I said a bit ago:
I think it’s time for a back-to-basics primer on what the prayer book teaches on the Eucharist to provide a real starting point for any discussions going forward.
Well, it’s up today at the Episcopal Cafe…
I’m shooting for a basic perspective on the sacraments that a broad majority of Episcopalians can get behind. Yes, there will be outliers even from that, but I think it’s a start to get us on the same page—in the BCP.
The Lead points us today to an article in the Guardian by Mark Vernon about a lecture series conducted by Diarmaid MacCulloch. I’m certainly going to have to listen to it (via this link here) but, having not yet done so, I want to make two comments on the reporting of this event; first a comment, then a critique.
Vernon reports MacCulloch as speaking against the avoidance of silence in Christianity in general which is (apparently) part of a critique of the institutional church’s suppression of the interior life. Evagrius Pontus seems to be lifted up as the ignored martyr, pilloried for interiority and the stand is killed off… This seems a gross over-generalization and I expect that it’s coming from Vernon rather than MacCulloch. Yes, historically the church has taken issue with some of its most forward-thinking teachers of mysticism and ascetical theology: Origen, Evagrius, his spiritual heir John Cassian, and a number of later folks wither received suspicion or rejection from later folks when their speculative or ascetical theology fell a-foul of the prevailing dogmatic theology. However, the practices and teaching of Origen, Evagrius, Cassian, and the Desert Fathers and Mothers did find fertile ground in the monastic movement and—as both Dom Leclercq and DeLubac pointed out—a return to Origen and the other sources by spiritual movements has always heralded a period of spiritual flowering and rebirth.
The other side of this is to point out that Vernon (and possibly MacCulloch) seem to be speaking of Western Christianity which has decidedly taken the kataphatic path of spirituality, that which focuses upon what can be positively said about God that therefore privileges linguistic and dogmatic expression—talk. The East has broadly chosen the apophatic path of spirituality that focuses upon the via negativa and what cannot be said about God but only experienced.
Bottom line: the church in the West and the Anglican churches specifically have done a poor job speaking about and promoting the interior life. We need to do a better job of this!
Now for the critique which also picks up on the previous point… What really jumped out at me in the Lead’s excerpting and coverage of this article is this paragraph:
The legacy of this tradition is that, today, if you go to a mass or morning worship, there will be barely a moment’s silence. Quakers aside, it is as if there is a de facto ban on silence in public worship. When people gather together, they should rehearse approved truths. The inner life, left alone, foments heresy and subversion.
Now—what’s the assumption here? That the Sunday morning public worship is the expression of everything that’s important, worthwhile, and taught by a particular tradition. And it’s dead wrong.
Sunday mass is an important part of your complete spiritual life—no question about it. But to either say or imply that it should be the totality of your spiritual life is a big mistake and is not something that the Church has taught. Nevertheless, some of the major shifts in 20th century American religion are grounded in this assumption. Let’s face it—the widespread revisions to the Mass lectionary in both the Roman Catholic post-Vatican II effort and its protestantization in the Revised Common Lectionary feed directly in to this fallacy. The idea expressed in these reconfigurations is that more and more Scripture has to be poured into the Sunday morning service, more and more weight has to be laced upon that time slot because that’s when our culture chooses to “do” religion.
On one hand, we’ve got to be real: the majority of people in our churches do now and always will see religion as a phenomenon relegated to Sunday morning. That’s unfortunate, but is the way things go. Some religion for some people is better than none…
On the other hand, we have done a very poor job of communicating of communicating the Church’s historic teachings about the spiritual life and where and how silence is found within them. We are not doing a good job of communicating that all Christian formation, Christian liturgy, and Christian experience is not intended to be crammed into an hour to two-hour block occupying Sunday morning. We are not presenting a clear, on-focus message about either Christian maturity or Christian proficiency. And, to be frank, this is one of the huge problems that I have with both Holy Women, Holy Men and the Communion Without Baptism movements. HWHM is a celebration of diversity for diversity’s sake; CWOB is a celebration of the extraordinary channels of God’s grace. What we’re lacking, though is any sense that there is a norm—that there are clear classic disciplines for cultivating the relationship with God, and that there are consistent and ordinary means through which God gives grace to the covenant community. By highlighting diverse routes and a multiplicity of ways, we increasingly lose (and obscure) the sense that the Church offers any firm guidance for those who seek a deeper relationship with God. Just because some have chosen and found their own way does not mean that the Church does not offer a particular well-trod path.
At this point, of course, I can’t help but loop back to the original topic. One of the major mistakes that moderns make when they encounter the work of the great Christian mystics is misunderstanding their context. Speaking particularly about the medieval mystics, they cannot and should not be considered apart from the liturgical life that grounded their mystical freedom. Too often people try to set up a stark dichotomy between the teachings of the mystics and the paths of the institutional church. But the freedom of the mystics is intimately bound to their practice of the Church’s liturgy particular in the Mass and Office (or Mass and prymer for some…). To set the Mass in stark opposition to contemplative practice is just wrong—it’s not just misunderstanding the Mass, it’s misunderstanding the contemplative life as well.
