I haven't posted at all in the past two weeks. I'm on the end of three weekends of weddings and travels to different cities. Curiously, as far as the search for a common ecumenical liturgy is concerned, the American wedding ceremony may be the most familiar and predictable liturgical rite understandable to the greatest cross section of worshipers! Lutheran, Catholic, Methodist, Evangelical - all follow a very predictable pattern.
The next week ahead promises rejuvenation in the activity of backpacking. I suggest Psalm 104 as backpacker's meditation.
To remain true to my commitment to remain in communication regarding sabbatical activities, here are some tidbits from Frank Senn's "The People's Work" to contemplate. I marvel at the similarities of vexations facing church leaders in centuries past to those in our time.
After the Roman empire recognized Christianity, Sunday as a day of rest was promoted by the governing authorities throughout the Roman empire. Secular distractions abounded. Senn writes:
"The church did no ask for this legislation in their own theological reflections on the Lord's Day. They continued to stress the need to assemble for worship on the Lord's Day. But the new idleness on Sunday meant that Christians had to be occupied in edifying ways so they would not succumb to vice.
In particular, Christians had to be urged to assemble for worship and not to assemble with the crowds that attended the circuses, theater, and games that were held on Sundays. . . . Major sports events, in the form of contests between men and beasts, gladiatorial combat, and chariot races, also were condemned by the bishops. They remained a problem for Sunday worship attendance in the fourth century." (Senn, 65)
Vikings? Nascar? Tickets to the Guthrie? All modern day concerns for pastors and musicians planning Sunday morning worship that must be finished by "kick-off."
The consternation over musical style and instrumentation was not stranger to the church patriarchs, either. The issue is establishing a Christian identity that remains distinct from the secular culture. "The increasingly strident denunciation of instrumental music in the writings of the church fathers of the fourth and fifth centuries suggests that instruments were, in fact, being used in public worship, or that there was popular pressure to use them, and that this had to be discouraged precisely at a time when a stark contrast was being drawn between Christian and pagan cults.
"In contast with the use of "lifeless" instruments in pagan rituals . . . the church fathers preferred the "living" instrument of the human voice. Writers as diverse as Clement of Rome, Clement of Alexandria, Origen, Pachomius, John Chrysostom and Augustine of Hippo extol unison singing as a powerful witness to unity. . . . The fathers also criticized the lewdness that accompanied pagan instrumental music and dancing. Thus, the condemnation of the use of musical instruments by the church fathers was not an aesthetic criticism, but a matter of staking out Christian identity and morality." (Senn 119)
Similar arguments are raised today regarding the appropriateness of electric guitars and such, with an appeal to maintaining a distinction between the commercial pop culture and immoral behavior of the musicians being emulated. I'm not arguing one way or the other here; I'm just curiously observing the similarity of the problem.
Last, on the rise of the professional musical class, of which I am definitely a part, and on the desire to get all worshipers singing:
"The Constantinian Age was also the time when hymnody, or spiritual songs, also flourished. The strophic hymn, which originated in Syria, countered the professionalization of recitative singing in larger assembly halls by making it possible for the people to sing. (My italics.) Ephriam is credited with developing a type of strophic hymn in which quantitative verse was replaced by isosyllabic verse, in which there was a regular pattern of accented syllables and the endings of lines often rhymed. This made possible singing all the stanzas to the same melody. (My italics; note in other posts my problem with pop influenced music that has no pattern or predictability, and thus are difficult to sing together.)
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Worship 10 July 2011
This report is the letter that I sent to two of the leaders of the congregation I attended this Sunday. Chad
Dear Pam and Lauren,
I attended worship at ECLC last Sunday, July 10, and want to express my gratitude and appreciation for the welcome your congregation extended to me.
I did talk with both of you, but to refresh your memory, I am currently on sabbatical from my position as Director of Music at First Lutheran Church
First, I offer thanks to all of your congregational members who recognized that I was a guest and then engaged me in conversation. Although this particular Sunday was an unusual one, in terms of worship pattern, I felt (mostly) comfortable joining in the “Head, Heart and Hands” activities following the sermon. Perhaps the greatest value of the break in the middle of the service for me as a guest was that there was time for engagement with members of your community. I planted some flowers, got to know a couple of folks, and then felt a greater connection with the people present at communion. Lauren was gracious to talk a little bit about the Bonfire service, and offer even further assistance as our own congregation at FLC contemplates a similar type of service. Last, one member, whose name escapes me, made sure to converse with me following worship and offered me a visitor’s packet.
Second, although I did hear somewhat of an apologetic tone about the style of worship from those I talked with, I truly appreciated the sense of flexibility of the service and the intimacy of the breakout session. Pam mentioned in her sermon how the parables of Jesus don’t always have to invite linear thinking (that is an analytical view,) but rather some revelation might come from an experiential approach. To be honest, I can spend most of my time comfortably doing linear analysis, so the thought of the breakout sessions made me sweat a bit. But, afterwards, the experience enriched my time of worship and made the mission aspect of the gospel more tangible.
Last, I have been finding as I visit various churches that the most satisfying encounters are with those congregations that authentically engender in their worship a sense of their mission, their life together, and what they hold dear. After this Sunday morning’s visit, I can describe with some clarity your community’s mission and the way you live out the gospel. That you are a peace church and a welcoming church is ever so clear. I have also found that my experience as a guest is more fulfilling when a common liturgical order is present. The style of the music and the exact content of the service can vary, but I still can find depth within the worship. This was the first service in which we all paused for 25 minutes, went out to some activity, and then returned to communion, but all along, I knew what was coming. And, the music was marvelous. I love singing a cappella, and I appreciated the care and guidance the music leaders expressed while teaching songs that might deviate a bit from what is on the page.
