Some words, especially when used as an adjective, can be dangerous, as is the case with “reformed” when used as a modifier of “worship.”
The danger is, of course, that it implies that worship, when carried out by those in the Reformed Tradition, is utterly circumscribed by the theological dogma produced in the 16th Century. The word “Reformed” brands the liturgy, and confines, constricts and otherwise inhibits the worship of the people. Such labeling neglects basic concepts that are part and parcel of worship as conceived and carried out in Presbyterian and other reformed congregations.
The Protestant Reformers came up with a wonderful idea about five centuries ago. They captured it in a slogan: “Ecclesia reformata semper reformanda.” This is usually translated, “The church reformed, always being reformed.” This is the principle of on-going reform, refreshment and renewal of worship.
Worship is not static but dynamic. Any attempt to crystallize worship into the one-size-fits-all people and occasions usually results in fossilizing it instead. From Sunday to Sunday the people change and so may the conditions and situations surrounding them—therefore, for example, the service that “worked” last Christmas Eve in all likelihood would be out of sync if used word for word and note for note the next Christmas Eve. As we find ourselves beset by changes, so our worship of the Almighty will find fresh expression.
Also, because our worship is reformed, planners and preparers will take into account the full history and tradition of Christian worship. We are not liturgical orphans, but have a spiritual DNA and voluminous records of our family of faith to inform us when we praise and thank God. Sometimes our reform of worship means remembering some of what we have too easily forgotten.
Often we act as though “history” means what can be brought up by living memory. Especially this is true in congregations who have “always” sung certain hymns and not others, or who insist on reciting the “traditional” Lord’s Prayer.
Because we have a liturgical past, we are delivered from the madness of re-inventing everything for the sake of novelty. If we only knew, we’d be surprised to discover that much of what is conjured up and proclaimed as the latest and greatest has been around for centuries. Rediscovering the old, however, can be as refreshing and vitalizing as venturing forth where none has gone before.
Those who are concerned for good liturgy tend to be conservative, in the best sense of the word. They like to preserve liturgical traditions, with thoughtful up-dating and re-shaping. The world of the twenty-first century is a long way from the first three centuries, yet much that was fashioned for Christian worship in the beginning is helpful to us today in appropriating ancient principles for contemporary worship. Furthermore, what has persisted over the centuries and is still used and useful to today’s people in the pews should be taken seriously. What is solid makes a good place to stand for moving ahead.
Reformed worship also has an ecumenical aspect to it. While the Protestant Reformers wanted to reclaim the fullness of Christian tradition in its purity, the liturgical practice of Reformed churches has not done it justice.
We who worship in the Reformed tradition need to remember that, just as liturgical history did not begin “when our pastor arrived,” it also goes back far beyond even 1514, and reaches far beyond the boundaries of the United States or even Europe. We should realize how dependent we are on traditions that have made emphases far different from ours. In the interest of making our worship the best Christian worship that we can, we should be alert to insights and contributions from other Protestant, Roman Catholic, and Orthodox churches. Thus we are called to account to the larger tradition of the whole church, and from this dynamic tension we are nudged into continuing liturgical reformation.
Referring back to the Reformation slogan, you’ll notice that we are “the church, always being reformed.” Renewal of worship, just as the renewal of the church, is not something we accomplish either on our own initiative or by our own strength. No matter how hard we yank on our own bootstraps, we’re not likely to get far off the floor and hover there. Renewal, real reform, comes from the Spirit. Therefore, worship that is truly “being reformed” in the sense of the slogan will come forth from a prayerful theological process into which the Spirit is welcomed.
What in your congregation’s worship needs to “be reformed”? What do you find in Roman Catholic or Orthodox worship, or that of other Protestants that would enrich your worship? What do you know of Muslim of Jewish worship that might inform your Christian worship?
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Sunday, May 8, 2011
A Sensitive Subject
For some twenty-five years, the congregation I served had a remarkable relationship with a neighboring synagogue. From time to time, members from both places would assemble to study Scripture or debate the role of faith in public issues. At least annually there were opportunities for the clergy to swap pulpits and the congregants to worship together in each other’s liturgical homes.
In preparing for the services which we knew would include our Jewish friends, we were self-conscious at first. Obviously they would not acknowledge Jesus as we do, so the temptation was to edit our services to minimize the awkwardness.
In picking hymns, for example, we thought that “The God of Abraham Praise” would be a good choice, or maybe “Guide Me, O Thou Great Jehovah” rather than an explicitly Christ-centered song.
Or maybe we’d think about phrasing the prayers differently, instead of “in the name of Jesus Christ” we might say instead “in the Lord’s name.”
All this in an effort to be nice and not offensive to our Jewish friends.
The first time we did such a worship-exchange, however, we discovered that this was one big mistake. Such editing, to our Jewish friends, was considered to be disingenuous. As one member of the synagogue put it, “When we come to your place, we expect to experience your worship, not some watered-down version that’s been altered to please us. If you do that, we won’t trust you.”
I remember talking to the rabbi on another occasion about the liturgical fad in some Christian churches to refer to the Old Testament as the Hebrew Scriptures. He gave me a bit of a scowl and said, “To us they are ‘Hebrew Scriptures’—they’re your ‘Old Testament’. Why would you ever want to use our term? Keep them straight.”
