship.
One implication of this is, however, that solo prayer or praise without the shared experience of worship with others is on thin ice. It is in the community of God’s people, gathered by God, that we find support and encouragement to bravely open ourselves to the Spirit, submit ourselves not only to God, but to one another “in the Lord,” and welcome change and renewal for our lives. Without that community to hold us upright, our privatization of prayer is in jeopardy of dropping into self-righteous self-service, a self-centered “me-and-God” attitude hardly worthy to be called worship.
Divine Initiative
We’ve got to get over the notion that worship of Almighty God is a really good idea that we dreamed up. It’s not our idea at all. It’s God’s.
Here’s that New Testament word for Church again: “ekklesia,” referring to those who are “called out” by God to be God’s own people, summoned by Christ to be his disciples.
This is why we use a Call to Worship at the beginning of our services, words from Holy Scripture summoning us to come together and praise God. This is clearly not our summons, it is God’s.
If the local custom is to begin the Sunday morning gathering with announcements, there would appropriately be a welcome from the worship leader to all, especially visitors, newcomers. This should not be given from the pulpit or lectern, but from the aisle among the people, in order to distinguish it from God’s welcome in the Call to Worship, spoken from pulpit or platform.
It’s important to remember this Divine Initiative. We don’t come on our own motivation to worship in order to reach out to God. Flip that around. We come to worship because God has already reached out to us in Jesus Christ, and called us to come celebrate that glorious fact.
A good part of Christian liturgy is remembering (anamnesis) what God has done in order to be more alert to what God is doing in our lives, in our world. God has taken the first step in accomplishing our salvation in the Incarnation, the entrance of the Divine into human form, into human history. In the birth, life, ministry, death, resurrection and ascension of Jesus Christ, God has called us, claimed our lives. Because of what God has done in Jesus Christ, we know God’s persistent presence with us, within us.
Our worship, then, is response to the Divine Initiative, a ritual of common remembering and thanksgiving, renewed commitment, and celebration.
These are two broad but critical matters to keep in mind about worship, yet I’m sure you can think of others equally as important. Drop me a comment or two.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Being Picky
Preparing a sermon isn’t necessarily the hardest part of getting ready for Sunday. There is always the selection of what hymns to sing.
Sometimes rummaging through some 600 hymns in the Presbyterian Hymnal to snag three or four perfect ones for a particular Lord’s Day can be an arduous task. So it helps to have a plan, a process for locating fitting songs for the congregation to sing in praise of God and in affirmation of their faith.
Finding the needle-like hymns in the hymnal-haystack can be made easier if you know what all the choices are. We preachers are more occupied with the texts before us and think in terms of words rather than music. Therefore, it is a good idea to enlist the cooperation of our musical colleagues, the choir directors, organists, and ministers of music whom we work with.
Here’s an idea: Set aside an evening for clergy, musicians and worship planners and leaders to gather around the piano and sing through the hymnal. Of course, you won’t get very far in just a couple of hours, but you might well cover hymns for an up-coming season, at least enough to make selecting the right ones for those Sundays easier. The process can be repeated several times through the year, and you can bet that after a while clergy will know better what the possibilities are.
With the foundation of the sing-along sessions supporting them, clergy and musicians will be better equipped to fulfill other criteria in the selection of hymns.
A primary consideration, of course, is that the hymns (at least the one following the sermon) appropriately connect with the preached message. When the hymns and the proclamation from the pulpit jibe, the message is reinforced considerably. Singing enables memory, and the sung words of a hymn will stick in the congregation’s consciousness beyond the front door of the church.
Furthermore, a thematic agreement among the hymns and sermon provides integrity to the whole service. This is no small thing. When hymns are randomly chosen and plopped in the designated slots without thought, the orderliness of the worship service is left in shambles. Such disarray is not lost on the worshipper but translates into confusion of faith.
Worship planners also need to pay attention to the location of the hymn in the order of service. Sometimes, for example, the hymn following the sermon may also provide a suitable lead-in for what comes next, the prayers of the people. Opening hymns will most likely be praise-oriented, but may also introduce the time of confession and pardon. How the hymn moves the service along is an important consideration.