I hope that I will visit you again, likely on a Wednesday evening, and that your new Bonfire worship is a marvelous experience.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Worship 3 July 2011
First, a caveat: As a worship leader who has planned a service for and participated in one over a holiday weekend, I know that these holiday services are not representative of the norm. Attendance is low, resources are limited, and even the energy of the staff is diverted by other plans.
If pattern and familiarity are what I desire foremost in worship, then this service fit like a pair of old blue jeans. We gathered in a beautiful, architecturally significant building on a warm summer morning for worship in a style and order that I have known for over 30 years.
The musical leadership, by organist alone, was excellent. The small assembly sang with fair energy a pack of traditional hymns. The liturgical setting for the morning was ELW 3, the Hillert setting I have known since 1978. The sermon, as best as I could follow it (my girls were somewhat antsy) was engaging. The greeters at the entrance to the nave were friendly, and during the service offered help as best as they could (I needed help locating children’s bulletins, which weren’t available, and finding a drinking fountain.) We were welcome at communion, and the pastor was very attentive to my girls at distribution, offering them the bread by kneeling down to their level. After the service, conversation with congregational members was lively and extended. This congregation was genuinely pleased to welcome our presence.
Perhaps because attendance was low and the service so familiar, I left with some sense of disappointment, as if I had not had my fill of inspiration. Perhaps I saw too much affinity to my own congregation, or at least, the worship of tried-and-true pattern that sometimes happens when there isn’t time for creativity or attention to all the details. All the elements of this service were, by liturgical standards, “correct,” yet I was a little impatient or bored with it all.
The irony is that so much of the reading on liturgy that has engaged me lately argues for the elevation of the objective aspect of worship over the subjective. Worship should be directed toward God, through our Lord Jesus Christ, by the help of the Holy Spirit. At least, worship should do more to compel the corporate church body to action than to satisfy personal desires for fulfillment. Then, why am I now finding a hard time considering this particular worship by no other qualification than by how it made me feel?
What this experience reveals to me is that personal expectations, in this post-Enlightenment era, are part of worship. This could be cause for great trepidation, because so many individuals come to worship, each bringing some expectation to the table. How can each one be fulfilled? Perhaps the answer lies in the mystery of the liturgy that I should be content to leave alone.
This sabbatical, the services I have attended that have been the most engaging or satisfying are those that really project the authentic nature of the gathered congregation. No matter what, I am always a guest, and have found adherence to liturgical patterns to be the best welcoming gesture. But, there are other elements that provide a clue as to what each congregation is about. Perhaps these are the elements that give satisfaction to that unique, individual congregation, even when something doesn’t seem right to me.
Postscript: A couple of pragmatic notes for future reference.
Gathering Music. I remember nothing about the gathering music at this service, but I do remember plenty about the extended introduction to the gathering hymn. The hymn, “Arise, My Soul, Arise,” was preceded by an (improvised?) introduction that suggested in itself the awakening and gathered joy described by the hymn text. This is something to contemplate, regarding the function of gathering music, since in this case, it was the music within the service that actually established the spirit of the morning.
Children’s Activity Bags. I keep sensing something very incongruent when my kids are kept occupied during worship through the offerings of coloring books featuring Disney Princesses or Transformers, or other items absolutely unrelated to worship. This is simply a distraction from worship, which if we trust ourselves, can be constantly engaging for a child. (I’ll admit, the sermon is a potential space for boredom; but, why not some other creative option than Disney?) I find myself annoyed that I don’t expect my kids to stand up for the hymns (because they are too busy coloring) or that they are not learning the common prayers and responses.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Organic worship
My thoughts this morning stray toward the notion of "what is organic to a congregation?" In particular, what musical possibilities arise from the congregation itself? What are the talents and contributions made possible by the people who gather? If someone were to propose that First Lutheran should have a electric guitar driven praise band, I would have to ask, "Where are the guitarists?" We are a congregation blessed with singers, percussionists, string players, and countless other talented people who can contribute to worship in many ways, but we are not a community full of garage band types. However, if a congregation does have such talents, the liturgy of worship could certainly involve such gifts.
This line of thinking ignores entirely arguments about asthetics or the connection of pop-style music to a commercial music industry or the call for the church to be "in" the world but not "of" the world. But, that's not what I'm thinking about today.
This line of thinking ignores entirely arguments about asthetics or the connection of pop-style music to a commercial music industry or the call for the church to be "in" the world but not "of" the world. But, that's not what I'm thinking about today.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Living Liturgy: Question for the day
My question for the day arises from a section I read in Frank Senn's book The People's Work. He writes:
"Liturgy has been used to promote confessional identity because liturgy encodes meaning. For this meaning to be communicated, liturgy must be performed. This seems like a simple and obvious thing to say, but it should not be taken for granted, especially in our own secular age, when the temptation is to lose confidence in the liturgy because it no longer seems to be meaningful to people. But we should consider the alternative. We have records or descriptions of the rites performed in ancient Ur or Thebes. They possess only an antiquarian or anthropological interest, because they are no longer performed. They are liturgies of the dead. Liturgies are living when people inject their own living bodies into performing them. Liturgies must be done in order to be real." (My italics.)
My question for today is this: For the people at First Lutheran, what should be the character of the liturgy we perform (a living liturgy), if it promotes and demonstrates our confessional identity? What actions do we want to emphasize, or project, that allow us to remember and live out our mission statement and some of the unwritten corollaries? (For example, our commitment to "green" living, or our commitment to welcoming all?)
"Liturgy has been used to promote confessional identity because liturgy encodes meaning. For this meaning to be communicated, liturgy must be performed. This seems like a simple and obvious thing to say, but it should not be taken for granted, especially in our own secular age, when the temptation is to lose confidence in the liturgy because it no longer seems to be meaningful to people. But we should consider the alternative. We have records or descriptions of the rites performed in ancient Ur or Thebes. They possess only an antiquarian or anthropological interest, because they are no longer performed. They are liturgies of the dead. Liturgies are living when people inject their own living bodies into performing them. Liturgies must be done in order to be real." (My italics.)