Candor in worship is essential. We are who we are, and when we worship with people of other faiths, even with other Christians, we do well to be our true selves. We can do that both honestly and graciously.
I was reminded of all this when I saw “A Note on the Readings” in the Good Friday Service bulletin of Trinity Episcopal Church in Boston. It started out, “Of all the worship services in the Christian year, the Good Friday liturgy poses some of the most difficult and painful problems for us in our relationship with our Jewish brothers and sisters. That is a special concern in our use of the story of Christ’s Passion as told in John’s Gospel. John refers repeatedly to ‘the Jews’ as those who ultimately are responsible for putting Jesus to death.”
The note continues with two explanations: The suggestion by some scholars that John placed more “blame” on the Jews because it was more prudent than blaming the Romans; and that John’s reference to “the Jews” was only to a small group of Jewish leaders.
The note concludes: “In short, ‘the Jews’ in John’s account are you and I, or those parts of all of us, who out of self-protection, hard-heartedness, and fear of change or surrender, deny our Lord.”
It struck me that there was in all likelihood not one Jew in the room that Good Friday to read the note. It was clearly addressed to the people there that afternoon, and to every Christian. I hoped that the worshippers would snatch up an extra bulletin or two on the way out and use them as opportunities for discussion with their Jewish friends.
Furthermore, I was impressed by the candor of the note in acknowledging a problem, or a potential one, and trying to head it off at the pass. This is not a small issue, either, in our relationships with Jews, and the leaders at Trinity Church know it.
The explanations given were not apologies but acknowledgements. The honesty of the note was rock-hard in its admission that John may have been scapegoating the Jews to save his and other Christians’ skins. There was no disingenuousness that suggested the note was saying one thing and meaning another.
It is only with this kind of clarification and candor that worship can take place “in spirit and in truth”. In this day and age it is increasingly important that we Christians reach out to others in shared worship and common prayer—especially with our Jewish and Muslim cousins, descendants as we are of Abraham. We should be a straightforward and guile free as possible.
Does your congregation have opportunities to worship with congregants of local synagogues or mosques? Does your congregation have opportunities to welcome Jews and Muslims to your worship? Have you experienced pulpit exchanges with rabbis and imams?
In preparing for the services which we knew would include our Jewish friends, we were self-conscious at first. Obviously they would not acknowledge Jesus as we do, so the temptation was to edit our services to minimize the awkwardness.
In picking hymns, for example, we thought that “The God of Abraham Praise” would be a good choice, or maybe “Guide Me, O Thou Great Jehovah” rather than an explicitly Christ-centered song.
Or maybe we’d think about phrasing the prayers differently, instead of “in the name of Jesus Christ” we might say instead “in the Lord’s name.”
All this in an effort to be nice and not offensive to our Jewish friends.
The first time we did such a worship-exchange, however, we discovered that this was one big mistake. Such editing, to our Jewish friends, was considered to be disingenuous. As one member of the synagogue put it, “When we come to your place, we expect to experience your worship, not some watered-down version that’s been altered to please us. If you do that, we won’t trust you.”
I remember talking to the rabbi on another occasion about the liturgical fad in some Christian churches to refer to the Old Testament as the Hebrew Scriptures. He gave me a bit of a scowl and said, “To us they are ‘Hebrew Scriptures’—they’re your ‘Old Testament’. Why would you ever want to use our term? Keep them straight.”
Candor in worship is essential. We are who we are, and when we worship with people of other faiths, even with other Christians, we do well to be our true selves. We can do that both honestly and graciously.
I was reminded of all this when I saw “A Note on the Readings” in the Good Friday Service bulletin of Trinity Episcopal Church in Boston. It started out, “Of all the worship services in the Christian year, the Good Friday liturgy poses some of the most difficult and painful problems for us in our relationship with our Jewish brothers and sisters. That is a special concern in our use of the story of Christ’s Passion as told in John’s Gospel. John refers repeatedly to ‘the Jews’ as those who ultimately are responsible for putting Jesus to death.”
The note continues with two explanations: The suggestion by some scholars that John placed more “blame” on the Jews because it was more prudent than blaming the Romans; and that John’s reference to “the Jews” was only to a small group of Jewish leaders.
The note concludes: “In short, ‘the Jews’ in John’s account are you and I, or those parts of all of us, who out of self-protection, hard-heartedness, and fear of change or surrender, deny our Lord.”
It struck me that there was in all likelihood not one Jew in the room that Good Friday to read the note. It was clearly addressed to the people there that afternoon, and to every Christian. I hoped that the worshippers would snatch up an extra bulletin or two on the way out and use them as opportunities for discussion with their Jewish friends.
Furthermore, I was impressed by the candor of the note in acknowledging a problem, or a potential one, and trying to head it off at the pass. This is not a small issue, either, in our relationships with Jews, and the leaders at Trinity Church know it.
The explanations given were not apologies but acknowledgements. The honesty of the note was rock-hard in its admission that John may have been scapegoating the Jews to save his and other Christians’ skins. There was no disingenuousness that suggested the note was saying one thing and meaning another.
