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MA Liturgy and Worship Essay

Is Liturgy Acquired?

Elspeth Chantler
2004

Liturgy is the work of the people. It is what the people do, the corporate act of worship (as opposed to individual devotions)- expressing worship to God. In his book, The Shape of the Liturgy, Gregory Dix defines liturgy as:

Whilst the Christian customs of attending church on Sunday, celebrating the Eucharist and saying the Lord's Prayer could be said to be universal throughout Christendom, liturgical practice takes many forms, and is subject to national, regional and denominational variations. So where does this diverse liturgy come from? Is it acquired, and if so, how?

Firstly, what do we mean by acquired?

Acquire:

Acquirement:

Attain:

Gain:

Acquire:

From this set of definitions one can conclude that, if liturgy is acquired, it is no accident that a certain practice comes into usage, as, for better or worse, some effort will have to be made by the assembly to acquire it. Liturgy, new or old, must be learned in some way for its use to be effective. After all, the people are required to take an active part in the liturgy for it to be an authentic corporate act of worship.

'The quality of the rite is proportionate to the level, frequency and quality of the participation of those present' (Pottebaum 1992 p88). Children inherit the liturgical practices of their parents and their family church. They learn what to do through seeing us do it. They learn by example, that this (be that singing, praying or processing etc.) is the way we worship God. Wes Haystead, in Teaching Your Child About God observes:

In other words, children absorb a tradition 2. This process of absorption continues through into adulthood when understanding deepens and the traditions thus assimilated are embraced as one's own. The influence of the church is so far-reaching that it has a much greater effect on an individual's practise than one might initially assume:

'The most isolated Christian - say a Celtic anchorite (the nearest equivalent to a Christian Robinson Crusoe)- in so far as he is specifically Christian, does not come to God like the Pagan mystic, as the alone to the Alone. Even if he does not use a traditional formula like the Lord's Prayer or the 'Glory be to the Father', he prays within a whole framework of Christian ideas received from others. When his prayer is most spontaneous and from his own heart, the belief according to which he prays, the general type of his prayer and much- probably most- of his actual phrasing are still largely drawn from what he has learned from others- his teachers, Christian services he has attended in the past, his mother, his bible, many different sources. Ultimately, it all comes to him, even the use of his bible, from the tradition of prayer evolved in the worshipping church.' (Dix 1945 p.x) The traditions we inherit, those that shape and have shaped the particular culture in which we operate, will affect our approach to liturgical practice and renewal. Whether we choose to accept or reject what has gone before, one's current perspective will inevitably be coloured by the tradition we have absorbed.

Many Christians are unaware of the extent of variation in liturgical practice, assuming that other churches of similar persuasion and using the same texts will have more or less identical rites. This assumption is a tradition in itself, heralding from the 1549 Act of Uniformity, when the Book of Common Prayer was introduced. Whilst ensuring doctrinal conformity (until the Catholic Revival which began in 1833), commonality of liturgical practice was never truly more than a myth.

The myth of commonality largely continues, a hangover from the days when the BCP reigned unchallenged. Even with the advent of Common Worship (2000) (which has broken open the rites authorised by the Church of England, allowing unprecedented liturgical flexibility and variation), the full extent of local variation is not appreciated by the majority of worshippers.

Liturgy, however, is dynamic 3 and therefore by its very nature constantly evolving. Any new practise acquired will be in some way born out of either current or antiquarian liturgy, from which all our notions about liturgy are shaped. Paul Bradshaw, in his chapter The Liturgical Use and Abuse of Patristics sums this up neatly:

Further on he continues:

Like it or not, we cannot get away from what has gone before.

The term acquired implies obtaining something inherently new. How, then, do we go about acquiring the new? Perhaps the most obvious answer to this is the notion of imposition. The church authorities decide that 'this is the way things will be done' (in the Anglican Church by imposing liturgical texts, in the Roman Catholic Church through the sweeping changes of Vatican II) and everyone does as they are told. This imposition is not all it seems, however. Official liturgical renewal has always happened in response to the activity of the people, the changes in doctrinal thinking and practice expressed at parish level 4.

Liturgy has always evolved from local level upwards, so that in recent years even when the Church is presented with a new authorised liturgical text - first ASB (1980), followed by Common Worship (2000)- the changes that might at first appear to have been imposed by the church have actually occurred as a result of experimentation and change of practice at parish level.

So if the imposition of 'Official' liturgy is not necessarily such an imposition at all, but a response to the already changing church, then where and how does the new originate? The process of inculturation is one that is receiving a great deal of attention within the Anglican Church, as it seeks to minister to seemingly disparate groups within our pluralist society.

The Church is making an effort to recognise subculture, and from this recognition has grown a number of styles of worship in an attempt to cater for those who cannot identify with 'mainstream' worship (which is in itself a product of the once dominant culture). Efforts made to minister to more effectively to young people have given rise to youth-culture versions of 'seeker' services, and services making use of a multi-media approach. Differences between rural and urban parishes are also acknowledged and reflected in liturgical style. Nowhere is inculturation more obvious than in church music, as any style of music carries strong cultural messages.