This is a piece I wrote for a collection now in the final stages of editing. It’s targeted for the adult formation in your typical parish (hence the phonetic spellings of some items…)
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The sacraments, particularly Baptism and Eucharist, have been an important part of the Anglican tradition from even before the time that Anglicans became a distinct body within the global Church. Looking across the centuries of Christian sacramental practice, we see quite a lot of change based on different beliefs that appeared in different times and different places. The sacramental rites and who had access to them shift as the understandings of those rites shifted. However, we find through all of these practices a significant common thread: the sacraments can never be viewed in isolation; they are intimately connected with one another to form a broader pattern of Christian discipleship.
The evidence of the first few centuries is notoriously spotty; the church grew in obscurity from its humble beginnings and once it began to flourish, it became the target of suspicion and then suppression from the Roman authorities. As a result, we get only bits and pieces from the first three Christian centuries.
Our first real glimpse of the sacramental teaching of the Early Church after the writing of the New Testament is a short little book called the Didache (pronounced “Did-a-kay”). Difficult to date, most scholars believe that it was written sometime at the end of the first century or the very beginning of the second. It is the first surviving Christian writing to make a statement on the direct relationship between Baptism and the Eucharist (but is hardly the last). It states: “But let none eat or drink of your Eucharist except those who have been baptized in the Lord’s Name. For concerning this also did the Lord say, ‘Give not that which is holy to the dogs’” (Did. 9.5). It’s only fair to locate this statement within the larger context of the whole treatise. The Didache was written as a baptismal instruction manual. It begins with a section describing “The Way of Life and of Death” that lays out the ethical conduct required to live as a disciple of Christ. It begins by describing the demands of discipleship. Then it describes the Baptismal rite, then the Eucharistic rite, and it’s after the description of the Eucharist where we find the admonishment that only the baptized should receive the Eucharist. In this initial foundational document, Baptism is the introduction into a life of discipleship—the Eucharist is the food that sustains it.
Justin Martyr, an apologist who died for his faith, wrote a defense of that faith around the year 150. In it, he too linked the same themes that we see in the earlier Didache: “…And we call this food ‘thanksgiving [eucharist]’; and no one may partake of it unless he is convinced of the truth of our teaching, and has been cleansed with the washing for forgiveness of sins and regeneration, and lives as Christ handed down” (First Apology 66.1). For Justin Martyr, the Eucharist is the food of discipleship that is preceded not solely by Baptism but by faith, by Baptism, and by a life marked by discipleship.
As we move farther into the second century we can take a broader view because our evidence allows us to gain insight into more aspects of Christian life. Hippolytus of Rome wrote a set of liturgical instructions around the year 215 that laid out the ideal process for Christian initiation and living. Those who wished to become part of the faith were examined to see if they lived acceptable lives. People with certain jobs were automatically denied. Some of these are not surprising: pimps, prostitutes, sorcerers, magic amulet-makers, priests of pagan cults. Others might be more surprising: soldiers, actors, painters, and civil officials. Essentially, anyone who either was connected to the practices of idolatry or those who held the power of life and death—including condemning others to death—had to renounce their profession or be turned away. Those acceptable were enrolled as catechumens (pronounced “kat-a-kyu-mens”) and were instructed in faith for up to three years before they were selected for Baptism. The criteria Hippolytus gives us is significant: “When those to be baptized have been selected, their life is to be examined: Have they lived uprightly during their catechumenate? Have they respected widows, visited the sick, practiced all the good works?” Baptism was not dependent upon knowing a certain amount (that was a given based on the period of instruction beforehand) but on whether the catechumens were living lives of tangible discipleship.
After selection for Baptism, Lent became a special time of intensive pre-Baptismal preparation where formerly hidden parts of the Christian teaching were revealed; the catechumens were formally given the Creed and the Lord’s Prayer along with exorcisms. Hippolytus then describes Baptism at the Easter vigil with the bishop presiding. The candidates are baptized and anointed. Then we get our first record of the rite of Confirmation: the bishop seals the newly-baptized with oil and lays hands on them. After this rite, they receive their first Eucharist. Again we see the basic pattern of discipleship inextricably bound with the reception of the sacraments.
The vision that we get from Hippolytus—Baptism at the Easter Vigil followed immediately by Confirmation and by Eucharist—becomes the standard pattern that we will see through the third and fourth centuries. Indeed, the fourth century is the age of the great catechetical lectures; several of the Church Fathers such as Cyril of Jerusalem and Ambrose of Milan wrote and gave lectures preparing the catechumens for the life of discipleship as well as post-Baptismal lectures that explained the meanings of the rites that they had experienced. In order to reserve their experience of the Christian sacraments for the time in which they could participate in them fully, however, the Eucharistic liturgies of the fourth centuries have a specific point during the prayers and before the Eucharist where all of the catechumens were dismissed.
