Category Archives: Liturgy

U2charist Review

Seeing this post at AKMA’s reminded me that I hadn’t posted my thoughts on the U2charist… We–the whole family–attended one a week or two ago at a diocesan event. M in particular wanted to study it in that it relates to a particular liturgical interest of hers. Here are a few things I/we found:

  • Neither one of us got to attend the whole service. Why? Lil’ H was being cranky… She wanted to wander around as she’s working on the whole walking thing. It was also in the late afternoon–naptime. This could just be a personal thing but we were not the only ones in the narthex with small children. Think about it demographically–the people you want to attract to a thing like this are of the age to have children–small ones. Furthermore, having kids is one of the reasons people of our demographic return to church. It’s doubly important, therefore, to attend to the issue of small children in worship with this service. Childcare is not necessarily the answer, either. If “inclusivity” is one of the hallmarks of the event (which is what I took away), what’s the just rationale for excluding a certain slice of the baptized?
  • The U2 music was only in place of congregational hymnody–no liturgical elements were replaced/displaced by it. Thus, it was a normal Rite 2 Low Mass, but with other congregational music. I found that interesting.
  • I liked singing along to the songs. You could definitely tell from a quick glance around who knew the U2 catalogue and who didn’t.  What I discovered, though, was that during various songs I wasn’t thinking about their lyrics but about the situations, people, and places with which I associate with them. These were very powerful memories–but not necessarily ones conducive to prayerful attentiveness.
  • I was glad that it wasn’t a Sunday morning service–because it wasn’t a typical Sunday morning experience that would nourish and nurture over the long haul. M said she thought it would be a good thing maybe quarterly for a peace/social justice/world hunger kind of event. I agreed. But–they used the propers of the week. Why? To my mind, it looks and feels like a votive mass. I seem to remember seeing in some book (Occasional Services? Priest’s Handbook?) propers for a votive mass for Peace/Social Justice. (it stuck in my memory because I had to shout down the Old Oligarch [the archetypal crusty conservative] embedded in my soul that wanted to reject such things out of hand as unnecessarily partisan.) If it seems like and is appropriate as a votive mass, do it that way!
  • On the way home asked Lil’ G what she thought. In terms of music, she has been raised with traditional church music and knows the basic chants; she also sings along to The Cure and AFI. So, trying not to bias the question, I asked her if she liked the music we normally hear in church, the music we heard today at the U2charist, or both. She thought about it for a minute, and said both.

So to summarize, I found it an interesting experience. I liked the parts of it that I participated in, but it’s not something I would either seek out or go to on a regular basis. I think its true liturgical home is as a votive mass to draw attention to a particular issue on an occasional basis (and in saying this I imagine this may well have been its original intent.) Musically, pop music is problematic to my mind because of its secular location and all the mental/memory baggage that goes along with it. Furthermore, I wouldn’t call this a pop music mass either because it only appeared at spots for hymnody; none of the liturgical chants were replaced (or even appeared…).

Let’s have a Party!

I’m intrigued by LutherPunk’s comment below about what he sees as the coming growth and development of local organic liturgies. Especially since he says in the context of ecclesial bodies with well-determined liturgical structures. I want to hear more about what he thinks on that. Furthermore–I’m wondering what the rest of us think–or hope–will be emerging as the Body of Christ continues to gather and form itself liturgical in the unfolding century. So–I’m announcing a blog carnival entitled:

“Common” Prayer in the 21st Century

You’ll note the quotes around the word common… I’m choosing to highlight that for a number of reasons. What does it mean for our prayer common in this day and age? What is the internet doing to our notions of common prayer? One of the hallmarks of the post-Vatican II era is the notion of indigenous liturgies; how does this fit into our understanding of common prayer? Furthermore, the denominational structures and lines that we currently inhabit will–I’m convinced–be shifting, perhaps radically, in the coming years. What will it mean to have common prayer between, across and along these? I ask in particular because the possibility of separated Anglican brethren seems but a few months away–what liturgical bonds of affection may we share? What if the much rumored motu proprio appears and the Tridentine Mass reappears on the scene; what might this mean for us all–on both banks of the Tiber?

All you have to do to participate is post something that relates to this wild mass of questions, and drop me a comment here or an email at haligweorc at hotmail before May 14th. As before, if you’d like me to post something here on your behalf, I’ll be happy to accommodate, just contact me…

So–smooth your wax, sharpen up your stylus, and drop me a note before the 14th!