In my work as Abbey Musician at Iona Abbey, I learned, taught and used in worship a large number of songs of the world church. I was struck by the way that many of these songs sounded so much 'of their culture'. I have chosen four different settings of Kyrie Eleison to illustrate this 5 (Bell, J.L. ed. & arr., 1990 pp 28-29 & 58-59; Bell, J.L. ed. & arr., 1991 pp24-25 & 70-71). Three use traditional melodies from Greece, Taiwan and the Russian Orthodox tradition. The fourth tune is by a Nigerian woman, Dinah Reindorf (1987). Each of these settings have the same meaning (indeed, three use the Greek language text), yet they sound completely different. One Scottish woman commented excitedly after a workshop I was facilitating,

Inculturation, especially where music is concerned, honours and validates cultural identity. Not only has inculturation allowed the church to adopt traditional regional styles throughout the Anglican Communion, but those styles are now coming into use in other countries/parishes (as in my work mentioned above), enriching the worship of people who have no cultural connection to those to whom the style originally belonged. Inculturation becomes acculturation 6. My own parish has been touched in this way.

For as many years as I can remember, our Palm Sunday Procession had been less than successful. After gathering in the church hall for the blessing of our palm crosses, the whole congregation would walk across the car park and right around the church, before going inside to continue the service. As we walked we sang, heads down in our hymnbooks, the hymn the New English Hymnal tells us we should sing for a Palm Sunday Procession - No. 509, All Glory, Laud and Honour (ST THEODULPH). Unsupported by a musical instrument or a determined vocal lead, the singing was dreary, timid and invariably went flat. The fall in pitch would not have been such an issue were it not for the fact that the organist would be playing the hymn inside the church at the original pitch, producing an effect somewhere between the comical and the cringe worthy as the congregation entered the church singing in a different key to that in which the organ was playing. Worse still, the agony was prolonged as over one hundred people solemnly filed in, each suffering the shock of the pitch change (or though some, I swear, never noticed…) and attempting to adjust accordingly. Needless to say, the procession lacked the joy and excitement it was instituted to convey. In this instance, the liturgy - what the people were doing - was not working. The procession was an example of a rite produced by a culture now in its death throes. It was generally agreed that this rite needed to change to make it more meaningful and less of a farce.

In 2002, instead of All Glory, Laud and Honour, we sang Graham Kendrick's Make Way, Make Way. This song, having an easily repeatable chorus, made it instantly accessible to the children, who were thus enabled to join in the singing. It did nothing, though, to solve the other problems mentioned above. People still got confused as to which verse they were supposed to be singing, and this was further confused by the fact that the whole song had to be repeated several times to make it last the length of the procession.

In 2003, Make Way, Make Way was given another chance, this time supported by a melodeon playing the tune with the procession all the way from the hall into church, and giving the organ a rest. This worked much better. The singing benefited from the strong lead and remained at pitch. The younger members were still excluded from singing the wordy verses, however, and folk were still confused as to which verse to sing. The changes, whilst significant, had not delivered sufficient improvement.

2004 saw the real shift. Having accepted the loss of All Glory, Laud and Honour, and welcomed the improvements wrought by the changes to the rite as described above, the congregation at Holy Trinity Prestwood were ready to move one step further. I chose a new song. Sanna, Sannanina comes from the church in Tanzania. It is sung unaccompanied in four-part harmony, and is a simple repeated chorus. It means 'Hosanna'. This simple text immediately reunited the modern day procession with the original gathering on Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem:

I taught the song to both the Choir and the Junior Church in advance, who were then able to confidently lead the procession. Before the Blessing of the Palms, I taught the song to the gathered assembly. There was no need for song sheets. The sound of the singing was full and joyful (at least at the front of the procession where the choir were). The children had made streamers (doweling rods with rainbow coloured ribbons attached) to wave as they walked and sang. I assume the pitch sank as it usually does, but on this occasion it mattered not, for there was no competition from the organ on entering the church. The sound of the singing gradually swelled as the people made their way into the church, and the song continued until everybody was inside and ready to be seated. I found it quite exhilarating to hear the body of sound grow as the assembly, who had been strung out over quite distance during the procession joined together so strongly once regrouped inside the church. The 'new-look' procession has been hailed a success, and so will be repeated next year.

In the above account I have demonstrated that Holy Trinity has acquired a new piece of liturgy. Firstly, the changes that took place between 2001- 2004 came about as a result of considerable effort. The rite did not naturally evolve, but had to go through a number of processes to reach the desired goal. Inculturation played a part from the outset, as we looked to move away from the hymnbook bound culture of old to find a song that was accessible to all age-groups. Acculturation came into play when we adopted the Tanzanian song, Sanna, Sannanina, and made it part of our own rite.

Acculturation itself is nothing new. Whilst singing songs of the world church is a relatively recent development in worship in this country (I have not found any evidence of this prior to the 1960's) 7, we have been 'borrowing' elements of rites from other cultures since the earliest days of Christianity in this country. Many elements of Christian rite have undeniably pagan origins, as old customs are integrated into worship and ascribed new symbolism. Take, for instance, the Easter Eve fire. At Holy Trinity Prestwood, a small fire is lit in the safe confines of a biscuit tin (!!!), from which the Paschal candle is lit to symbolise the light of the risen Christ. The people then process into the darkened church behind the priest who holds the Paschal candle. The congregation then lights their own candles from the Paschal candle, and so the light in the church gradually spreads and the Exultet is sung. It doesn't appear so very pagan, but in fact, at some point unknown, the pagan rite was superimposed onto the Christian liturgy.

J.G. Frazer writes, in his book, The Golden Bough:

Despite its origins in paganism, our Easter Fire is not a pagan rite 8. It is rich in Christian symbolism, for all the incongruity of the purple biscuit tin! I have felt for many years that containing in a biscuit tin a fire intended to represent the light of the Risen Christ somewhat diminishes the potency of the rite. Now I can rest easy over the Palm Sunday procession, I think my next task will be to go about renewing the liturgy of the Easter Fire. That biscuit tin just has to go! It's time once again to acquire a new liturgy.

Elspeth Chantler, 2004