It is only with this kind of clarification and candor that worship can take place “in spirit and in truth”. In this day and age it is increasingly important that we Christians reach out to others in shared worship and common prayer—especially with our Jewish and Muslim cousins, descendants as we are of Abraham. We should be a straightforward and guile free as possible.
Does your congregation have opportunities to worship with congregants of local synagogues or mosques? Does your congregation have opportunities to welcome Jews and Muslims to your worship? Have you experienced pulpit exchanges with rabbis and imams?
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Putting in a Substitute
A new experience awaited me this morning at the neighborhood Lutheran church I often attend.
Today was the Second Sunday of Easter, and, said the pastor, it would be appropriate to exercise the option in the Evangelical Lutheran Worship to substitute “Thanksgiving for Baptism” for “Confession and Forgiveness.” He told me after the service that he intended to continue the switch through the Season of Easter.
It has long been customary in the Lutheran tradition to begin worship with a straightforward prayer of confession and the affirmation of God’s forgiveness. Luther was one who wanted the confessional to go public, so that we admit what is haywire in our lives not only in relative privacy to God, but also publically in front of one another.
In the Lutheran liturgy such a confessional exercise is at the top of the order, the very first thing that transpires, led either from the entrance to the church or from the baptismal font. This is unlike the usual placement of confession of sin and forgiveness in Presbyterian orders, either after all are gathered and a hymn is sung at the beginning, or following the intercessions immediately before the Eucharist.
In place of the confession of sin, the pastor, standing at the baptismal font, invoked the Trinity making the sign of the cross, and continued with the “Thanksgiving for Baptism”:
Joined to Christ in the waters of baptism,
we are clothed with God’s mercy and forgiveness.
Let us give thanks for the gift of baptism.
Water may be poured into the font as the presiding minister gives thanks.
We give you thanks, O God,
for in the beginning your Spirit moved over the waters
and by your Word you created the world,
calling forth life in which you took delight.
Through the waters of the flood
you delivered Noah and his family.
Through the sea you led your people Israel
from slavery into freedom.
At the river your Son was baptized by John
and anointed with the Holy Spirit.
By water and your Word
you claim us as daughters and sons,
making us heirs of your promise
and servants of all.
We praise you for the gift of water that sustains life,
and above all we praise you for
the gift of new life in Jesus Christ.
Shower us with your Spirit,
and renew our lives with your forgiveness, grace, and love.
To you be given honor and praise
through Jesus Christ our Lord
in the unity of the Holy Spirit, now and forever.
Amen.
Remembering our baptisms at the beginning of the worship service is certainly an appropriate liturgical action. In this instance, the pastor indicated that it fit the Easter Season especially, since in baptism we die in Christ and are raised with him to new life.
Furthermore, starting with celebrating one’s baptism is certainly a more positive and affirmative opening to worship than the negative aura of confessing one’s sins openly. Following upon Lent, a season heavy with repentance and discipline, it is certainly more up-beat to acknowledge in the season of resurrection the positive claim God has on our lives by virtue of our baptism.
Baptism is also the “basic ordination” of the Christian, by which we are set to the business of being the Body of Christ, the Church, in the world. Starting worship from the font with that focus on whose we are and who we are to be is a strong opening for our praise of God.
At least, I suspect that is something of the rationale for this substitution, and it all makes sense. Replacing the confession of sin with thanksgiving for baptism, however, left me with a different impression.
Without some of the humility that comes with confession, launching the service with thanks for being baptized and all the blessings that baptism involves does sound a bit self-congratulatory. It also has the ring of exclusiveness, suggesting that perhaps this worship service is for baptized people only. Furthermore, the whole tone of the thanksgiving for baptism here is that the people are merely passive recipients of God’s grace, and there is no responsibility that goes with it except to say thanks to God.
Rather than a mere thanks to God for our baptisms, better to have a renewal of baptismal vows—a variety of such liturgies are available in the Book of Common Worship (1993). Then baptism is not celebrated passively, but commitments are renewed and activated again.
Both the confession of sin and the reaffirmation of baptismal vows provide a combined emphasis on renewal of our lives. We are sinners, forgiven by the grace of God, and claimed by baptism to live out the new life we have received by the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, in the power of the Spirit.
Do you have a prayer of confession at the beginning of your Sunday worship? Does the presider or leader lead the prayer of confession from the baptismal font? Does your congregation make use of the liturgies for reaffirming baptismal vows? If so, when?
Today was the Second Sunday of Easter, and, said the pastor, it would be appropriate to exercise the option in the Evangelical Lutheran Worship to substitute “Thanksgiving for Baptism” for “Confession and Forgiveness.” He told me after the service that he intended to continue the switch through the Season of Easter.
It has long been customary in the Lutheran tradition to begin worship with a straightforward prayer of confession and the affirmation of God’s forgiveness. Luther was one who wanted the confessional to go public, so that we admit what is haywire in our lives not only in relative privacy to God, but also publically in front of one another.
In the Lutheran liturgy such a confessional exercise is at the top of the order, the very first thing that transpires, led either from the entrance to the church or from the baptismal font. This is unlike the usual placement of confession of sin and forgiveness in Presbyterian orders, either after all are gathered and a hymn is sung at the beginning, or following the intercessions immediately before the Eucharist.
