"I don't know if we can keep it up much longer."
We were having a discussion about worship; she was the chair of another church's worship committee. I'd always admired the energy she poured into each service, but it looked as if she was approaching "worship committee burnout."
"I wonder if we are reinventing the wheel every week," she said. "We find it harder and harder to make our services fresh and new."
A new litany new words—every week? I was weary just hearing about it. But why?
"Think about it," she said. "New words surprise you. You ask 'how are you?' I say 'fine.' You don't bother to pay attention. But if I announce 'terrific' or 'disgusted,' I've got your attention. We are likely to have a real exchange. Same thing with worship. We work hard to keep people's attention. We want the words to leap off the page. We want people to think about what they are saying, not just mouth the same tired old phrases."
"So you are working hard to present the old truths in a new way—every week."
"Exactly. It can be frustrating though. You write something really good, and the next week you have to start over. I don't know if I have any more new litanies in my head."
That must be how ministers sometimes feel, I thought. "Why don't you repeat them?" I asked.
"We're afraid to. We're trying to keep our worshipers excited. Everybody talks about how short people's attention spans are these days, and I think it's true. We don't want to bore the congregation."
"It sounds to me," I replied, "that you don't even give the words time to sink in".
Novel or Familiar?
Do words sink in? Can the same old phrases touch us and shape our souls? Or, in these "sound-bite" times, does the church too need new words, new phrases, new prayers, new images to move our hearts and minds every Sunday? I found myself wondering about our need for both the novel and the familiar as I worshiped recently.
"The peace of God be with you."
"And also with you."
Turn around. Shake hands. Pass the peace to my neighbor. Have I done this one hundred times? One thousand? Do I mean what I'm saying? Do I know what I'm accepting? I think about the man I knew who complained that no one ever wished him well at church. What about passing the peace? I wondered. Should I invent a new phrase just to be noticed? Something like "May God's peace overwhelm you this week"?
This simple act, along with its repeated words, has had its effect week after week after week. I've had to think about my words. I've had to look my neighbors in the eye, and pray for peace for them. I've had to swallow my pride and let God's grace run over me as I've wished peace to a family member toward whom I'd been nursing a grudge. My prayerful effort, God's ready Spirit, and the wonderfully familiar words bend to fit the varieties of experiences that I bring to them. The words sink in.
We come, not because we ought,
but because we may,
not because we are righteous,
but because we are penitent,
not because we are strong,
but because we are weak,
not because we are whole,
but because we are broken.
These words remind us that we are not joining the Lord's Supper because of our worth, but because we need Christ. The words are unique to our church's Lenten liturgy, and on the first Sunday of Lent they arrive with special force. We are in a season of special self-examination. We are broken. But we may come to the table. By the end of Lent the words are familiar and full of comfort. God takes us just the way we are. There is no pretence at God's table. The words sink in.
O Christ the Lamb of God, who takes
away the sin of the world, have mercy on us.
O Christ the Lamb of God, who takes
away the sin of the world, grant us your peace.
These words, sung in the somber tones of the Lenten liturgy, are also unique to the Lenten season. But I have been taught enough about liturgy to know that when I sing them, I am praying with words used by Christians all over the world and from all ages of history. I join my voice with the voice of the larger church, and worship not alone, not even with just one congregation, but with the saints of all times and places. The words—precisely because they are not new—move me past individual experience and into the Christian community.
A Liturgy for Each Season
Much has been written about "the consumer church," the "McChurch", where worshipers are like customers, searching for the easiest spiritual nourishment, and worship committees turn into fast-food marketing strategists. This article isn't about the strengths and weaknesses of such an approach. But the dangers inherent in the consumer approach to worship are relevant to our consideration of the words of worship.
Committees who struggle week after week to provide a "fresh approach" that will elicit a "powerful experience" often grow weary and burn out. Congregations who get used to change for the sake of "grabbing their attention" never get a chance to let the words sink in. In teaching, we are often warned against doing all the work for the student. Unless the student struggles to add a bit of herself to the material, the lesson will not be a lasting one. In worship, the committee should not be doing all the work for the worshiper.
As worshipers, we live with tension. At times we need fresh words, and at times we need familiar ones. We fear phrases muttered without thinking, and we fear experiences that change so fast that we never have time to be shaped by them. In fact, as individuals we vary. Some of us long for exciting change, others for comforting continuity. What is a wise worship committee to do?
Seasonal liturgies are one answer to the need for balance between continuity and change. A consistent liturgy used throughout Lent, another for the Easter season, another for the Pentecost season, and so on, provides both challenge and relief for the worship committee.
Church of the Servant, a congregation in Grand Rapids, Michigan, has adapted such an approach. They use separate liturgies for Advent, Christmas (the shortest season—only one or two Sundays), Lent, and Easter. (The liturgy for Lent that Church of the Servant uses is included with mis article, pp. 24-25.) What has traditionally been "ordinary time" in the liturgical tradition is divided into Epiphany season (from Epiphany to Lent), Pentecost season (from Pentecost to early September), and Trinity season (from early September until Advent). The liturgies follow the same order of worship, but the words and the tone change from season to season. We also celebrate the Lord's Supper each Sunday.
Seasonal liturgies allow the words to sink in. They foster the sense that a church season has arrived that one will "live in" for a while. The words take on a deeper meaning as the season progresses, and set the stage for the season to come. Toward the end of Lent one can feel the ache for Easter. When the Easter liturgy returns, it simultaneously feels new and like an old friend. When seasonal liturgies are used year after year, their phrases and cadences develop a wealth of past associations and mark the passage of time, the way a chain of Christmases help us look both backward and ahead.
Seasonal liturgies provide significant challenges for worship committees. It is a challenge to provide a wonderful seasonal liturgy—built from the words of both the larger liturgical tradition and the unique identity of the individual congregation. It is a challenge to know when and how the liturgy needs revision. It is a challenge to be thinking ahead to Advent while still in the Easter season. And it is a challenge—a very important one—to teach the congregation the strengths of the seasonal liturgy.
Seasonal liturgies are also a relief for the worship committee. The carefully crafted words are no longer "disposable." The seasons can be savored, and the pressure for new things every week is no longer present. It is a relief to share the work of worship with the worshiper.
We must be taught to "let the words sink in." We must be taught that we are joining, at a certain point in a liturgy, with the "church at all times and in all places." We could be encouraged to take parts of the liturgy home, to make the words part of our family worship or our individual prayer time. We must be taught—again and again it seems—the thinking behind the order of worship. In these ways we learn to add ourselves to the liturgy.
For an example of a seasonal liturgy see "A Seasonal Liturgy for Lent".