My question for today is this: For the people at First Lutheran, what should be the character of the liturgy we perform (a living liturgy), if it promotes and demonstrates our confessional identity? What actions do we want to emphasize, or project, that allow us to remember and live out our mission statement and some of the unwritten corollaries? (For example, our commitment to "green" living, or our commitment to welcoming all?)
Friday, July 1, 2011
Worship, 19 June 2011
Worship 19 June 2011 Holy Trinity
Paul Westermeyer uses the word “prisms” to describe the devices which inform how we interpret or judge our experiences. As I journey through this sabbatical, I am aware that, at any given moment, the book which I am currently reading functions as the most immediate prism through which I view worship. In the case of worship at this church, I had just completed Samuel Torvend’s small book Daily Bread, Holy Meal. This book focuses upon Holy Communion, but offers intriguing insight about worship as a whole.
Prior to the service, I told Beth that a primary criteria for evaluating worship this day would be the extent to which the service sends the community out to serve. This specification is also an aspect of Jonathan Linman’s book Holy Conversation, in which he notes that the liturgy should be a sustaining and empowering experience, one that fills us up so that we are ready to be Christians out among the world. By this particular criteria, worship on this Sunday did not give me impetus to go forth and serve, despite statements in the printed bulletin to the contrary.
In a broad sense, several factors led to my disappointment.
First, although the bulletin noted that this was Trinity Sunday (and Saturday), very little happened in worship to draw attention to this temporal designation as such.
Second, there was no reading of the Gospel; the Genesis 1 text was the only scripture reading and the basis for the sermon.
Third, the order of the liturgy was rather haphazard; some elements were present, while others were missing. For example, we sang the Alleluia (or Gospel Acclamation) from Setting 1, but prior to reading the Genesis text. We did not participate in the sharing of the peace. Communion was celebrated, but only the Words of Institution were used. The richness of the meal was diluted by its brevity. This was likely unintentional, but for me the memory of the previous week’s worship, a sumptuous feast, was still very present in my mind.
Fourth, the Genesis text was “read” using a prerecorded soundtrack, with visual images. This is not a critique of using that means, per se, but in this situation, the Word was not enriched but rather devalued as entertainment. My sense of disembodiment occurred, I think, because we had already heard moments earlier a dramatic presentation of the Adam and Eve encounter with the serpent via similar means. The Adam and Eve story was part of the children’s time, though none of my children seemed all that engaged by it. For both cases, the question emerges: “What was lacking?” I think the absence of real authentic action. The Adam and Eve presentation could have been a very engaging “skit” had two young actors from the congregation been involved. The Genesis reading likewise lacked a connection with the gathered community; it came from somewhere else, rather than emerging from among us.
Fifth, the use of visual imagery projected on a screen during the readings (in this case, just two blank spaces on the wall on either side of the cross - a question about space that should be considered separately), did not enhance but diminished the worship. In this specific case, the visual imagery detracted from worship because it became the primary focus for my attention due to the lack of any other activity in the assembly. Paul Westermeyer writes in his article “Discernment” (Cross Accent, Vol 19, no. 1) about something akin to this, noting that spatial and temporal elements combine to bear the liturgical action: “Gesture (ceremonial), garments (vestments), and art (icons, stained glass, and sculpture) sustain action across time and space, while music sustains it across time. If the spatial elements are removed, music is left to bear all the freight.” (10) Even though something else was happening (aural), the primary focus (visual) failed to bear the weight.
More thoughts about this particular worship (might be) forthcoming! Especially, since I have not addressed the topic of being "sent forth." CW
Paul Westermeyer uses the word “prisms” to describe the devices which inform how we interpret or judge our experiences. As I journey through this sabbatical, I am aware that, at any given moment, the book which I am currently reading functions as the most immediate prism through which I view worship. In the case of worship at this church, I had just completed Samuel Torvend’s small book Daily Bread, Holy Meal. This book focuses upon Holy Communion, but offers intriguing insight about worship as a whole.
Prior to the service, I told Beth that a primary criteria for evaluating worship this day would be the extent to which the service sends the community out to serve. This specification is also an aspect of Jonathan Linman’s book Holy Conversation, in which he notes that the liturgy should be a sustaining and empowering experience, one that fills us up so that we are ready to be Christians out among the world. By this particular criteria, worship on this Sunday did not give me impetus to go forth and serve, despite statements in the printed bulletin to the contrary.
In a broad sense, several factors led to my disappointment.
First, although the bulletin noted that this was Trinity Sunday (and Saturday), very little happened in worship to draw attention to this temporal designation as such.
Second, there was no reading of the Gospel; the Genesis 1 text was the only scripture reading and the basis for the sermon.
Third, the order of the liturgy was rather haphazard; some elements were present, while others were missing. For example, we sang the Alleluia (or Gospel Acclamation) from Setting 1, but prior to reading the Genesis text. We did not participate in the sharing of the peace. Communion was celebrated, but only the Words of Institution were used. The richness of the meal was diluted by its brevity. This was likely unintentional, but for me the memory of the previous week’s worship, a sumptuous feast, was still very present in my mind.
Fourth, the Genesis text was “read” using a prerecorded soundtrack, with visual images. This is not a critique of using that means, per se, but in this situation, the Word was not enriched but rather devalued as entertainment. My sense of disembodiment occurred, I think, because we had already heard moments earlier a dramatic presentation of the Adam and Eve encounter with the serpent via similar means. The Adam and Eve story was part of the children’s time, though none of my children seemed all that engaged by it. For both cases, the question emerges: “What was lacking?” I think the absence of real authentic action. The Adam and Eve presentation could have been a very engaging “skit” had two young actors from the congregation been involved. The Genesis reading likewise lacked a connection with the gathered community; it came from somewhere else, rather than emerging from among us.