In place of the confession of sin, the pastor, standing at the baptismal font, invoked the Trinity making the sign of the cross, and continued with the “Thanksgiving for Baptism”:
Joined to Christ in the waters of baptism,
we are clothed with God’s mercy and forgiveness.
Let us give thanks for the gift of baptism.
Water may be poured into the font as the presiding minister gives thanks.
We give you thanks, O God,
for in the beginning your Spirit moved over the waters
and by your Word you created the world,
calling forth life in which you took delight.
Through the waters of the flood
you delivered Noah and his family.
Through the sea you led your people Israel
from slavery into freedom.
At the river your Son was baptized by John
and anointed with the Holy Spirit.
By water and your Word
you claim us as daughters and sons,
making us heirs of your promise
and servants of all.
We praise you for the gift of water that sustains life,
and above all we praise you for
the gift of new life in Jesus Christ.
Shower us with your Spirit,
and renew our lives with your forgiveness, grace, and love.
To you be given honor and praise
through Jesus Christ our Lord
in the unity of the Holy Spirit, now and forever.
Amen.
Remembering our baptisms at the beginning of the worship service is certainly an appropriate liturgical action. In this instance, the pastor indicated that it fit the Easter Season especially, since in baptism we die in Christ and are raised with him to new life.
Furthermore, starting with celebrating one’s baptism is certainly a more positive and affirmative opening to worship than the negative aura of confessing one’s sins openly. Following upon Lent, a season heavy with repentance and discipline, it is certainly more up-beat to acknowledge in the season of resurrection the positive claim God has on our lives by virtue of our baptism.
Baptism is also the “basic ordination” of the Christian, by which we are set to the business of being the Body of Christ, the Church, in the world. Starting worship from the font with that focus on whose we are and who we are to be is a strong opening for our praise of God.
At least, I suspect that is something of the rationale for this substitution, and it all makes sense. Replacing the confession of sin with thanksgiving for baptism, however, left me with a different impression.
Without some of the humility that comes with confession, launching the service with thanks for being baptized and all the blessings that baptism involves does sound a bit self-congratulatory. It also has the ring of exclusiveness, suggesting that perhaps this worship service is for baptized people only. Furthermore, the whole tone of the thanksgiving for baptism here is that the people are merely passive recipients of God’s grace, and there is no responsibility that goes with it except to say thanks to God.
Rather than a mere thanks to God for our baptisms, better to have a renewal of baptismal vows—a variety of such liturgies are available in the Book of Common Worship (1993). Then baptism is not celebrated passively, but commitments are renewed and activated again.
Both the confession of sin and the reaffirmation of baptismal vows provide a combined emphasis on renewal of our lives. We are sinners, forgiven by the grace of God, and claimed by baptism to live out the new life we have received by the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, in the power of the Spirit.
Do you have a prayer of confession at the beginning of your Sunday worship? Does the presider or leader lead the prayer of confession from the baptismal font? Does your congregation make use of the liturgies for reaffirming baptismal vows? If so, when?
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Easter Is Here to Stay
It’s no small irony that the defining event of Christianity is celebrated by many, if not most, people only briefly. Easter is commonly brushed off in a single day, even in one hour. Easter Sunday comes and goes like a breeze, and that’s that.
The observance of Easter seems to be getting short shrift when compared to the lengthy buildup of Lent. In that forty-day (not counting Sundays) season, we follow the journey of Jesus to the cross and grave—and then comes the wondrous and wonderful message, “He is risen!” Awe and Joy and Singing God’s praise on Easter Sunday—and Monday it’s back to business as usual.
This approach to Easter, of course, ignores the fact that Easter is not a day but a season that begins on Easter Sunday and continues for seven full weeks winding up with Pentecost. This kind of neglect of Easter celebration is, to say the least, problematic.
For one thing, such a downsizing of Easter throws the Christian Year all out of balance.
Lent is what you might call a “dark” season. It usually begins in the grayness of winter when the days are short and cold. Lent has shadows also because it’s a time of penitence and repentance, sacrifice and discipline. Lent is work, and it can be hard work.
The biblical story of Lent is a difficult one as well. Jesus endures and survives wily temptations and moves through a drama that includes rejection, betrayal, abandonment, brutality and an agonizing death. And that’s where Lent leaves us, with an aching sorrow about our Lord, our world, ourselves.
So, if only one day of rejoicing is called forth in answer to the resurrection of Jesus Christ, the response is woefully inadequate. If we leave it that way, then the tragedies of Lent are unrelieved and tend to swamp the joy of the resurrection.
It must be clear, however, that we’re not looking for the “happy ending” that makes everything come out all right at the end. The resurrection of Jesus Christ is not that happy ending but a new beginning—and that’s when the fresh life Jesus promised begins for each one of us. We do not grasp the meaning of that new life in a single day or hour. It takes time to let Easter penetrate our souls and find expression in everyday living.