Communio Project Completed

The communio is the music and texts appointed to be sung during the distribution of the Blessed Sacrament in the Roman Rite. The texts tend to be a combination of psalm texts and other parts of Scripture interwoven with one another. As such, they represent a classic form of interpretation through juxtaposition that is at the heart of the Western liturgical tradition of biblical interpretation. That is, the meaning of the biblical texts is neither declared nor forced upon the singers/hearers, but instead is coaxed forth by the apposition of two or more texts joined by context and experience.

NLM reports the final completion of a project of its mother organization, the Church Music Association of America, that I will reproduce in full:

The Communio Project of putting all communions with Psalms online is now finished. You can see them here. This the one place where you can find the music for the communion antiphon sung in the manner recommended by the General Instruction. They were typeset by chant master Richard Rice. At last, the full collection is available to the world for instant download and, we can hope, singing every Sunday forever more.

Do visit and check out these treasures. While they are listed for ease of convenience on the site in alphabetical order, the index file at the top shows their proper liturgical ordering. They are in Latin with the traditional square notation, but the scripture references are included and the second page contains an English translation of the text. I’ll offer one here in the spirit of the season.

An Era Ends

With the thunderous chords of “Love Divine, All Loves Excelling” Don Saliers concluded his last lecture as a professor today. Even those who don’t recognize his name have felt his impact through our liturgies. Don is one of the ringleaders of the renewal in Protestant liturgics following on the heels of Vatican II–the renewal that gave us most of the hymnals and worship books currently in use in the mainline denominations. His thought and that of his colleagues determined the majority of the changes in the ’79 BCP and the ’82 hymnal as well as the Lutheran LBW and, of course, his own Methodist ’89 hymnal.

As much as I grouse about some of the changes, theologies, and ideologies embodied in these recent books and liturgies, I–and we–owe him and his companions a deep debt of gratitude for their commitment to drawing on the best of the tradition for proclaiming the Gospel to today’s world.

Did I mention that he is a Benedictine oblate as well? I credit much of his success to this grounding, giving him a deep connection to the rhythm of communities at prayer inaccessible through academic study alone.

The old order is passing away; what is to come–has yet to be seen. Don is retiring, and his comrades with him. Too few are following in their footsteps. The next generation of liturgical scholars is small. We are now beginning to face and will soon feel the consequences of the loss of these wellsprings of wisdom who combine deep learning with great souls.

On Lectionaries, Texts of Terror and Clobber Verses

This is an update to the thoughts below on lectionary usage of troublesome biblical texts. Bls made some great observations over at Dr. Good’s comments. She and I have had this discussion before but I’m afraid it hadn’t quite sunk in entirely. Here’s another try.

I think what I was saying before about texts that we cut out of the lectionary holds true for most of what are referred to as “texts of
terror.” These texts, especially those identified by Phyllis Tribble in her book of the same name have, for the most part, been repressed and expunged by the mainline churches. In the intro class where I read Tribble’s book, most of us had never encountered these texts before and were shocked that they were in the Bible. These passages need to be heard and wrestled with so that we might formulate our understanding of God and who the people of God have been in relation to them.

“Clobber verses” present a different problem entirely. These are not problematic texts that have been repressed; rather they are–as bls points out–all too well known in their decontextualized, weaponized form. They include the Romans texts for queer folk, the 1 Cor texts for women, and the curse of the descendants of Ham in Genesis used for generations to justify slavery and apartheid. I definitely see her point that she could live just fine for a while without encountering these liturgically.

[As an aside, I feel the need to state that there is a difference between clobber verses and verses that make us feel uncomfortable. The Magnificat or Beatitudes may make a rich man feel uncomfortable–but that in no way allows him to claim it as a clobber verse. I’d define a clobber verse as an atomized text used for the purpose of dehumanizing a group of people to legitimate official oppression.]

In her comments bls mentioned “waiting a few years” before bringing them back in. That resonates with me in the sense that people who have been oppressed by a text may, as part of a healing process, need to encounter the text again–but how do we honor the different amount of time that it will take for each individual to encounter it in a public liturgy?