Fifth, the use of visual imagery projected on a screen during the readings (in this case, just two blank spaces on the wall on either side of the cross - a question about space that should be considered separately), did not enhance but diminished the worship. In this specific case, the visual imagery detracted from worship because it became the primary focus for my attention due to the lack of any other activity in the assembly. Paul Westermeyer writes in his article “Discernment” (Cross Accent, Vol 19, no. 1) about something akin to this, noting that spatial and temporal elements combine to bear the liturgical action: “Gesture (ceremonial), garments (vestments), and art (icons, stained glass, and sculpture) sustain action across time and space, while music sustains it across time. If the spatial elements are removed, music is left to bear all the freight.” (10) Even though something else was happening (aural), the primary focus (visual) failed to bear the weight.
More thoughts about this particular worship (might be) forthcoming! Especially, since I have not addressed the topic of being "sent forth." CW
Worship, 26 June 2011
Worship 26 June 2011 Pentecost 3
This service made me think of vessels - what they are and how we fill them. I expected little about this particular worship service prior to arriving. We were attending the baptism of the newborn son of my cousin and her husband. This church was not on my agenda for places to visit - places I want to visit with the intention of receiving insight and instruction from leaders in the field. Serendipity is a revelation that comes in unexpected moments.
Prior to visiting, I looked at the congregational website, mostly to find directions, but also to get a sense of what worship might be like. My initial sense was that this service would leave me unfulfilled. The website promised a contemporary service. I expected a haphazard, unpolished praise band in a provincial setting. Elsewhere, the site noted that the traditional service uses LBW and WOV liturgies. I dismissed the church for not embracing the ELW and expected the contemporary service to follow its own form and to rely upon prevailing commercial musical selections.
However, I learned that the traditional form of the liturgy can contain new musical elements quite well. The vessel - the liturgy - shaped by many generations of worship, was filled with new wine, so that tradition and style combined to allow an authentic and participatory service of worship.
Clearly, form matters. I was able to worship and participate with a sense of familiarity, expectation, and intention, even though the musical expression was “not my style.” The pattern of “gathering, word, meal and sending” unfolded as expected, allowing me to navigate the unfamiliar stylistic territory of the music without too much aggravation, self-awareness, or hopelessness.
Form and style cohabit a mutual existence. With regard to worship, does style matter? Is there an inherent suitability for worship that some styles of music contain while others do not? Or, is style simply an element of the local, communal, authentic expression of praise and worship? Is style a variable that is modified to the local situation, much like the architecture and design of a space reflect the character of the congregation?
In this service, the style of the music contributed positively to the authentic participation of the congregation in the liturgy, or the work at hand. Too often, I have disparaged contemporary music for the way it inhibits participation by the assembly. In contrast, at this church, the assembly was fully engaged and singing with confidence. I could hear others singing and I could hear myself singing. Often, the congregation improvised harmonies, particularly when the music moved to a refrain, or repetitive section. While I could quibble about text (or lack thereof) within a repetitive refrain, clearly there was joy in the singing. From a practical point of view, the leadership of the musical ensemble was integral to the success of the singing. The ensemble was well rehearsed. The volume of the music was set at a level to invite singing, not obliterate singing.
Curiously, the physical location of the musical ensemble played an important role towards the success of the congregational participation. One common critique about praise bands addresses the cultural expectation for entertainment. Bands placed front and center become something to watch and hear and invite a passive response. At this worship, the space was arranged so that font, altar, cross, and ministers were the visual focal point. The musical ensemble was placed behind the altar, with tasteful greenery partially hiding the group. From my vantage point, I could see who was singing and leading, but I wasn’t drawn to them as primary focus.
Even in this encouraging setting, I still found the syncopated character of the pop influenced music to remain a liability to the success of communal singing. I could not read the rhythms well, nor could I predict very well the variation or rhythmic inflection the lead singer might take. Still, the congregation seemed to know what to sing, most of the time. The one exception was the Kyrie, which was a muddle for all. I question, then, if this style of music should always be taught by rote, without the confusing element of notation. Or, can music of excessive syncopation every be fully participatory?
Several other elements about this worship warrant expression. First, this congregation clearly understands its responsibility “to welcome everyone into Jesus’ family” (a part of its mission statement.) We were welcomed at the outer doors to the church with bulletins and invited in. We were given nametags. I was not impressed by this until the pastor to give me the communion wafer by name. When I inquired (to Beth) about the location of the restrooms, a congregational member immediately pointed them out to me. The sharing of the peace was not a perfunctory moment, but a lively interchange among all members. Coincidentally, the appointed Gospel text for the day addressed hospitality.
Second, the worship service fulfilled the mission intention to “nurture so all grow in faith.” The sermon directed us outward, to reflect upon ways we can serve our neighbor. Likewise, the children’s sermon simply but directly invited children to consider the Gospel reading. At several points, the pastor or musical leader paused to informally draw us into what was happening in the service. Projection screens presented the liturgy in a helpful, non-obtrusive manner.
Last, there was a pentecostal element to the community. The congregation seeks to invoke the Holy Spirit as an enlivening, rejuvenating, and missional part of its life. Actions and images showed this. Worship was authentic (from the community), lively, participatory, and liturgical. The liturgy turned worship away from ourselves, toward God. Red paraments showed the Holy Spirit (even though the liturgical color for the time is green). The template for the projected screens was unified around this one theme and color. I could argue that this was not “correct,” but on the other hand, the local context (the congregation’s mission and the continuation of the spirit of “Pentecost”) allows the variation.
