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high church

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A Tale of Two Congregations

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In a growing church, there once were two congregations, each of them thriving in its own way. The building could have accommodated both groups at once – in fact, there were sometimes joint services. But you couldn’t have that too often. Oh, no: the styles of worship were too different. The late morning group was quite pedantic about following proper liturgy and was used to smells and bells; but the early morning group was of the happy clappy persuasion. And let’s not talk about the evening service, designed for those who couldn’t or wouldn’t get up early on a Sunday. After all, it is meant to be a day off, right?

taleoftwoPhoto credits: Wikimedia users Rafael Faria and Luis Miguel Bugallo Sánchez, used under CC license

And so joint services, when they happened, were a matter of compromise: we’ll have some modern music, but we’ll also read off Common Worship. And we’ll robe up, but we won’t use the kneelers for communion. Elements for the high church congregation, elements to give a spiritual high to the late morning group. And while everyone could see the other group needed to be accommodated in joint services, it didn’t mean they liked it. Or that they could engage with worship very well.

While each congregation was left to enjoy its particular way of worship, they experimented more and more into each direction, until visitors would believe there were two different churches meeting in the same building.

It is easy – relatively speaking – to satisfy the expectations of a congregation in terms of how the service is ordered, when those expectations are broadly similar across the board. It is even easier to avoid the particular tidbits that you know will annoy a specific individual within your congregation – for instance, blacklisting a hymn on non-theological considerations. We don’t sing about the wrath of God because so and so doesn’t like it and will kick up a fuss if we do.

It is much harder to satisfy the expectations of a mixed congregation.

But if that’s what we’re trying to do, our focus is wrong: it’s a primary focus on the congregation. Of course, the congregation is important, but what matters more is who we worship. Hopefully, this is a given and the purpose of the services and the ways in which they are ordered all point to that; but where disagreements arise, they lead to the largest headaches and end up, inevitably, becoming the focus of attention. Instead of Christ. The same Christ, who is both fully human and fully divine, is not a compromise between humanity and divinity. He is not taking this part of humanity at the expense of that one, he is not accepting this attribute of divinity at the expense of another one. He is both at once, in a kiss between heaven and earth.

If we can accept this meeting place, then our services can also reflect that. We can order a service drawing elements from both styles of worship – not in order to try to please both, but in order to enrich our worship of Christ. Not in order to be inclusive, but in order to reflect this joining of the human and the divine.

Then, it won’t matter whether it’s more high or more low church. The joint service will be a celebration of the diversity of God’s people, meeting together as Christ’s body, and becoming fully high and fully low at the same time. And slowly, all services will be joint services, and the unity of the Church will be made visible.

Of course, this is easier said than done. There are specific rules that should be followed for high church services under canon law (as far as I know, but do correct me if I’m wrong), and until there is a change in how we view Common Worship and other ASBs, it will not be possible to incorporate elements from all congregations in a meaningful way.

Liturgy: the same old stuff

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I love liturgy. There are many reasons for that: traditional liturgy is the result of centuries of selection and, consequently, it tends to be distilled, concentrated words of worship which ease our prayer. Traditional liturgy is also the expression of church unity worldwide and across centuries. Picture billions of people saying Amen, together, to the same words: that is what liturgy allows.

Tried and tested. Ecumenical. Exciting. Fresh.

bcp

Photo: Richard Gilin, re-used under CC License

Hang on – fresh? Never mind the quaint archaisms, the thous and the thees from 1662, how can something – anything – be fresh if it is repeated week after week after week? Surely after so long we go into some form of routine and stop feeling and hearing the power of the words we are uttering.

This is true, of course. Routine does come in. It is especially true if the exact same order of service is used, week in, week out. What I find, sometimes, is that the collect – the dedicated section of the service that changes every week, albeit to the same text every year – is the part of the service where I am most likely to tune out; despite my best efforts.

So, yes, there is a routine. So much so that I can be slightly annoyed at the absence of the prayer of humble access. But this routine, rather than stopping me from engaging, actually is what allows me to engage with the words I am saying on a deeper level. A slight emphasis change, and a whole new meaning of what I have said becomes clear. Start stressing “For us” in the Creed – you’ll see.

Routine can be beneficial to worship: it structures the service, and within the service, it focuses the prayer. But for that to happen, two conditions must be met:

  • liturgy must be alive. It must be clear that the leader is not simply reading those words, but proclaiming them. Now, unless you’re presiding over services, you may think there isn’t much you can do about that – but you’re wrong! Prayer is never passive; and it is rare for corporate prayer to be merely the sum of individual prayers. When you pray with conviction and passion, you will have an influence over those near you, and, gradually, remind the leader of the power of the words he or she is proclaiming. And if that fails, you can always have a chat with your worship leader.
  • you must not expect change, but be open to it. Expecting new stuff is not only setting yourself up for disappointment, it also means that you’ll be seeking out those tiny differences, at the expense of the wealth that you already know. But if you are closed to change; that is to say, if you think from the start that you know what you’re saying (and how you’ll react to it) backwards, then you won’t engage with it at all.

And like most things, getting to these stages takes some time: time to get familiar enough with the liturgy that you can navigate it to experience those changes and realise how exciting and alive it is. So give it some time, and know that liturgy will come alive.

A bit like Scripture, really.