With the fall of Roman authority in the West, the move of Christian Rome to the Greek-speaking East in Constantinople, and the large-scale migrations in tribal Europe, the social and religious patterns of the fourth century experienced tremendous disruption in the West between the late fourth and sixth centuries. By the end of this time, Baptism was typically administered to infants. Because of the infant mortality rate and the spread of a biologically-grounded understanding of original sin, Christian parents felt a need to have their children baptized as soon as possible lest they die outside of the Church. The chrism of Confirmation still required a bishop, however. In some places, Baptisms were held at the Easter Vigil when possible and the infants were communed even if the bishop was not available—for those who lived near urban centers and cathedrals, Confirmations would follow the week after. For those who lived in more rural areas, Confirmation would occur the next time the bishop was in the area…in theory. In practice, though, Confirmation was put off not just months but often years; Baptism and Confirmation began to take on separate lives of their own.
By the medieval period, Confirmation seems to have been a sacrament often honored in the breach. In the thirteenth century there were a number of rulings by local English Synods that sought to compel Confirmation. One council insisted that children be confirmed within their first year or else their parents were forbidden to even enter the church building. Another mandated that Confirmation had to occur before the age of seven. Yet another insisted that Confirmation happen before three; if this did not happen, the parents were required to fast on bread and water until the time that the Confirmation occurred!
Furthermore, reception of the Eucharist became less and less common. Due to fears of profanation of the sacrament, most laity received the Eucharistic bread infrequently. At the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215, Pope Innocent III decreed that all Christians had to receive the Eucharist at least once a year, at Easter, and that sacramental Confession had to precede it. In relation to this Eucharistic ordinance and in frustration at the dearth of Confirmations, the Council of Lambeth meeting in 1281 under Archbishop Peckham decreed that only those who had received Confirmation would be allowed to receive the Eucharist.
At Baptism, the parents and sponsors promised to teach the fundamentals of discipleship—the Ten Commandments, Creed, and Lord’s Prayer. In turn, the priests were required to teach these to the people in the vernacular. Although the infants could not understand, the Creed and Lord’s Prayer were still handed over to them during Lent, and often early medieval sermons during Lent and the Easter season explained them to the people.
While the practice of the sacraments in the medieval West differed from that of the fourth century of the Church Fathers, the fundamental pattern was the same: Baptism, Confirmation, Confession, then Communion. With the virtual universal adoption of Christianity in the West, the connections between the sacramental rites and the life of discipleship became less obvious. The presence and practice of Confession between a vital link between the Great Sacraments of Baptism and Eucharist, and Christian discipleship. Drawing its power from Baptism, requiring thoughtful reflection about intentional habits of life, and receiving advice for Christian living from the confessor-priest, the demands of discipleship were placed in direct relationship with Eucharistic reception.
In the very first Anglican prayer book, the English Book of Common Prayer of 1549, there are two services of Baptism, a public and a private, one following the other with the second to be reserved for cases of “great cause and necessity.” Both services (the public especially) would not be so foreign to Hippolytus as it contains the same basic principles: renunciation of the devil, affirmation of the Apostles’ Creed, threefold wetting (either by dipping or sprinkling rather than full immersion), then an exhortation to fulsome Christian living. The purpose was the same as we see from the initial prayer which ends as follows:
“We beseech thee (for thy infinite mercies) that thou wilt mercifully look upon these children, and sanctify them with thy Holy Ghost; that by this wholesome laver of regeneration, whatsoever sin is in them may be washed clean away; that they, being delivered from thy wrath, may be received into the ark of Christ’s church, and so saved from perishing: and being fervent in spirit, steadfast in faith, joyful through hope, rooted in charity, may ever serve thee; and finally attain to everlasting life, with all thy holy and chosen people.”
The children are baptized into a community—the ark of Christ’s church—and sanctified with the Holy Spirit, binding them to the rest of the holy and chosen people likewise baptized. Furthermore, they are baptized for discipleship—service of God characterized by the Christian virtues of faith, hope, and love.
There are two main differences between this service and that of Hippolytus. The first is that it was set to occur after the New Testament reading and before the canticle at either Morning or Evening Prayer; it was not set within the context of a Eucharistic service, and the newly-baptized were not communed. Second, it was intended for infants while Hippolytus envisioned adults. The gap between the two is filled by the role of the Godparents who take the children’s promises on themselves and then receive a final exhortation that connects the core catechesis, the necessity of discipleship, and the role of the community. After the minister reminds them of their duty to instruct the children in the Creed, the Lord’s Prayer and the Ten Commandments, he ends the service thus:
“And that these children may be virtuously brought up to lead a godly and Christian life; remembering always that Baptism doth represent unto us our profession; which is, to follow the example of our Saviour Christ, and to be made like unto him; that as he died, and rose again for us, so should we (which are baptized) die from sin and rise again unto righteousness; continually mortifying all our evil and corrupt affections, and daily proceeding in all virtue and godliness of living.”