This service made me think of vessels - what they are and how we fill them. I expected little about this particular worship service prior to arriving. We were attending the baptism of the newborn son of my cousin and her husband. This church was not on my agenda for places to visit - places I want to visit with the intention of receiving insight and instruction from leaders in the field. Serendipity is a revelation that comes in unexpected moments.
Prior to visiting, I looked at the congregational website, mostly to find directions, but also to get a sense of what worship might be like. My initial sense was that this service would leave me unfulfilled. The website promised a contemporary service. I expected a haphazard, unpolished praise band in a provincial setting. Elsewhere, the site noted that the traditional service uses LBW and WOV liturgies. I dismissed the church for not embracing the ELW and expected the contemporary service to follow its own form and to rely upon prevailing commercial musical selections.
However, I learned that the traditional form of the liturgy can contain new musical elements quite well. The vessel - the liturgy - shaped by many generations of worship, was filled with new wine, so that tradition and style combined to allow an authentic and participatory service of worship.
Clearly, form matters. I was able to worship and participate with a sense of familiarity, expectation, and intention, even though the musical expression was “not my style.” The pattern of “gathering, word, meal and sending” unfolded as expected, allowing me to navigate the unfamiliar stylistic territory of the music without too much aggravation, self-awareness, or hopelessness.
Form and style cohabit a mutual existence. With regard to worship, does style matter? Is there an inherent suitability for worship that some styles of music contain while others do not? Or, is style simply an element of the local, communal, authentic expression of praise and worship? Is style a variable that is modified to the local situation, much like the architecture and design of a space reflect the character of the congregation?
In this service, the style of the music contributed positively to the authentic participation of the congregation in the liturgy, or the work at hand. Too often, I have disparaged contemporary music for the way it inhibits participation by the assembly. In contrast, at this church, the assembly was fully engaged and singing with confidence. I could hear others singing and I could hear myself singing. Often, the congregation improvised harmonies, particularly when the music moved to a refrain, or repetitive section. While I could quibble about text (or lack thereof) within a repetitive refrain, clearly there was joy in the singing. From a practical point of view, the leadership of the musical ensemble was integral to the success of the singing. The ensemble was well rehearsed. The volume of the music was set at a level to invite singing, not obliterate singing.
Curiously, the physical location of the musical ensemble played an important role towards the success of the congregational participation. One common critique about praise bands addresses the cultural expectation for entertainment. Bands placed front and center become something to watch and hear and invite a passive response. At this worship, the space was arranged so that font, altar, cross, and ministers were the visual focal point. The musical ensemble was placed behind the altar, with tasteful greenery partially hiding the group. From my vantage point, I could see who was singing and leading, but I wasn’t drawn to them as primary focus.
Even in this encouraging setting, I still found the syncopated character of the pop influenced music to remain a liability to the success of communal singing. I could not read the rhythms well, nor could I predict very well the variation or rhythmic inflection the lead singer might take. Still, the congregation seemed to know what to sing, most of the time. The one exception was the Kyrie, which was a muddle for all. I question, then, if this style of music should always be taught by rote, without the confusing element of notation. Or, can music of excessive syncopation every be fully participatory?
Several other elements about this worship warrant expression. First, this congregation clearly understands its responsibility “to welcome everyone into Jesus’ family” (a part of its mission statement.) We were welcomed at the outer doors to the church with bulletins and invited in. We were given nametags. I was not impressed by this until the pastor to give me the communion wafer by name. When I inquired (to Beth) about the location of the restrooms, a congregational member immediately pointed them out to me. The sharing of the peace was not a perfunctory moment, but a lively interchange among all members. Coincidentally, the appointed Gospel text for the day addressed hospitality.
Second, the worship service fulfilled the mission intention to “nurture so all grow in faith.” The sermon directed us outward, to reflect upon ways we can serve our neighbor. Likewise, the children’s sermon simply but directly invited children to consider the Gospel reading. At several points, the pastor or musical leader paused to informally draw us into what was happening in the service. Projection screens presented the liturgy in a helpful, non-obtrusive manner.
Last, there was a pentecostal element to the community. The congregation seeks to invoke the Holy Spirit as an enlivening, rejuvenating, and missional part of its life. Actions and images showed this. Worship was authentic (from the community), lively, participatory, and liturgical. The liturgy turned worship away from ourselves, toward God. Red paraments showed the Holy Spirit (even though the liturgical color for the time is green). The template for the projected screens was unified around this one theme and color. I could argue that this was not “correct,” but on the other hand, the local context (the congregation’s mission and the continuation of the spirit of “Pentecost”) allows the variation.
Worship, 12 June 2011
Worship 12 June 2011 Pentecost
Mount Olive Lutheran Church, Minneapolis
N.B. Because I have mostly the highest praise for the worship with this congregation, I am not withholding identifiers. So be it. I really liked worshiping here. CW (1 July 2011)
Worship at Mount Olive on this high festival day was everything I expected. This congregation approaches worship with great seriousness and intention, something I knew because of the annual symposia on liturgy held at Mount Olive and which I have attended.
Because I expected everything to be done just right, by design I had finished reading the day before Jonathan Linman’s book, Holy Conversation, a study of liturgy through the lens of the tradtion of Lectio divina. The specific case study in Linman’s book is the liturgy for Pentecost Sunday, so his observations were fresh in mind as we put the liturgy into practice at Mount Olive.
In general, everything about this service beheld an intentional encounter with a holy God, an encounter on sacred ground with reverence and awe for the Almighty. This congregation hopes not to provide an experience of comfort and societal relevance in worship, but to engage the transcendent. Sights, sounds, smells, tastes and touches were all an important aspect of this transcendent encounter.
