The people kneel or stand.
Then the Celebrant continues (BCP p. 334)
At this morning's contemporary service, the Celebrant paused here. I suspect that she was waiting for the noise of rhythm instruments played by young children during the Sanctus to settle down. Whatever her reason, it made me realize how much I miss having a moment's silence here.
Aside from the issue of standing or kneeling, I think that a bit of space after the Sanctus is helpful. Without the space, it is easy for the following sentences to seem trivial. They are not, and deserve our full interior participation.
-----
The sermon, based mostly on John 17, touched on the fact that our parish has three Sunday Eucharistic services in three differing styles: a spoken "eight o'clock Anglican" service [telephone conversation: "What time is your 8:00 service?" "It is at 7:45." "Thank you."], a "contemporary" service ("the 8:45"), and a "traditional" service. Today's preacher did not seem to think this a bad thing, but many people whom I respect in church music and liturgy do: John Ferguson and Marva Dawn, to name two. Dawn says that such divisions indicate that people are unwilling to love one another enough to sing songs or experience liturgy in a way that they personally dislike, setting aside their preferences for the good of the community. Ferguson says that it is a sign of the brokenness of our church and society, as well as our capitulation to consumerism in worship. We have choice, just like we do at Wal-Mart. Ferguson adds that such an arrangement often comes unglued when there is a conflict in the parish over money. The people's values have diverged, and they do not have enough community to hold together.
I am less sure that it is wrong than I used to be. It seems to work reasonably well here, and we have survived a building project without splitting the church. But I can say this: we are impoverished by not sharing one another's presence in worship. The "eight o-clock" service and the traditional service need the liveliness of children, who mostly attend the 8:45. The children, in turn, are growing up without saying the Nicene Creed, without regularly hearing the Old Testament in worship, without opening a Prayerbook, without ever experiencing the traditional language of a Rite One service, and with almost no exposure to the church's heritage of hymnody, unless they are in choir. The traditional service needs some of the newer songs that we sing at the 8:45. The 8:45 needs to sing with the pipe organ sometimes, and needs the strong congregational singing that the people in the traditional congregation could bring to it. They need to hear three lessons and a psalm, and they need to occasionally hear Bach and Messiaen on the organ. The "eight o'clock" needs more people, and might find it beneficial to sing some hymns once in a while. The other two services need the monastic simplicity of the spoken liturgy, conducted with elegance and grace.
All three congregations would resist the innovations I have suggested, and would fail to see any need for what the other services might have to offer. None of these innovations would be possible unless the people were all worshipping together. Then, there would be every need for them. We would need to sing one another's songs for the good of the community.
Today, we sang a fine spiritual at the 8:45:
"Paul and Silas, bound in jail,
Got nobody for to go them bail.
Keep your hand on the plow, hold on."
At the traditional service, we had a different hymn about Paul and Silas:
"Make your prayer and music one!
Lift your songs of faith as signs
That this world has not undone
Heaven's wonderful designs.
Alleluia. . . .
Sing as Paul and Silas sang:
Let no circling dark or wall
Muffle what their praises rang:
Jesus Christ is Lord of all!
Alleluia."
Neither congregation would have been capable of accepting the other hymn. But it would have been good for both groups to sing both songs. Without the "other," and what is represented thereby, their worship is incomplete, and the formation of the children and adults who attend this parish is incomplete. And it is not going to change, not in my lifetime.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
2 comments:
An uncle of mine was pastor for many years at University Lutheran Church in Cambridge, Mass., in the "old days" when one presided and preached at all three services. He felt that each service had its own congregation, so he preached three different sermons each Sunday, and didn't repeat one until he was retired and in his 70s. It reminds me of what Benedict says in the Rule: the desert fathers sang the whole psalter in a day, and we find it hard to sing it in a week (or a month or seven weeks). My uncle's insight was that people selected the type of piety that best suited them, and he met them where they were. But what preacher today would be willing to do that?
I find myself responding to the nature of the congregations in terms of music selection, and go often enough on unarticulatable "feelings" about what songs would best express the pericopes and the place in the liturgical year. It is unwise, if not impossible, to simply impose what is "right" on a congregation. It is "right" only if it helps them understand the Word, praise the Lord, and pray.
It is interesting that in our parish, as in most with multiple services, the music differs, as do the liturgical texts, but the sermon most often remains the same. Your uncle was probably right.
I have no idea how this could be done in the 21st century church that we serve. There are too many expectations on clergy to give them the time for this level of sermon preparation.
There is a musical equivalent in the way that times have changed: Bach wrote a new cantata every week in Leipzig until he had enough for the three-year cycle. And he taught them to soloists, orchestra, and choir, including boy trebles, while carrying on his duties as headmaster of the school. There are no church musicians these days who would attempt something like that.
Post a Comment