This is the end of Baptism—a life of virtue in the example of Christ. This is why we are baptized, this is why we must learn the core instructions of the faith. It’s not (solely) for the sake of knowledge but for action, for faithful daily living.
Following Baptism is the service for Confirmation; there’s a section right after the title “Confirmation” that says a few words about its purpose. For Confirmation to occur—as was stated at Baptism—children had to be able to repeat “in their mother tongue” the Apostles’ Creed, the Lord’s Prayer and the Ten Commandments along with the contents of the catechism that followed that offer brief explanations of these three items. This section then offers three reasons for Confirmation, the first reason picking up the same themes from the Baptismal service itself and directly connecting Baptism with Confirmation by means of discipleship:
“First, because that when children come to the years of discretion, and have learned what their Godfathers and Godmothers promised for them in Baptism, they may then themselves with their own mouth, and with their own consent, openly before the Church, ratify and confess the same; and also promise, that by the grace of God they will evermore endeavour themselves faithfully to observe and keep such things as they by their own mouth and confession have assented unto.”
Learning the words is not enough; they must also promise to observe and practice the demands of discipleship encapsulated in the Creed, Commandments, and Lord’s Prayer. The final note after the Confirmation rite states briefly: “And there shall none be admitted to the holy Communion until such time as he be confirmed.”
Speaking to admission to holy Communion, these same themes of discipleship appear there in the exhortation which precedes the invitation to Eucharist. The exhortation breaks into four main sections. The first reminds the hearers of Paul’s command that those coming to the table examine themselves before hand, knowing that those worthily receiving receive a great benefit, but harm comes to the unworthy. The second focuses specifically upon the hearers’ pattern of life: if they are in patterns of habitual sin, they must repent of them before coming. The third recalls to mind the salvific acts of God on the congregation’s behalf while the fourth exhorts their thanks for the gift of the sacrament and its reception. After the prayer of consecration, right before the reception of the sacrament, the principal themes of this exhortation are condensed into the call for confession:
“Ye who do earnestly repent you of your sins, and are in love and charity with your neighbours, and intend to lead a new life, following the commandments of God, and henceforth in his holy ways; Draw near with faith, and take this holy Sacrament to your comfort; and make your humble confession to Almighty God meekly kneeling.”
This exhortation—however brief—makes clear that the combination of Baptism and Confirmation is not all that is required: active discipleship is the stated requirement. The confession and absolution that follow should not be seen simply as a cleansing of sin—they are also a naming of acts that describe what the congregation has failed to do with an eye towards mending their ways and returning to full discipleship.
The prayer book tradition begins, then, with a continuation of the classical Western pattern: Baptism, Confirmation, Confession, then Eucharist. While the confession in the prayer book rite is a general one, private confession is recommended in the exhortation but is not required.
The American 1928 Book of Common Prayer follows substantially in the tradition laid down almost 400 years before. Baptism is still about inclusion into the Church, the Body of Christ; Confirmation is still required for admission to the Eucharist; Confession still occurs before reception (although it has shifted to before the consecration). The exhortations are still present although moved out of main body of the rite.
The American 1979 Book of Common Prayer represents a major revision from the mainstream of the Anglican Tradition. With the influence of the ecumenical Liturgical Renewal Movement, Roman Catholic and Mainline Protestant Churches alike aligned their liturgical practices back towards the pattern represented by the fourth century rites. Following suit, our current prayer book melds fourth century traditions with historic Anglican ones. The rethinking of our rites that accompanied these efforts included some substantial modifications of our sacramental theology.
Our current prayer book makes clear that Baptism—not Confirmation—is full initiation into the Church (BCP, p. 298); Confirmation is no longer required in order to receive the Eucharist. The demands of discipleship are laid out in the form of the Baptismal Covenant. Those being baptized or their sponsors commit to belief in the Apostles’ Creed but also commit to five specific patterns of behavior: continuing in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship particularly through the breaking of bread and the prayers, repentance and returning to God after sin, proclaiming the Good News of Christ by word and deed, seeking and serving Christ in all persons, and striving for justice and peace and respecting the dignity of all (BCP, p. 304-5). These patterns of life sketch the boundaries of discipleship.
The Confirmation rite removes the questions and answers that had characterized it from the beginning of the Anglican tradition. Instead, the heart of the service is a recapitulation of the Baptismal Covenant (BCP, p. 416-7).Confirmation is a reaffirmation and a mature claiming of the patterns of discipleship taken on in Baptism.
A general confession still precedes reception of the Eucharist. The version in Rite I differs only in wording and spelling from the1928 and 1549 forms. The version in Rite II has been rewritten so that the demands of discipleship are sketched in the confession itself rather than in the exhortation preceding it. Rather than focusing on specific acts, the confession sketches categories by which we either maintain or fall short of perfect discipleship: “in thought, word, and deed” and also “by what we have done, and by what we have left undone” (BCP, p. 360). Recalling both the two tables of the Ten Commandments and Christ’s own Summary of the Law we acknowledge discipleship’s requirements when we say that “We have not loved [God] with our whole heart; we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves” (ibid.). Our contrition and request for mercy that follows is itself a fulfillment of the Baptismal Covenant’s second promise to repent and return to the Lord. The concluding lines express our hope for the result of God’s grace: that we can fulfill discipleship’s demands through a proper reorientation towards God.