Our family arrived ten minutes before the service began. This is an inner city church, so other folks were streaming toward the church from the streets, not from a large parking lot. This was my second encounter with this type of approach (walking through the streets); the first was May 22. I find the image of people walking on sidewalks from many directions surprisingly meaningful, although I’m not sure why. Perhaps the sense of the countercultural activity that can be worship begins with this simple image of many people walking, not driving. In any case, we were greeted at the door to the nave, handed a bulletin, and then welcomed by an old friend who recognized us. He suggested we sit closer to the front, so that we could hear the music better.
David Cherwien played the Durufle Variations on Veni Creator Spiritus as the prelude. The congregation was quiet and attentive. At the conclusion of the piece, handbells continued a peal pattern, based upon the organ prelude, and the procession with incense, processional bells, choir, and all the other accoutrements began without interruption. This organic beginning avoided the somewhat uncomfortable sense of self-awareness that I experienced earlier on May 22. Since everyone seemed to know what to do, we just began. The singing of Veni Creator began a cappella, and remained so until the fourth stanza. It was beautiful.
During the gathering rites and the readings I noticed a great care for time and space. No words were rushed and time was allowed for us to ponder the lessons. As worship assistants moved about the chancel and nave, there was a comportment of solemnity.
On this Pentecost Sunday, the reading from Acts in several different languages was highly effective. This trick is not new to me, but what was so effective here was that rather than hearing individuals read portions of the lesson separately but in different languages, there was a great cacophony of voices all at once. That there were a dozen or so languages allowed the success of this device.
The bulletin at Mount Olive is helpful, but direct and makes no apologies to accommodate guests. The psalm for the morning was sung from the ELW. The antiphon and tone were printed in the bulletin, but we referred to the hymnal for the verses of the psalm. Even though the psalm began with verse 14, there was no effort made to explain in the bulletin where the psalms are located, on what page this particular psalm began, or who should sing what. Personally, I actually began thinking about how cumbersome it was to hold the hymnal open and then refer to the antiphon, while keeping track of which verse we were singing. I was also trying to keep things visually available for Quentin. I pondered the usefulness of a screen. I pondered the practicality of printing the whole text in the bulletin. But, I also knew enough about the procedure so that I did not get discombobulated. There is one point I think Mount Olive is trying to make: that there is something critical about having to become initiated to liturgical worship. I ponder: Where is the most rich balance between welcoming our guests and approaching the deep spiritual familiarity with the timeless liturgy?
This worship lasted one hour and 45 minutes. At times, my children would ask how much longer this would last, but I never felt that they were antsy or bored. There was always something interesting happening! The incense and the processions were powerfully attractive. The singing was always very strong. The dozens of candles burning in the side aisles, the red banners, and the vibrant vestments were visually appealing. The sharing of the peace lasted a very long time. Communion was not awkward and my children were given full attention as they received the elements. Conversation after worship was friendly and engaging. This was a worship from which I was sent enriched and fulfilled.
Mount Olive Lutheran Church, Minneapolis
N.B. Because I have mostly the highest praise for the worship with this congregation, I am not withholding identifiers. So be it. I really liked worshiping here. CW (1 July 2011)
Worship at Mount Olive on this high festival day was everything I expected. This congregation approaches worship with great seriousness and intention, something I knew because of the annual symposia on liturgy held at Mount Olive and which I have attended.
Because I expected everything to be done just right, by design I had finished reading the day before Jonathan Linman’s book, Holy Conversation, a study of liturgy through the lens of the tradtion of Lectio divina. The specific case study in Linman’s book is the liturgy for Pentecost Sunday, so his observations were fresh in mind as we put the liturgy into practice at Mount Olive.
In general, everything about this service beheld an intentional encounter with a holy God, an encounter on sacred ground with reverence and awe for the Almighty. This congregation hopes not to provide an experience of comfort and societal relevance in worship, but to engage the transcendent. Sights, sounds, smells, tastes and touches were all an important aspect of this transcendent encounter.
Our family arrived ten minutes before the service began. This is an inner city church, so other folks were streaming toward the church from the streets, not from a large parking lot. This was my second encounter with this type of approach (walking through the streets); the first was May 22. I find the image of people walking on sidewalks from many directions surprisingly meaningful, although I’m not sure why. Perhaps the sense of the countercultural activity that can be worship begins with this simple image of many people walking, not driving. In any case, we were greeted at the door to the nave, handed a bulletin, and then welcomed by an old friend who recognized us. He suggested we sit closer to the front, so that we could hear the music better.
David Cherwien played the Durufle Variations on Veni Creator Spiritus as the prelude. The congregation was quiet and attentive. At the conclusion of the piece, handbells continued a peal pattern, based upon the organ prelude, and the procession with incense, processional bells, choir, and all the other accoutrements began without interruption. This organic beginning avoided the somewhat uncomfortable sense of self-awareness that I experienced earlier on May 22. Since everyone seemed to know what to do, we just began. The singing of Veni Creator began a cappella, and remained so until the fourth stanza. It was beautiful.
During the gathering rites and the readings I noticed a great care for time and space. No words were rushed and time was allowed for us to ponder the lessons. As worship assistants moved about the chancel and nave, there was a comportment of solemnity.
On this Pentecost Sunday, the reading from Acts in several different languages was highly effective. This trick is not new to me, but what was so effective here was that rather than hearing individuals read portions of the lesson separately but in different languages, there was a great cacophony of voices all at once. That there were a dozen or so languages allowed the success of this device.