That’s why there is a seven-week Season of Easter. The lectionary readings highlight the dimensions of what is in store. Instead of Old Testament readings about the people of God before Jesus, now we have readings from the Acts of the Apostles proclaiming the faith of the first followers of the Risen Christ. The Gospel lessons tell stories of doubting and faith, for Thomas and the two others on their way to Emmaus, and they rehearse the promises of Jesus about his presence with those he loves beyond all time.
The long Easter Season also gives us time to continue those disciplines we established during Lent—whether they were sacrifices or commitments, giving of ourselves in one way or another in the name of Jesus Christ. Easter people live that way all the time, not just for a season. Being disciples means that we are learners—we learn the way of Jesus, and we acknowledge his living presence as he teaches and leads us.
Nevertheless, it is devilishly easy to scale back Easter. So what might we do to emphasize Easter and make sure it’s here to stay?
Renewal of baptismal commitments is one way to remind ourselves whose we are, and whom we will serve. The Book of Common Worship (1993) offers a “renewal of the Baptismal Covenant for a Congregation” that fills the bill here.
Offerings throughout Easter could include specific commitments by people to carry out ministries within the congregation and to the community.
Additional study opportunities might be presented for times other than Sunday morning, not only for Bible study, but for serious scrutiny of issues of justice and peace around the world and around the corner.
A congregation might be brazen enough to have evening prayer at least once a week through the Season of Easter, bringing the concerns of real life to share with one another and offer to God.
Easter, after all, is the basis of our faith, and the foundation of Christian worship. During the Season of Easter we rejoice in all God’s blessings given in Jesus Christ who has died, but now is risen. This sets the theme for all our worship throughout the year when every Sunday is Easter Sunday.
What happens in your congregation to emphasize Easter as the longest and most important season of the church year?
The observance of Easter seems to be getting short shrift when compared to the lengthy buildup of Lent. In that forty-day (not counting Sundays) season, we follow the journey of Jesus to the cross and grave—and then comes the wondrous and wonderful message, “He is risen!” Awe and Joy and Singing God’s praise on Easter Sunday—and Monday it’s back to business as usual.
This approach to Easter, of course, ignores the fact that Easter is not a day but a season that begins on Easter Sunday and continues for seven full weeks winding up with Pentecost. This kind of neglect of Easter celebration is, to say the least, problematic.
For one thing, such a downsizing of Easter throws the Christian Year all out of balance.
Lent is what you might call a “dark” season. It usually begins in the grayness of winter when the days are short and cold. Lent has shadows also because it’s a time of penitence and repentance, sacrifice and discipline. Lent is work, and it can be hard work.
The biblical story of Lent is a difficult one as well. Jesus endures and survives wily temptations and moves through a drama that includes rejection, betrayal, abandonment, brutality and an agonizing death. And that’s where Lent leaves us, with an aching sorrow about our Lord, our world, ourselves.
So, if only one day of rejoicing is called forth in answer to the resurrection of Jesus Christ, the response is woefully inadequate. If we leave it that way, then the tragedies of Lent are unrelieved and tend to swamp the joy of the resurrection.
It must be clear, however, that we’re not looking for the “happy ending” that makes everything come out all right at the end. The resurrection of Jesus Christ is not that happy ending but a new beginning—and that’s when the fresh life Jesus promised begins for each one of us. We do not grasp the meaning of that new life in a single day or hour. It takes time to let Easter penetrate our souls and find expression in everyday living.
That’s why there is a seven-week Season of Easter. The lectionary readings highlight the dimensions of what is in store. Instead of Old Testament readings about the people of God before Jesus, now we have readings from the Acts of the Apostles proclaiming the faith of the first followers of the Risen Christ. The Gospel lessons tell stories of doubting and faith, for Thomas and the two others on their way to Emmaus, and they rehearse the promises of Jesus about his presence with those he loves beyond all time.
The long Easter Season also gives us time to continue those disciplines we established during Lent—whether they were sacrifices or commitments, giving of ourselves in one way or another in the name of Jesus Christ. Easter people live that way all the time, not just for a season. Being disciples means that we are learners—we learn the way of Jesus, and we acknowledge his living presence as he teaches and leads us.
Nevertheless, it is devilishly easy to scale back Easter. So what might we do to emphasize Easter and make sure it’s here to stay?
Renewal of baptismal commitments is one way to remind ourselves whose we are, and whom we will serve. The Book of Common Worship (1993) offers a “renewal of the Baptismal Covenant for a Congregation” that fills the bill here.
Offerings throughout Easter could include specific commitments by people to carry out ministries within the congregation and to the community.
Additional study opportunities might be presented for times other than Sunday morning, not only for Bible study, but for serious scrutiny of issues of justice and peace around the world and around the corner.
A congregation might be brazen enough to have evening prayer at least once a week through the Season of Easter, bringing the concerns of real life to share with one another and offer to God.
Easter, after all, is the basis of our faith, and the foundation of Christian worship. During the Season of Easter we rejoice in all God’s blessings given in Jesus Christ who has died, but now is risen. This sets the theme for all our worship throughout the year when every Sunday is Easter Sunday.
What happens in your congregation to emphasize Easter as the longest and most important season of the church year?