One final element clarifies and sharpens the Eucharistic theology of our present prayer book. Where formerly there was one post-communion prayer, now there are two. Despite this change, the structure of both prayers is the same: they begin with a recognition that those who have received are “living members” of the Body of Christ, and move to a request to be sent out to fulfill the works of discipleship. (BCP, pp. 365, 366). Those who belong to the visible Body of Christ receive the sacramental Body of Christ and, as the empowered Body of Christ, are authorized to perform the works of Christ.
Across the ages Christian communities have not embodied the sacraments in identical ways. However, there are some fundamental patterns that are constant.
Most discussions about Communion without Baptism only consider it from the perspective of an individual attending one liturgy. This is an inadequate perspective that fails to properly treat either the communal nature of the sacraments or their intimate connection with discipleship. Rather than discussing “Communion Without Baptism” the Church would be far better served by a discussion around the “Sacramental Path to Discipleship.” Is how we greet strangers important? Absolutely. Is hospitality a Christian virtue? Absolutely. But our most hospitable act towards strangers is to introduce them to the sacramental path to discipleship that will bring them into a community that embraces God’s promise of resurrection life most fully.
We as a Church have received the sacraments for a purpose. They bind us deeper into the life of grace into which God invites us. But without committing to embracing that resurrection life offered—and sharing it with those we meet—we mistake the nature, purpose, and aim of these sacramental gifts.
As your official source for pedantic lectionary minutae, I must call attention to the appearance (or lack) of Romans 1:26-7 in the Daily Office lectionary. These two verses appear to contain Paul’s clearest statement on same-sex sexual relations and, as such, have been greatly and hotly debated in recent years. Thus, the absence of these two verses is usually taken as a sign of the co-opting of the ’79 prayer book by the “gay agenda.”
As today’s Speaking to the Soul points out, however, these same two verses were specifically avoided in the Daily Office lectionary of the 1928 prayer book as well, suggesting that the creeping “gay agenda” may not be the only consideration here. However, there is one pitfall and one minor technicality concerning the aforelinked article’s method that I feel compelled to bring to your attention.
The article successfully navigates the pitfall and it is this: you can’t pick up just any 1928 prayer book and expect to see the lectionary dating from 1928. There was a revision to the lectionary tables in 1943 (the nature and character of which I have neither the time, space, nor desire to delve into at the moment…). Thus, ’28 prayer books printed after that point may or may not have the original 1928 Daily Office lectionary. As I said, they dodged this and did indeed refer to a 1928 lectionary.
What the article misses, however, is the relation or lack thereof between the Sunday Daily Office readings and the full-on readings in course. Allow me to clarify… Since the 1559 book, prayer books have, functionally speaking, had three lectionary cycles superimposed on one another throughout the year: the continuous reading in-course (this is the base layer), the appointed Sunday lessons (which are selections from what was “edifying” as defined by the editors), and the Holy Day readings (which are lightly sprinkled on top of the other two).
Yes, the 1928 Daily Office lectionary does omit Romans 1:26-27 during the Sunday reading (Romans 1:17-21, 28-32) and that’s a significant point to note. However, more significant is to look at the state of Romans in its reading in-course where Scriptural coverage rather than “edification” is in the fore-ground. Looking for it there, we note that Romans is being read in-course at Evening Prayer from the Ninth Sunday after Trinity to the Thirteenth Sunday after Trinity. Monday after the 9th Sunday after Trinity appoints Romans 1:1-17; the next day goes directly to Romans 2:1-16. The whole section from Rom 1:18 to the end of the chapter is omitted. This evidence actually makes the omission even stronger. The 2 verses are omitted where the rest of the latter half of the chapter appears in the Sunday cycle and the in-course cycle fails to remedy the lack.
For comparison purposes, the American 1896 lectionary appointed all of Romans 1 for the Thursday after Ash Wednesday, the 16th of February, and the 7th of August.
In one of his brief little tracts, Percy Dearmer wrote explained for his day (the turn from the 19th to the 20th century) the spiritual system of the prayer book. Of course, he’s referring to the English 1662 BCP, but most everything he says still holds for the American ’79 as well:
A CHRISTIAN’S LIFE ACCORDING TO THE
PRAYER BOOKLet us see, then, what the Prayer Book system will be when we have come back into the habit of carrying it out.
The Churchman is helped by the grace of God all through his life, from the cradle to the grave. He is baptized as a little child, and thus brought into the [28/29] Holy Catholic Church and made a member of Christ. As soon as he is old enough to understand, he is taught the Catechism diligently, thoroughly, regularly, from week to week, while his elders sit by and listen—for they are expected to be present.
