A Love of Liturgy

Advent Candles.

The appeal of the tradition and reverence of the “high church” is one I understand. It’s why I’ve visited and appreciated Russian Orthodox services and Catholic masses, why I did not feel out of place in a Wesleyan church for four years, and why I am in the process of reclaiming my Anabaptist heritage. It is in humility that I acknowledge we have been pursuing God for a long time and perhaps my youthful ideas of what is best for the church are wrong.

Allow me to explain the value I see in liturgical churches.

I love the liturgy, its cadences, the congregational unity it creates, its majesty, and the theological depths contained in the words. I love how liturgy combines reason and faith and beauty. And the hymns... I want to tell Chris Tomlin to stop “modernizing” these classics. Let them be. Let us relax into the long held notes, let the sopranos soar into beautiful descants, let’s revive multi-part harmonies, and please, oh please can we occasionally end in the hushed reverence of an a cappella “Amen”?

Liturgical worship acknowledges our bodies. Somehow, in the evangelical Protestant world we have lost the ability to worship God with our senses. Where are the flickering candles that remind us of life’s fragility, the warmth of God’s presence, and the light we must be to the world? Where is the incense that reminds us that our prayers are a fragrant offering to God? Where is the profusion of colour that reminds us of the Creator God’s infinite variety and childlike delight in creating something as frivolous as colour? Where are the textures of solid wood and heavy materials that recall the firm foundation on which we stand and the majesty of a King?

I love the Church calendar. I love her rhythms. I love her rises and falls. I love the anticipation and expectation of Advent. I love the innocence and wonder of Christmas. I love the solemnity of Ash Wednesday. I love the perseverance and strength of character developed during Lent. I love the joy and hope of Palm Sunday. I love that Maundy Thursday reminds me to participate in footwashing and service and rending my heart before God. I love the grief and darkness and acceptance of the magnitude of Christ’s sacrifice on Good Friday. I love the cleansing healing of Easter Sunday. I love the all-reaching love of God that won’t be stopped by languages seen during Pentecost. The church calendar echoes the patterns of my own life. It reminds me that there are seasons of hope, seasons of discipline, seasons of grace, and seasons of joy. My journey on this narrow path is not linear, but sinusoidal and that is just part of a growing, living faith.

In short, there is so much that contributes to my liturgical leanings, but I must be fair. I must give the other side as well and explain why I am not a member of a high church.

I worship a God who will take me as I am, broken and bleeding. He does not stand on ceremony when I cry out to Him in pain and beg Him to cleanse me of my filth. This rawness is also part of my faith. I must be able to fall to my knees in His presence or prostrate myself on the floor or stand with my head thrown back. What arrogance that I will sit complacently in my pew while confessing my blackest thoughts!

Shadowlands. Photo Credit: Minesh Bacrania

I want to bring whatever I can to the altar. I want to bring Him my love for theatre. Would a “traditional” church allow me to perform dramatic readings for the glory of God or worship Him through narrative and poetry? Would I be free to explore different expressions of my adoration for God? I want to be free to participate in the traditions in new, but still meaningful ways. Must the form always be preserved, or can the form be more flexible, while the spirit remains? Can we make Communion become a Love Feast once again? Can we move the ashed cross from our foreheads to our hands, where it is a more effective reminder to ourselves, rather than merely a public statement? Can our Tenebrae Service incorporate the Stations of the Cross and an African American poem? Will I forget the freedom of expression if I am bound within a certain form?

For these reasons (among others), I still call myself an Anabaptist. I submit that we are able to worship God in many forms and only those which are useful for bringing us before the throne ought to be retained. And these forms ought to be re-evaluated at regular intervals. What is effective for bringing someone to the throne of God may not work for another. Also, what works at one time, does not work at another. There is a time and season for every activity under heaven. And so I do not bid everyone to appreciate the liturgy as I do, but I ask that those who do not participate acknowledge its importance for others and understand the failings of their own particular forms of worship (for we all have tendencies and/or practices, which are not completely healthy). And so, let us look at our own traditions and judge what is good and what is lacking.