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Chanting
When
I was but a mere wisp of a lad, sitting with my parents in church, I took
particular delight in singing the variety of hymns and the other songs. My special favorite, which was repeated
almost every week, was my favorite, I think, because it was different from all
the rest.
“Glory
be to the Father…,” we sang on a single note before we moved on to more of a
melody. It didn’t have much of a melody,
however, at least not compared to the hymns, but I loved it. (See the
Presbyterian Hymnal, Glory to God, No.
580).
Apparently
that chant was not true-blue Presbyterian, but something borrowed from the Anglicans.
After what has been called “The Great Liturgical
Convergence” following Vatican II (when worship planners and leaders began to learn
from counterparts in other denominations and traditions), Presbyterians who saw
the value of chant were introducing it into worship. Now there are wonderful resources in the Presbyterian Psalter and the Book of Common Worship (1993), with Hal
Hopson’s Psalm Tones and Refrains in both.
Of
course, there are many other traditions of chant that also present glorious
possibilities for worship. The monks at
New Skete, an Orthodox monastery near my home, chant a good deal of their daily
office. Worshipping with them over a
period of time, I learned how chant emphasizes the text and encourages prayer
and contemplation. The monks, of course,
had lots of practice, chanting their prayers several hours every day.
Once
when I visited a large Lutheran church in Minneapolis, I was wowed by a whole
congregation of ordinary people chanting the morning psalms with gusto. It’s one thing to hear monastics chant, but
quite another to be part of a chanting congregation. That was a revelation, an epiphany—anybody can learn to chant biblical
texts like the Psalms!
Chanting
is a particular way of singing. Or,
perhaps it’s a particular way of speaking, since part of a chant is usually
recited all on one note. While the
pacing of the monotone text is even for each syllable, it can follow the
natural pacing of speech sometimes.
Another
distinguishing feature of chant is that unlike hymns, the lyrics of a chant do
not require either meter or rhyme. Prose
as well as poetry can be chanted. Biblical texts which are translations from
ancient languages, therefore, can more readily be chanted than re-translated or
paraphrased into a metrical version.
Chanting throws the field wide open as to what can be sung.
When
a text is chanted rather than spoken, the words slow down and are given more
attention. As someone put it, chanting italicizes the words. Chanting seems to foster meditation and
reflection on what is being said.
In
my neck of the woods, however, I find few who chant the Psalms. If the Psalms are part of Sunday worship at
all, they are in the “responsive reading” format. Even Episcopal churches I’ve attended, and
some of the Lutheran ones as well, often seem to fall back on this verbal
expression of the Psalter. It’s better
than nothing, I suppose, but not as good as could be offered up to God if we
put our minds and hearts to it.
Excellent
metrical versions of the Psalms are available in hymnals, and are often used as
a reasonable substitute. Yet
paraphrases, fresh as they are, do not always carry the full force of the
biblical text. At least, the Psalms are sung, and that’s an
accomplishment. Still chanting can be
done by a congregation and opens a whole new way to experience the Psalms and
make their prayers and praise our own.
It’s
not just the Psalms that we could and should be chanting either. There are other songs in Scripture (called
canticles) that deserve being lifted up in chant. Many of these have become “service music” to
be learned by the people and sung in chant for the Sunday liturgy and Daily
Prayer services.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Snippits of Dialogue
Some parts of the Sunday liturgy are so brief that we breeze right past them without bothering to think about their meaning. Take, for instance, those few lines of dialogue which deserve more attention than they usually get.
The snippets of dialogue at issue appear as a greeting in the Call to Worship at the beginning of the service:
The minister greets the people, saying one of the following:
The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ be with you all.
or
The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ,
the love of God,
and the communion of the Holy Spirit
be with you all.
or
The Lord be with you.
The people answer:
And also with you.
And then the minister continues with sentences of Scripture.
Perhaps to most people it is a perfunctory statement, the liturgical equivalent to “Hi, how are you?” with the standard reply, “Fine, and you?” The liturgical greeting at the start of the service, however, carries much more freight than the customary and ordinary “hello”.
The exchange is between the “presider” and the people at the worship service, and represents a mutual sharing of the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ. It is offered to all by the individual who is presiding, and returned by all those gathered to worship.
This brief transaction, in whatever form, represents nothing less than the acknowledgement of the worshipping community as the Body of Christ. “The Lord be with you,” and “And also with you,” are words that point to the oneness of the assembly in Jesus Christ.
It is not only unity that is announced in these bits of dialogue, it is also the fact that we are called to worship by our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, we come “in the Lord” to praise Almighty God.
Furthermore, the brief conversation between presider and people indicates that worship is the responsibility of the people. I choose the term “presider” rather than “Pastor” or “Leader because it has better connotations than the others. “Pastor” is a professional title, and leaves the impression that the Pastor is the one to make worship happen; “leader” similarly sounds like the one who has the script and will lead the people from one place to another.
“Presider,” on the other hand, brings up images of a governing body, the one presiding enabling the body to do its proper work, i.e., “liturgy” = “the work of the people.” Such a view stays away from performances by pastors or other leaders (including musicians) outranking the prayers and praise of the congregation.
The same dialogue appears at another point in the service, at the beginning of the Great Thanksgiving, the Eucharistic Prayer, this time with additional lines added:
The Lord be with you.