When he has come to years of discretion, and is no longer a little child, he is brought to the Bishop to be fortified by Confirmation. After Confirmation he becomes a regular communicant, going to the Lord’s Service every Lord’s Day, indeed on Holy-days as well as Sundays. [* The Prayer Book provides Collects, Epistles, and Gospels for the red-letter Saints’ Days just the same as for Sundays.]
Thus at Baptism he begins his spiritual life, just as he begins his natural life at birth. [* See the 3rd chapter of S. John’s Gospel, where our Lord explains this as being “born again.”]
At Catechizing he learns about his spiritual life.
At Confirmation he is strengthened in his spiritual life.
At Communion he is given spiritual food to support his spiritual life, just as at ordinary meals he is given common food to support his natural life. [* See the 6th chapter of S. John’s Gospel, where our Lord says that except we are fed with the Body of Christ we have “no life,” that is no spiritual life, in us.]
If he is married, he comes for the blessing of the Church; and at the end of the Marriage Service a rubric tells the newly-married pair that they ought then, or as soon after as possible, to make their Communion. If there are any children, the mother comes to be Churched; and then the little one is brought to Baptism, and the “Occasional Services” are begun over again for another little Christian.
Lastly, when illness comes, the Church is there with her blessing once more for his Visitation, Absolution, and Communion; and at the end of all she receives his body for the last time within her walls, and commends his soul to God in the Burial of the Dead.
[30] Thus the events in a Christian’s life have taken us through a considerable part of the Prayer Book—the part that lies between the Thanksgivings and the Psalter.
“ALL THE DAYS OF MY LIFE”
Now let us look at the rest of the Prayer Book—the parts that concern the everyday life of the Christian, viz.:—
(1) The Kalendar (including the Lectionary).
(2) The large section from Mattins to the end of the Prayers and Thanksgivings.
(3) The Psalter.How does the Church of England expect you and me to worship God from day to day? More than we most of us do. The bad habits of many generations have left us far behind this Christian ideal, and often we cannot live up to it if we would. Holy-days, for instance, used to be real holidays, when all the people had a rest; and then it was easier to come to church. But Oliver Cromwell made people work on these days, and took away the people’s holidays; and so it has been more difficult to go to church ever since.
Still, most of us could worship God more than we do. We might come to church before work begins, for instance, on Holy-days, and many can often come on ordinary week-days also.
Here, at any rate, is what the Prayer Book expects of us:—
1. Every day of the week. Morning Prayer in the morning and Evening Prayer in the evening, “that the people (by daily hearing of holy Scripture read in the church) might continually profit more and more in the knowledge of God.” [* The Preface “Concerning the Service of the Church.” See also the Order at the end of this Preface; and notice how often the word “daily” comes in the Prayer Book.]
2. Wednesdays and Fridays. [31] The Litany in addition to Mattins and Evensong.
3. Holy-days, i.e., the Saints’ Days, etc., “to be observed.” The Holy Communion (see the Collects, Epistles, and Gospels provided for these days), and Catechizing, in addition to Mattins and Evensong.
4. Sundays. In addition to the above (Mattins, Litany, Holy Communion—with the special Collect, Epistle and Gospel of the Sunday—Evensong, Catechizing) a Sermon is ordered to be preached on Sunday during the Communion Service by Canon 45.
Some special days are further marked out. The Great Festivals (Christmas, Easter, Ascension, Whitsunday, Trinity Sunday) have Proper Prefaces at Holy Communion. Ash Wednesday has an extra service of penance called the Commination. Four times a year there are three Ember Days, which have special Collects, so that people may pray for those who are to be ordained on the following Sunday. Other “Prayers and Thanksgivings” are provided for special occasions, notably the beautiful Prayer for ALL Conditions for use on the mornings when there is no Litany, and the Prayer for Parliament for use during the Session; and furthermore, the Athanasian Creed is set down on certain Festivals.
Add to these the Forms of Prayer to be read daily at sea, which come after the Psalter, and the Ordinal (i.e., the Services for the Ordination of Deacons and Priests, and for the Consecration of Bishops), and we have completed our survey of the Prayer Book.
THE IDEAL BEFORE US
Is it not a great ideal of Christian life and worship? Shall we not all be better and stronger men when we take better advantage of our opportunities? Will not the Church of England be indeed a great and noble [31/32] Church when all who belong to her are regular communicants, when the parish church of every place is thronged with devout worshippers day after day, and when the children of England are all thoroughly taught the splendid Doctrine and Duties of the Catechism?
It is a sad and humiliating thought that, while a few centuries ago all Englishmen belonged to the fellowship of the one Church, and all partook of the life of our Lord in the Sacrament of His Body and Blood, now England is full of petty divisions and miserable quarrelling, while the masses of the people are not even communicants. They belong to the Church, but they do not understand her, and so they are not faithful to her, and have little real love for Christ in their hearts. We have, therefore, enormous arrears to make up. We must pray more, worship more, teach others more, and thus lead the way, by our own loyalty, to a great revival of Christianity in our land.