On a separate note, is there a way that reading these clobber verses in their Scriptural context and in the gathered liturgical community can be defused and redeemed? I focus specifically on context because their weaponized form depends largely–if not entirely–on their disconnection from the biblical texts from which they are drawn and the scope of the biblical narrative as a whole.

Liturgy is so important and so complex because it encompasses so many aspects of human and theological life. It draws together the Scriptures, moral and spiritual formation, pastoral needs, the handing on of tradition, and a host of other factors together. This is one of those intersections where the pastoral dimension comes to the fore and, to be honest, that’s a dimension of it that comes less naturally to me than others. So–what do we do with these; what should we do?

On Censored Lectionaries

Dr. Deidre Good of GTS has written a short thought about ++Rowan’s lecture on Scripture interpretation. (h/t *Christopher) In it, she specifically addresses something that is a major concern of mine. That is, if the liturgical gathering is the primary and normative locus for the Body of Christ encountering the Word of God, why are our lectionaries piece-meal? Why do they consciously skip certain texts–and what does this say about us as an interpretive community…

One of the fundamental things that make Christians Christians is that
we share a canon. We have wrestled and struggled with the Scriptures for centuries and that is part of what makes us who we are. What does it do to us and to our formation when we choose to not wrestle with God?

Some of the comments engage the whole idea of selected readings at all. I have thought a bit about this and point back to something I wrote on this topic a while ago. I’d like to revisit it again soon but time, at present, does not permit…

Our Easter Vigil

Our Easter Vigil experience was, overall, a pretty good one. It was very cold (for here) and very early when we got up and it was a challenge to get the little ones dolled up in their Easter finery and out the door to make it by 6 AM. It didn’t happen either. That’s ok–we were close enough to on time to get to file past the new fire and to hear “The light of Christ!” as the Paschal candle disappeared into the church several hundred people ahead of us…

I would have been worried about not getting seats except ours are perpetually saved by ingrained years of habit on the part of other churchgoers; Lil’ G is really good in church–when she can see what’s going on. Everybody’s trained not to sit in the first few pews–so that’s where we headed and, sure enough, there was space.

There were only 3 readings and no psalms (choir anthems, rather) but minor nit-pickiness aside it was a good celebration. I busted the bell-cluster M put together for me by over-vigorous ringing during the Gloria… The sermon was good–it stayed focused on Easter and the resurrection and the power of the living Jesus which was just right for the occasion. The only real hitch for us was when Lil’ G refused to receive Eucharist from the lead cleric (more of a large-man-with-beard thing than a church-politics thing).

Lamb dinner at home followed. It was nice to enjoy an Easter service as a family. I imagine we’ll have very few of these in the coming years…

The only liturgical oddity from Triduum I’ll note was the Veneration of the Cross. M and I are quite attached to the rite, it being a major academic interest of hers, but this one was very…well…protestant. A large cross was processed to the chancel, but then we just stood there and stared at it while the choir sang a number of anthems. No prostrations or kneeling before it, no kissing of it, we got to look but not touch–the rite just felt strange and disembodied.

On Kneeling in Easter

One of the major changes that the American ’79 BCP wrought was a look Eastward. The mainstream of BCP tradition was that of the Western Church as filtered through the Sarum Rite. Furthermore, the previous great movement towards Big-T Tradition–the various parts of the Anglo-Catholic movement–took the high medieval West as their paradigm. Something that I’ve heard from the time I started frequenting Episcopal Churches is that you don’t kneel during Easter. But what I’ve observed at many traditional churches–and even at a few liberal ones–is that the common culture is to kneel during the prayers of the People and after the Sanctus as usual.

We ran into this on Sunday. The congregation was split from what I could tell…

I’ve been told that the move to not kneel in Easter is an ancient decision of the Church codified in the Ecumenical Councils of which–according to Andrewes’ dictum–we recognize the first four (though most Anglo-Catholics retain the first seven…). I have to admit a certain degree of suspicion here, though. One of the things I’ve noted in the VII revision and its Protestant offspring is a desire to de-emphasize the penitential and to emphasize the joy and rejoicing throughout the Christian year. Insofar as this is a reaction against an overly sober and somber way of being the people of God, I’d agree. But, like many things, I want to make sure the pendulum doesn’t swing to far. Get too far on the other side and we capitulate to the cultural message that we’re all just fine the way we are, no repenting, no introspection, no cultivation of virtue needed (and when in doubt, blame somebody else…). So I got curious about this and thought I’d look it up…