In the sing-along sessions, clergy and musicians will find wonderful hymns with melodies that are less than easily singable. These can be flagged for introduction by the choir as anthems in services prior to the service when they will be sung by the congregation. It’s okay also to have a brief rehearsal for the congregation during the announcements before the beginning of the service.
Inevitably, people will clamor for selection of the “golden oldies.” There’s no denying that there are in the church’s song bag a number of wonderful hymns, and it would be a mistake to neglect them. Novelty is not everything. Hymn selection is a balancing act, and the old and the new can work well together.
We should never underestimate the power and value of hymnody in our worship. Someone once said that most of us Christians learn our theology from the hymns we sang as we were growing up, and those we sing now. Therefore, it is critical that we pay attention to the theology expressed in hymns. Is the hymn individualistic, a me-and-God approach, or does it place the worshipper in the company of faith? Does the hymn offer only rewards at the end of life, or does it point to resources to meet life’s challenges now? Is God perceived as our buddy and pal, or as the Other, the Almighty who is nevertheless reaching toward us? And so forth.
It’s an important task to be performed in picking hymns, and it’s necessary to be picky about it.
What kind of process is followed in your church to choose hymns? Do the clergy and musicians consult regularly about hymn selection?
Sometimes rummaging through some 600 hymns in the Presbyterian Hymnal to snag three or four perfect ones for a particular Lord’s Day can be an arduous task. So it helps to have a plan, a process for locating fitting songs for the congregation to sing in praise of God and in affirmation of their faith.
Finding the needle-like hymns in the hymnal-haystack can be made easier if you know what all the choices are. We preachers are more occupied with the texts before us and think in terms of words rather than music. Therefore, it is a good idea to enlist the cooperation of our musical colleagues, the choir directors, organists, and ministers of music whom we work with.
Here’s an idea: Set aside an evening for clergy, musicians and worship planners and leaders to gather around the piano and sing through the hymnal. Of course, you won’t get very far in just a couple of hours, but you might well cover hymns for an up-coming season, at least enough to make selecting the right ones for those Sundays easier. The process can be repeated several times through the year, and you can bet that after a while clergy will know better what the possibilities are.
With the foundation of the sing-along sessions supporting them, clergy and musicians will be better equipped to fulfill other criteria in the selection of hymns.
A primary consideration, of course, is that the hymns (at least the one following the sermon) appropriately connect with the preached message. When the hymns and the proclamation from the pulpit jibe, the message is reinforced considerably. Singing enables memory, and the sung words of a hymn will stick in the congregation’s consciousness beyond the front door of the church.
Furthermore, a thematic agreement among the hymns and sermon provides integrity to the whole service. This is no small thing. When hymns are randomly chosen and plopped in the designated slots without thought, the orderliness of the worship service is left in shambles. Such disarray is not lost on the worshipper but translates into confusion of faith.
Worship planners also need to pay attention to the location of the hymn in the order of service. Sometimes, for example, the hymn following the sermon may also provide a suitable lead-in for what comes next, the prayers of the people. Opening hymns will most likely be praise-oriented, but may also introduce the time of confession and pardon. How the hymn moves the service along is an important consideration.
In the sing-along sessions, clergy and musicians will find wonderful hymns with melodies that are less than easily singable. These can be flagged for introduction by the choir as anthems in services prior to the service when they will be sung by the congregation. It’s okay also to have a brief rehearsal for the congregation during the announcements before the beginning of the service.
Inevitably, people will clamor for selection of the “golden oldies.” There’s no denying that there are in the church’s song bag a number of wonderful hymns, and it would be a mistake to neglect them. Novelty is not everything. Hymn selection is a balancing act, and the old and the new can work well together.
We should never underestimate the power and value of hymnody in our worship. Someone once said that most of us Christians learn our theology from the hymns we sang as we were growing up, and those we sing now. Therefore, it is critical that we pay attention to the theology expressed in hymns. Is the hymn individualistic, a me-and-God approach, or does it place the worshipper in the company of faith? Does the hymn offer only rewards at the end of life, or does it point to resources to meet life’s challenges now? Is God perceived as our buddy and pal, or as the Other, the Almighty who is nevertheless reaching toward us? And so forth.
It’s an important task to be performed in picking hymns, and it’s necessary to be picky about it.
What kind of process is followed in your church to choose hymns? Do the clergy and musicians consult regularly about hymn selection?
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