The bulletin at Mount Olive is helpful, but direct and makes no apologies to accommodate guests. The psalm for the morning was sung from the ELW. The antiphon and tone were printed in the bulletin, but we referred to the hymnal for the verses of the psalm. Even though the psalm began with verse 14, there was no effort made to explain in the bulletin where the psalms are located, on what page this particular psalm began, or who should sing what. Personally, I actually began thinking about how cumbersome it was to hold the hymnal open and then refer to the antiphon, while keeping track of which verse we were singing. I was also trying to keep things visually available for Quentin. I pondered the usefulness of a screen. I pondered the practicality of printing the whole text in the bulletin. But, I also knew enough about the procedure so that I did not get discombobulated. There is one point I think Mount Olive is trying to make: that there is something critical about having to become initiated to liturgical worship. I ponder: Where is the most rich balance between welcoming our guests and approaching the deep spiritual familiarity with the timeless liturgy?
This worship lasted one hour and 45 minutes. At times, my children would ask how much longer this would last, but I never felt that they were antsy or bored. There was always something interesting happening! The incense and the processions were powerfully attractive. The singing was always very strong. The dozens of candles burning in the side aisles, the red banners, and the vibrant vestments were visually appealing. The sharing of the peace lasted a very long time. Communion was not awkward and my children were given full attention as they received the elements. Conversation after worship was friendly and engaging. This was a worship from which I was sent enriched and fulfilled.
Worship, 5 June 2011
11 AM Worship 5 June 2011 Easter 7
Impressions: A steady stream of vehicles leaving the church as we approach suggests an active, busy community. The community was involved with its “sending” portion of worship as we enter the doors. Clearly the people gathered in the space are greeting each other and wrapping up details from the previous service. There is no obvious welcome table or effort to help us, as guests, know what bulletins to take or where to gather. We enter the sanctuary and sit down.
The praise band is playing lively and upbeat music; the second piece is in a honkytonk style. On a positive note, the band consists of very capable musicians (a necessary element of success for this style of worship.) However, the music is very loud - too loud for me to have a conversation with my daughter Eleanor.
I think of the aspect of “gathering” described in Jonathan Linman’s book (“Holy Conversation”) that necessitates conversation. If we are to be a community that gathers together to encounter God, and to bring our concerns, hopes, prayers, joys and so forth to worship, we need to be able to “reacquaint” with each other by conversing prior to worship. Perhaps the conversation between regulars is happening in the narthex.
On the other hand, I think of the aspect of “gathering” that demands setting the tone for worship. In this case, the tone is one of a street dance or barroom. Although the music is engaging, I am not situated to encounter the holy. (I would be happy to hear some of these songs at the Rock Bend Folk Festival, for example.)
All music and texts are projected on screens. I am pleased that the songs are presented with musical notation. This is a blessing and a curse. For some of the pieces, the rhythmic syncopations present a difficult score to read. Nor does the leader always sing the melody as notated. But even so, I can approximate the tune that I should sing. The congregation does not really sing much, though. The room is acoustically dry, so that my own voice sounds isolated. Also, the presentation of the songs has the character of being “sung to.” In the second song we sing, the repeated refrain elicits a louder response from the congregation. And, following the baptism, the congregation easily sings “Baptized in Water” (tune: Bunessan). Clearly, the predictable rhythms and folk-like quality engender communal singing. So does predictability (note the success of the refrain of the second song.)
Regarding screens, Beth appreciates the freedom they allow, in that she isn’t fumbling with a hymnal and her bulletin. She finds that her attention is directed forward, to the activity in the front. I counter that screens are an element of the entertainment culture from which the concept of the praise band is borrowed. We are screen oriented and not people oriented. The sanctuary is a large space, and for some, I’m sure the ability to see the baptism via the screen is pleasing. I welcomed pointing out the distant action to Eleanor. Beth notes two other aspects about screen singing. I had pondered whether screens limit our ability to sing harmony, since presenting harmony in notation would be cumbersome. Beth counters with thoughts from Patricia Kazarow that printed parts spelled the demise of singing in harmony. True, Alice Parker advocates that we use our ears and create our own harmony. But, seeing musical notation is one way to learn to sing independently, too. Beth also finds that screens are yet another way of individualizing worship. Each person is no longer dependent upon a neighbor (who could hold a hymnal for a mother with a baby in arms or who could offer assistance to a lost worshipper.)
Concerning participation, I’m not convinced that it is the style of music which limits engagement, but the presentation. Could a complicated rhythmic song be taught via call and response? Is repetition the key? Do acoustics matter? Why, for example, at a Peter Yarrow concert a few weeks ago, did Peter have us all singing quite well “Leaving on a Jet Plane?” Was it just prior familiarity? (Because the rhythm of that song is certainly not foursquare.)
At this service, congregational participation was limited to some tepid singing, the recitation of the Apostles’ creed, a confession prior to communion, and the Lord’s prayer. Most of my activity was passive, and at about 40 minutes into the service, I was antsy and ready to be done. As far as entertainment goes, this “show” was not that engaging. As far as worship goes, there was little that I could actually do to participate. Too many familiar liturgical elements were missing. The gathering music did not join us together. There was no dialogue (i.e. responses after the readings or within the intercessory prayers.) There was no sharing of the peace, nor the dialogue of the Great Thanksgiving. It was far too easy to be a spectator at this service and not feel uncomfortable about it.
What was the tone of the service? Pleasant satisfaction with life. An hour of entertainment. But not an encounter with God.
How well were we welcomed into the community? We were allowed anonymity, which might be part of the appeal of a large mega-church. However, to my surprise, there were no admonitions that communion was only for the initiated believers of the church denomination. A statement of beliefs was projected on the screen during communion, but they did not explicitly prohibit communion for any worshipper. We were allowed into the community, but never particularly invited into the community. (I should note however, that we were at this church because a friend of ours had invited us earlier in the week.)
Impressions: A steady stream of vehicles leaving the church as we approach suggests an active, busy community. The community was involved with its “sending” portion of worship as we enter the doors. Clearly the people gathered in the space are greeting each other and wrapping up details from the previous service. There is no obvious welcome table or effort to help us, as guests, know what bulletins to take or where to gather. We enter the sanctuary and sit down.