Shall we not succeed? Through the neglect of past years the Church has become like a missionary in a strange land. But as we love God more and love our neighbour more, and in this spirit of love and devotion carry out the half-forgotten rules of the Prayer Book, we shall lead the people back from their Babylon, and build again the walls of Jerusalem.
The whole tract is available on Project Canterbury but this is the heart of it.
I have a new piece up on the Washington Post’s site about the ethics of giving.
As usual, the difficulty was paring down what I had to say to fit within the word limit. I incorporated a bit from the Talmud, but wanted to put in a bit more rabbinic material. Since I wasn’t able to fit it in there, I’ll go ahead and include it here! Thus, these items were definitely floating around in my head, they just didn’t make it on the page:
“All men are to be loved equally; but since you cannot be of assistance to everyone, those especially are cared for who are most closely bound to you by place, time, or opportunity as if by chance.” (Augustine, On Christian Doctrine 1.28.29)
Then these gleanings from the anthology Jewish Wisdom by Rabbi Joseph Telushkin:
Rabbi Shmelke of Nikolsberg (d. 1778) said: “When a poor man asks you for aid, do not use his faults as an excuse for not helping him. For then God will look for your offenses, and He is sure to find many” (p. 15)
If a person closes his eyes to avoid giving [any] charity, it is as if he committed idolatry. [Babylonian Talmud, Ketubot 68a] (p. 16)
A person who gives a thousand gold pieces to a worthy cause is not as generous as one who gives a thousand gold pieces on a thousand different occasions, each to a worthy cause. [Anonymous; sixteenth century Orhot Zaddikim (The Ways of the Righteous)] (p. 17)
The question of bread for myself is a material question, but the question of bread for my neighbor is a spiritual question. [Nicholai Berdyaev] (p. 25)
I’ve been writing a number of things in a number of places recently. I’ve done some pieces for the Living Church, some of which are out, some of which are still in their pipeline. I was invited to write another piece for the Washington Post which may be on their site today or tomorrow. I’ve also been writing some bits for Forward Movement about which more will be said at the right time. And, I’ve been trying to write stuff here.
The upshot is that I haven’t put out anything at the Episcopal Cafe in quite a while, and that’s not a good thing. The Daily Episcopalian has been running some unusual stuff recently from some new voices—or at least people who haven’t written pieces before—particularly around Communion Without Baptism. We had one from our self-proclaimed liturgically-conservative non-theist, one from the site’s village atheist, then one that I can only kindly characterize as theologically confused.
I think that one of the major difficulties that we’re having around the whole CWOB issue is that there are so many Episcopalians out there who simply have an insufficient understanding of basic Eucharistic theology. Case in point—today’s article. In my comment on it, I pull out what I see as the single biggest mistake our church is making when it thinks and talks about the Eucharist and, by extension, CWOB:
What really bothers me here, though, is this: “Because, you see, I think God has cherished and adored all these persons since before they were born. Has been in relationship with them, all along. And is longing to be closer to them, speaking to them through our worship, even if they only once step through our doors.”
I absolutely believe this; she’s spot on.
However—what does this have to do with the Eucharist? The author never makes the connection but seems to assume that there is a clear and easy one to be made.
The Eucharist is the food of the covenant community who confess Jesus as Lord. We enter the covenant community by making our own covenant with Christ in the midst of the community: it’s Baptism. The Eucharist assists us in keeping our Baptismal Covenant and helps us to continue to grow into a life of discipleship through it’s nourishment.
This basic Eucharistic theology is found nowhere here. Instead, there seems to be a simple assumption that the Eucharist means that God loves you and wants to be in a relationship with you and that if anyone can’t have the Eucharist at any time it’s the church’s way of saying that God doesn’t love them. That’s not what is going on at all.
Granted—some people may perceive it like that, but this perception does not constitute the church’s theology. We do need to do a better job about teaching the basics of Eucharistic theology—so that both our visitors and our members can grasp what it is that the church both intends and does.
I think it’s time for a back-to-basics primer on what the prayer book teaches on the Eucharist to provide a real starting point for any discussions going forward.
After speaking so many fine words about spirituality and the BCP and how it ought to be taught rather than how it is normally taught, I’ve received hearty encouragement to put my money where my mouth is… A friend of mine—and the rector at one of the parishes where M served prior to his arrival—is going to be teaching the deacons in his area about the prayer book and asked my thoughts to supplement his own.
So—in a nutshell, here’s how I’d go about doing it. First a big-picture, then attention to some of the actual parts.