And also with you.
Lift up your hearts.
We lift them to the Lord.
Let us give thanks to the Lord our God.
It is right to give our thanks and praise.
All that has been said of the opening dialogue is true here: the exchange acknowledges the presence of Christ in the midst of the people; speaks of the unity of the body in Christ; points to the sharing of liturgical responsibility on the part of the people as well as the clergy and other leaders.
Even more at the top of the Eucharistic prayer do these emphases need to be made. A parishioner once spoke to me about the Great Thanksgiving as “that thing you do,” and he probably spoke for multitudes. It was thought of as the “priestly prayer,” a performance by the clergy, something in which the pew-sitters had no real part.
This opening dialogue, starting with the first two lines and building with the next four, should draw the people into this core ritual of Christian worship. The Great Thanksgiving is both central and essential, and the snippets of dialogue are important to call attention to the full participation of everyone gathered at the Table.
Does your worship open with one of the greetings? Are they spoken like dialogues, or just plainly read? Is the conversation introducing the Great Thanksgiving spoken with meaning, or simply “gotten through”?
The snippets of dialogue at issue appear as a greeting in the Call to Worship at the beginning of the service:
The minister greets the people, saying one of the following:
The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ be with you all.
or
The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ,
the love of God,
and the communion of the Holy Spirit
be with you all.
or
The Lord be with you.
The people answer:
And also with you.
And then the minister continues with sentences of Scripture.
Perhaps to most people it is a perfunctory statement, the liturgical equivalent to “Hi, how are you?” with the standard reply, “Fine, and you?” The liturgical greeting at the start of the service, however, carries much more freight than the customary and ordinary “hello”.
The exchange is between the “presider” and the people at the worship service, and represents a mutual sharing of the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ. It is offered to all by the individual who is presiding, and returned by all those gathered to worship.
This brief transaction, in whatever form, represents nothing less than the acknowledgement of the worshipping community as the Body of Christ. “The Lord be with you,” and “And also with you,” are words that point to the oneness of the assembly in Jesus Christ.
It is not only unity that is announced in these bits of dialogue, it is also the fact that we are called to worship by our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, we come “in the Lord” to praise Almighty God.
Furthermore, the brief conversation between presider and people indicates that worship is the responsibility of the people. I choose the term “presider” rather than “Pastor” or “Leader because it has better connotations than the others. “Pastor” is a professional title, and leaves the impression that the Pastor is the one to make worship happen; “leader” similarly sounds like the one who has the script and will lead the people from one place to another.
“Presider,” on the other hand, brings up images of a governing body, the one presiding enabling the body to do its proper work, i.e., “liturgy” = “the work of the people.” Such a view stays away from performances by pastors or other leaders (including musicians) outranking the prayers and praise of the congregation.
The same dialogue appears at another point in the service, at the beginning of the Great Thanksgiving, the Eucharistic Prayer, this time with additional lines added:
The Lord be with you.
And also with you.
Lift up your hearts.
We lift them to the Lord.
Let us give thanks to the Lord our God.
It is right to give our thanks and praise.
All that has been said of the opening dialogue is true here: the exchange acknowledges the presence of Christ in the midst of the people; speaks of the unity of the body in Christ; points to the sharing of liturgical responsibility on the part of the people as well as the clergy and other leaders.
Even more at the top of the Eucharistic prayer do these emphases need to be made. A parishioner once spoke to me about the Great Thanksgiving as “that thing you do,” and he probably spoke for multitudes. It was thought of as the “priestly prayer,” a performance by the clergy, something in which the pew-sitters had no real part.
This opening dialogue, starting with the first two lines and building with the next four, should draw the people into this core ritual of Christian worship. The Great Thanksgiving is both central and essential, and the snippets of dialogue are important to call attention to the full participation of everyone gathered at the Table.
Does your worship open with one of the greetings? Are they spoken like dialogues, or just plainly read? Is the conversation introducing the Great Thanksgiving spoken with meaning, or simply “gotten through”?
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Musical Bookends
Anyone who goes to church surely understands the importance of music in a service of worship.
For example, let’s talk about those un-sung parts of the service, the Prelude and the Postlude. (Sorry for the pun.) They tend to be overlooked since everyone, except the organist or instrumental musicians, is doing something else while the music is playing.
During the Prelude people are coming in and greeting friends and sharing news and finding their favorite pew and glancing through the order of service and announcements and thinking about a thousand things other than the music they are barely listening to.
During the Postlude folks are slipping hymnals back into the racks and picking up belongings and talking to friends and greeting strangers and looking for a place to get rid of their bulletins and checking their watches and heading for the door and hardly hearing the music being played.
Sure, there are a few people that come early and would like to be left alone so they can listen to the Prelude, and some will stay in their places at the end of the service to hear the Postlude. Often these are the ones who will complain that it’s not fair that musicians put so much practice and preparation into the music fore and aft of a service and it all gets ignored. They’d like the rest of us to hush up and at least let them listen.
Preludes and Postludes have long caused a minor civil war in the ranks of the church. Either they’re considered mere accompaniment to coming and going, and therefore not of much more value than music played over the speakers at Macy’s, or they’re miniature concerts to which we ought give our undivided attention. Most people tend to lean in one direction or the other.