Now, what I had in mind was John Cassian’s comments. This is what he says in the Conferences:

But it is now time to follow out the plan of the promised
discourse. So then when Abbot Theonas had come to visit us in our cell during
Eastertide after Evensong was over we sat for a little while on the ground and
began diligently to consider why they were so very careful that no one should
during the whole fifty days either bend his knees in prayer or venture to fast
till the ninth hour, and we made our inquiry the more earnestly because we had
never seen this custom so carefully observed in the monasteries of Syria. (Conf. XXI.11)

What I’ve taken away from this is that not kneeling during Easter was a custom assiduously observed among the desert monastic communities in Egypt–but apparently not in Palestine and maybe other places as well (Rome?).

In essence, this seems to recommend what I’ve received, to wit, not kneeling during Easter was an ancient custom practiced in the time of the Fathers particularly in the East.

So far, so good.

But then there’s the reference to the Ecumenical Councils… Here’s what we find in the canons of the First Ecumenical Council in Nicea:

Canon XX

Forasmuch as there are certain
persons who kneel on the Lord’s Day and in the days of Pentecost,
therefore, to the intent that all things may be uniformly observed
everywhere (in every parish), it seems good to the holy Synod that
prayer be made to God standing.

Ancient Epitome of Canon XX.

On Lord’s days and at Pentecost all must pray
standing and not kneeling. (First Ecumenical Council, Canon XX)

[As a note, it must be said that “Pentecost” was used as the name of the season between the Day of Resurrection and the Day of Pentecost (cf Tertullian).]

Hmmm… This does mention not kneeling during the whole 50 days–but also on every Sunday! While I’ve heard the first part of the custom proclaimed, I’ve not heard this–nor would I want to, really. I find kneeling to be a very effective way of kinesthetically experience the liturgy and it does help the proper attitude of supplication. I think the key to remember here is the principle of balance. This canon assumes a culture of near constant liturgical activity with numerous prostrations every single day. For them, then, not kneeling or prostrating themselves was a celebratory shift from a more penitential norm. But that’s so not our case… When I say the Office by myself I sit, not kneel, and in my experiences of the Office in community at Smokey Mary we didn’t kneel either. For us to obey the canon’s letter seems to miss its spirit in terms of kneeling and prostrations.

The canon’s explicit spirit isn’t about kneeling, though. It’s about liturgical uniformity. I find this interesting particularly in light of Cassian’s comments above: he was writing about a hundred years after Nicea… Whatever uniformity the council hoped to establish didn’t take.

So where does that leave us? Well, it means that:

  • there is ancient Eastern precedent for not kneeling in Easter (Egypt)
  • but also ancient Eastern precedent for kneeling (Syria/Palestine).
  • There’s also Western precedent for kneeling in Easter.
  • An appeal made to the Council seems specious on a few grounds.
    • First, it makes a really selective reading that undercuts the authority of the canon.
    • Second, the canon seems to make sense within a very different liturgical environment than we have today.
    • Third, the canon attempts to create–or impose–a liturgical uniformity that did not obtain throughout the Church.

So, if you’re going to try and use this custom in your parish, it’s really not a good idea to appeal to the council. (Here’s where my earlier suspicions come in to play about motive…) Furthermore, competing precedents show no clear voice on the matter from the practice of the early church. There’s no reason why, all other things being equal, East should trump West.

My personal feeling? Actually, I think I’m for not kneeling during Easter…(but for kneeling the rest of the time, naturally). I think our current problem in the church is forgetting that Easter is fifty days long. We are able to remember that Lent is forty days, but have misplaced the fact that Easter is fifty… Things like using the Pascha Nostrum as the invitatory at Morning Prayer and standing at Mass do actually help with this by shifting our routine for the length of the season. But we should teach accordingly–that is, tell people why we’re doing it and how it ties in with a proper and joyful remembrance of the resurrection…which is the point of this whole exercise anyway…

Quick Easter Survey

M and I were quite puzzled this year. Most of the higher churches in the admittedly MOTR-to-low diocese did Easter Vigils this year–at 6:00 Sunday morning. Only a couple retained the usual Saturday evening position. I’d never heard of that before, yet a bunch of folks seemed to do it en masse.
Did anything like this happen around your dioceses or this just a localized phenomenon?