The fundamental mechanisms for achieving this goal are threefold:
I shall now proceed to shamelessly plagiarize from one of my own pieces…:
[T]he Book of Common Prayer offers a full integrated spiritual system that is intended as much for the laity as the clergy and which is founded in a lay spirituality that arose in the medieval period. If you look at the book as a whole, it offers a program for Christian growth built around liturgical spirituality. The best shorthand I have for this is the liturgical round. It’s made up of three components: the liturgical calendar where we reflect upon our central mysteries through the various lenses of the seasons of the life, death, and resurrection of Christ and in his continuing witness in the lives of the saints, the Daily Office where we yearly immerse ourselves in the Scriptures and Psalms, and the Holy Eucharist where we gather on Holy Days to most perfectly embody the Body of Christ and receive the graces that the sacraments afford.
So—here’s why this is important and the meat of how it relates to the issue at hand. The purpose of any spiritual system is to bring the practitioner and their community into a deeper relationship with God—to create a family of mature Christians. Through their increasing awareness of who God is, how much God loves them and all of creation, they translate that love they have been shown into concrete acts of love and mercy in the world around them. There are several different strategies that different spiritual systems use to accomplish this. One of the classic ones—referred to in St Paul’s direction to “pray without ceasing” (1 Thess 5:17)—is the recollection of God. The idea here is that if we can continually keep in mind the goodness of God, the constant presence of God, and an awareness of the mighty works of God on behalf of us and others, that we will more naturally and more completely act in accordance with God’s will and ways. Continual recollection is nearly impossible, but there are methods to help us in this habit.
A primary goal of liturgical spirituality is to create a disciplined recollection of God. Thus, if we specifically pause at central points of time—morning and evening; noon and night; Sundays and other Holy Days—to reorient ourselves towards God and the mighty acts of God, whether recalled to us through the Scriptures or experienced by us through direct encounters with the sacraments, then this discipline will lead us towards a habitual recollection of God.
In the liturgical round, the Book of Common Prayer gives us specific moments to stop and orient our time and ourselves around the recollection of God. As a result, one of the most important parts of the book is the Daily Office section that provides forms for prayer at morning, noon, evening and night. These prayer offices are our fundamental tool for disciplined recollection; they provide the foundation for our spiritual practice. This foundation, then, is punctuated by the Eucharist on Holy Days (at the least). And, conceptually, this is how we should view Sundays—not the day of the week on which we go to church—but as a Holy Day which recurs on a weekly basis.
Turning now to the kalendar, we must begin with the recognition that most human measures for marking time are social constructs. That is, nature gives us a few points upon which we hang our hats. The motion of the sun determines two main things: day and night and the year broken into four quarters based on our motion around the sun. The motion of the moon provides us with another measure but, as it does not cohere with the solar cycle, causes more complexity than it solves. As a result, the majority of the methods by which we keep time say more about “us” and what we think is important than they do about the nature of time itself.
Like the natural world, the Book of Common Prayer has seasons. However, rather than pointing to agricultural potential or lack thereof, the prayer book constructs time around the person of Jesus in the Temporal cycle. While the Sanctoral cycle logically follows subsequent to the Temporal cycle, it is super-imposed upon the year as a succession of static days (as we seem to have mislaid the octaves…). The way that the prayer book orders time, then, is supposed to tell us something about our priorities. Time itself is provided with a Jesus-colored lens.
The statement that I keep coming back to as the simultaneously most important and most overlooked rubric in the prayer book is the first one on the first real page of content:
The Holy Eucharist, the principal act of Christian worship on the Lord’s Day and other major Feasts, and Daily Morning and Evening Prayer, as set forth in this Book, are the regular services appointed for public worship in the Church. (p. 13)
Now we move to contemplate Mass and Office. The liturgy of the Western Church—especially liturgy that partakes of the monastic spirit—can be described as (among other things) a disciplined and bounded encounter with Scripture. That is, under the early medieval monastic ideal (which itself is described in the preface to the 1549 BCP) the Scriptures were read yearly in the Office; then the Mass could cherry-pick pericopes at its leisure, firm in the knowledge that—thanks to the constant repetition of Scripture—the congregation would immediately recognize the proper text and recall its literary context.
Thus, in the Office the Psalms, the garden from which the fruit of all the other Scriptures may be plucked (as Athanasius put it), would be repeated regularly (weekly for them, monthly or 8-weekly for us), and the bulk of Scripture read through every year or two depending on how many lessons you use at Evening Prayer. This is fundamentally catechectical: it grounds us in the stories, the laws, the histories, and the laments of the people of God that illuminate and inform our own experiences. Too, the canticles serve an important function. They aren’t just praise-bits stuck in with the “real” material, rather they are lenses and orienting devices to help us interpret the readings—especially the set traditional canticles.
The Mass, then, as it rolls through the seasons, offers us not only a weekly or more frequent experience of the grace of God but allows us to hear and experience the Good News in several major modes: expectation, joy, enlightenment, penitence, celebration—the principle Christian affections. If the Office is primarily catechetical, the Mass is primarily mystagogical. That is, it leads us by experiences of grace into the mystery of God and the relationship that God is calling us into with him and with the entire created order through him.
That’s as much as my brain can handle now. There’s lots more to be said, of course, and I’m sure y’all will add a bunch of it into the comments.