On one hand, both positions are wrong. Prelude and Postlude are not what my kids call “elevator music,” music without any function other than to cover noise. This presumes that pointless music is better than pointless noise, if one can distinguish between the two.
Furthermore, Prelude and Postlude are not simply small concerts to be listened to and appreciated only for the skill of the performer and aesthetics of the sound. They do not, or should not invite passiveness, but encourage participation.
Prelude and Postlude have a larger function, each one performing vital tasks at the beginning and end of each service. Like musical bookends, they bracket everything that happens in between, and are theologically related to the central meaning of worship. If a picture is worth a thousand words, then the Prelude and Postlude are worth a library.
On the other hand, both positions relative to the significance of Preludes and Postludes are right. The Prelude, for example, might be understood to be, as someone once put it, “the music accompanying the entrance dance of the people of God.” We come into worship and the Prelude establishes a mood, an attitude, a context, a feeling that suits the occasion. We are ushered in with sounds that speak more than words ever can, and help us approach our encounter with our Living Lord with open hearts and receptive thoughts.
The Prelude, in fact, is to be meditation music while we are actively doing all those things we do as we enter the worship space. It is “both-and”—both music to listen to reverently, and music to accompany our actions.
The Postlude has a similar function, except that it is not establishing but extending a mood, and perhaps shifting it somewhat. Now the music at the end of the service pulls together feelings and attitudes already expressed in word and song. Whereas the Prelude was to accompany the “entrance dance” of God’s people, the Postlude lifts us on our feet to march forward into the world as Christ’s disciples.
Prelude and Postlude are important, more so than most of us recognize sometimes. Musicians who understand the theological role of music in Lord’s Day worship will provide Preludes and Postludes that appropriately assemble the community at the beginning and propel us on our way at the end. Whether we are conscious of their impact or not, the effect on all who come to worship is great.
How do folks at your church consider the Prelude and Postlude? Are they conscious of their effect on the whole service? On the worshippers?
For example, let’s talk about those un-sung parts of the service, the Prelude and the Postlude. (Sorry for the pun.) They tend to be overlooked since everyone, except the organist or instrumental musicians, is doing something else while the music is playing.
During the Prelude people are coming in and greeting friends and sharing news and finding their favorite pew and glancing through the order of service and announcements and thinking about a thousand things other than the music they are barely listening to.
During the Postlude folks are slipping hymnals back into the racks and picking up belongings and talking to friends and greeting strangers and looking for a place to get rid of their bulletins and checking their watches and heading for the door and hardly hearing the music being played.
Sure, there are a few people that come early and would like to be left alone so they can listen to the Prelude, and some will stay in their places at the end of the service to hear the Postlude. Often these are the ones who will complain that it’s not fair that musicians put so much practice and preparation into the music fore and aft of a service and it all gets ignored. They’d like the rest of us to hush up and at least let them listen.
Preludes and Postludes have long caused a minor civil war in the ranks of the church. Either they’re considered mere accompaniment to coming and going, and therefore not of much more value than music played over the speakers at Macy’s, or they’re miniature concerts to which we ought give our undivided attention. Most people tend to lean in one direction or the other.
On one hand, both positions are wrong. Prelude and Postlude are not what my kids call “elevator music,” music without any function other than to cover noise. This presumes that pointless music is better than pointless noise, if one can distinguish between the two.
Furthermore, Prelude and Postlude are not simply small concerts to be listened to and appreciated only for the skill of the performer and aesthetics of the sound. They do not, or should not invite passiveness, but encourage participation.
Prelude and Postlude have a larger function, each one performing vital tasks at the beginning and end of each service. Like musical bookends, they bracket everything that happens in between, and are theologically related to the central meaning of worship. If a picture is worth a thousand words, then the Prelude and Postlude are worth a library.
On the other hand, both positions relative to the significance of Preludes and Postludes are right. The Prelude, for example, might be understood to be, as someone once put it, “the music accompanying the entrance dance of the people of God.” We come into worship and the Prelude establishes a mood, an attitude, a context, a feeling that suits the occasion. We are ushered in with sounds that speak more than words ever can, and help us approach our encounter with our Living Lord with open hearts and receptive thoughts.
The Prelude, in fact, is to be meditation music while we are actively doing all those things we do as we enter the worship space. It is “both-and”—both music to listen to reverently, and music to accompany our actions.
The Postlude has a similar function, except that it is not establishing but extending a mood, and perhaps shifting it somewhat. Now the music at the end of the service pulls together feelings and attitudes already expressed in word and song. Whereas the Prelude was to accompany the “entrance dance” of God’s people, the Postlude lifts us on our feet to march forward into the world as Christ’s disciples.
Prelude and Postlude are important, more so than most of us recognize sometimes. Musicians who understand the theological role of music in Lord’s Day worship will provide Preludes and Postludes that appropriately assemble the community at the beginning and propel us on our way at the end. Whether we are conscious of their impact or not, the effect on all who come to worship is great.
How do folks at your church consider the Prelude and Postlude? Are they conscious of their effect on the whole service? On the worshippers?
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