Liturgy, Resistance, Presence
Nov. 26th, 2003 10:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
qosYesterday, for the first time, I attended the ecumenical (read: “Protestant”) worship service at my seminary. It was a Communion service, organized and celebrated by the Theology of the Eucharist class. It was an. . . interesting. . . experience.
I come from a mainline Protestant background. In the church where I grew up, the services were formal, but did not involve the emphasis on liturgical ritual that some churches practice. My current church is very informal. So when yesterday’s service began with a procession of celebrants in white albs, one carrying a candle on a tall candlestick and one carrying an ornate Book of the Gospels, and all bowed to the empty altar as they entered, I felt a distinct kick of resistance.
Let me hasten to state that I am quite aware that elaborate liturgical ceremonies have been cherished by millions of people of many, many faiths throughout history. I, however, usually feel that elaborate ritual puts up a barrier between me and God/dess. (Which is one reason why I never felt entirely comfortable in Pagan circles.)
But I tried to resist my own resistance yesterday, and appreciate the significance of the ritual gestures, particularly the bows to the altar and the mutual bows when the celebrants passed the Elements from one person to another. That kind of formality may not be to my taste, but the thought struck me: Is it a bad thing to heighten congregants’ awareness of the Presence of God and to make a formal acknowledgement of the glory and authority of God? My answer was: No, it’s not a bad idea at all. In fact, I felt like it was doing me a lot of good.
Taking communion was another interesting experience. I come from congregations in which the Elements are passed among the congregation, and the wine is served in tiny individual cups. Receiving the bread directly from the celebrant and drinking from a cup held by someone else was awkward for me, and I felt nervous about “doing it wrong”. And in fact, it seemed to take forever, and some awkward maneuvering, to actually get the wine from the cup. I didn’t know how to interact with the cup bearer to make the transmission a smooth one. It did not feel like a particularly solemn or holy moment.
But when I was back in my seat (the large hunk of bread in my hand necessitating several bites to consume), I was able to settle back into a more reverent frame of mind. And then I was filled with a sense of Presence, and intimacy with the Holy. Whatever my personal twitches and quirks about participation in the physical celebration of this sacramental ritual, it was still a sacramental experience for me, and a powerful one.
After the service, walking back to my car in the cold night along a different path than the one I had entered by, I passed a collection of large stones set in among half-wild landscaping. In the dark, I couldn’t tell if their placement was deliberate or natural, but I was struck by an unusually strong sense that this was a place of power, a sacred place. (I’m not usually sensitive to such things.) I stopped and. . . communed. . . with the Spirit there. And then I went on my way quietly celebrating the fact that we can encounter the Holy in so many different places and experiences.
I come from a mainline Protestant background. In the church where I grew up, the services were formal, but did not involve the emphasis on liturgical ritual that some churches practice. My current church is very informal. So when yesterday’s service began with a procession of celebrants in white albs, one carrying a candle on a tall candlestick and one carrying an ornate Book of the Gospels, and all bowed to the empty altar as they entered, I felt a distinct kick of resistance.
Let me hasten to state that I am quite aware that elaborate liturgical ceremonies have been cherished by millions of people of many, many faiths throughout history. I, however, usually feel that elaborate ritual puts up a barrier between me and God/dess. (Which is one reason why I never felt entirely comfortable in Pagan circles.)
But I tried to resist my own resistance yesterday, and appreciate the significance of the ritual gestures, particularly the bows to the altar and the mutual bows when the celebrants passed the Elements from one person to another. That kind of formality may not be to my taste, but the thought struck me: Is it a bad thing to heighten congregants’ awareness of the Presence of God and to make a formal acknowledgement of the glory and authority of God? My answer was: No, it’s not a bad idea at all. In fact, I felt like it was doing me a lot of good.
Taking communion was another interesting experience. I come from congregations in which the Elements are passed among the congregation, and the wine is served in tiny individual cups. Receiving the bread directly from the celebrant and drinking from a cup held by someone else was awkward for me, and I felt nervous about “doing it wrong”. And in fact, it seemed to take forever, and some awkward maneuvering, to actually get the wine from the cup. I didn’t know how to interact with the cup bearer to make the transmission a smooth one. It did not feel like a particularly solemn or holy moment.
But when I was back in my seat (the large hunk of bread in my hand necessitating several bites to consume), I was able to settle back into a more reverent frame of mind. And then I was filled with a sense of Presence, and intimacy with the Holy. Whatever my personal twitches and quirks about participation in the physical celebration of this sacramental ritual, it was still a sacramental experience for me, and a powerful one.
After the service, walking back to my car in the cold night along a different path than the one I had entered by, I passed a collection of large stones set in among half-wild landscaping. In the dark, I couldn’t tell if their placement was deliberate or natural, but I was struck by an unusually strong sense that this was a place of power, a sacred place. (I’m not usually sensitive to such things.) I stopped and. . . communed. . . with the Spirit there. And then I went on my way quietly celebrating the fact that we can encounter the Holy in so many different places and experiences.