The praise band is playing lively and upbeat music; the second piece is in a honkytonk style. On a positive note, the band consists of very capable musicians (a necessary element of success for this style of worship.) However, the music is very loud - too loud for me to have a conversation with my daughter Eleanor.
I think of the aspect of “gathering” described in Jonathan Linman’s book (“Holy Conversation”) that necessitates conversation. If we are to be a community that gathers together to encounter God, and to bring our concerns, hopes, prayers, joys and so forth to worship, we need to be able to “reacquaint” with each other by conversing prior to worship. Perhaps the conversation between regulars is happening in the narthex.
On the other hand, I think of the aspect of “gathering” that demands setting the tone for worship. In this case, the tone is one of a street dance or barroom. Although the music is engaging, I am not situated to encounter the holy. (I would be happy to hear some of these songs at the Rock Bend Folk Festival, for example.)
All music and texts are projected on screens. I am pleased that the songs are presented with musical notation. This is a blessing and a curse. For some of the pieces, the rhythmic syncopations present a difficult score to read. Nor does the leader always sing the melody as notated. But even so, I can approximate the tune that I should sing. The congregation does not really sing much, though. The room is acoustically dry, so that my own voice sounds isolated. Also, the presentation of the songs has the character of being “sung to.” In the second song we sing, the repeated refrain elicits a louder response from the congregation. And, following the baptism, the congregation easily sings “Baptized in Water” (tune: Bunessan). Clearly, the predictable rhythms and folk-like quality engender communal singing. So does predictability (note the success of the refrain of the second song.)
Regarding screens, Beth appreciates the freedom they allow, in that she isn’t fumbling with a hymnal and her bulletin. She finds that her attention is directed forward, to the activity in the front. I counter that screens are an element of the entertainment culture from which the concept of the praise band is borrowed. We are screen oriented and not people oriented. The sanctuary is a large space, and for some, I’m sure the ability to see the baptism via the screen is pleasing. I welcomed pointing out the distant action to Eleanor. Beth notes two other aspects about screen singing. I had pondered whether screens limit our ability to sing harmony, since presenting harmony in notation would be cumbersome. Beth counters with thoughts from Patricia Kazarow that printed parts spelled the demise of singing in harmony. True, Alice Parker advocates that we use our ears and create our own harmony. But, seeing musical notation is one way to learn to sing independently, too. Beth also finds that screens are yet another way of individualizing worship. Each person is no longer dependent upon a neighbor (who could hold a hymnal for a mother with a baby in arms or who could offer assistance to a lost worshipper.)
Concerning participation, I’m not convinced that it is the style of music which limits engagement, but the presentation. Could a complicated rhythmic song be taught via call and response? Is repetition the key? Do acoustics matter? Why, for example, at a Peter Yarrow concert a few weeks ago, did Peter have us all singing quite well “Leaving on a Jet Plane?” Was it just prior familiarity? (Because the rhythm of that song is certainly not foursquare.)
At this service, congregational participation was limited to some tepid singing, the recitation of the Apostles’ creed, a confession prior to communion, and the Lord’s prayer. Most of my activity was passive, and at about 40 minutes into the service, I was antsy and ready to be done. As far as entertainment goes, this “show” was not that engaging. As far as worship goes, there was little that I could actually do to participate. Too many familiar liturgical elements were missing. The gathering music did not join us together. There was no dialogue (i.e. responses after the readings or within the intercessory prayers.) There was no sharing of the peace, nor the dialogue of the Great Thanksgiving. It was far too easy to be a spectator at this service and not feel uncomfortable about it.
What was the tone of the service? Pleasant satisfaction with life. An hour of entertainment. But not an encounter with God.
How well were we welcomed into the community? We were allowed anonymity, which might be part of the appeal of a large mega-church. However, to my surprise, there were no admonitions that communion was only for the initiated believers of the church denomination. A statement of beliefs was projected on the screen during communion, but they did not explicitly prohibit communion for any worshipper. We were allowed into the community, but never particularly invited into the community. (I should note however, that we were at this church because a friend of ours had invited us earlier in the week.)
Worship, 22 May 2011
Worship 22 May 2011 Easter 6
(This is my first blog as a guest in another church. It projects my impressions of being a guest and an observer, a new role for me. My primary concern for the morning was: how does this congregation welcome and engage a visitor, and how do I as a visitor find commonality with my hosts. CW, 01 July 2011)
Many friends and family gather in the Narthex prior to worship; it is a lively place. I am greeted at the door to the nave and given a bulletin, but no other special welcomes are given.
Random thoughts:
The pastor begins the service with a longer explanation of the events of the day. In particular, he describes the cantata to be sung by the choir and its context within the day’s lectionary readings. He also asks us to sing one stanza of the Lutheran chorale, Vater unser im Himmelreich. He notes that later we will sing this chorale instead of reciting the Lord’s Prayer.
This introduction is helpful and invites a sense of intimacy, by suggesting that we are all participating by hearing the cantata in the context of the Word proclaimed. (Thus, no sermon today; but this seems like the sermon before the sermon.) On the other hand, the introduction is too long and detracts from the activity at hand, which is worship. There is too much self-awareness and analysis; I am ready to experience and participate worship rather than reflect upon and understand it.
This morning, the congregation uses portions of ELW Setting 8. I find the singing of “Kyrie Eleison” with organ and choir to be authentic (in that everyone is singing and offering their best) but also incongruous with the situation. The organ accompaniment does not provide the necessary bounce and joy to propel the syncopation of the melody.
We are invited to face the center aisle during the prayers, another act of intimacy. I appreciate seeing the rest of the congregation and time is allowed for individual petitions.
Communion is celebrated around the altar. We stand together in a circle, facing each other as the cup and bread circle through the group. No rail separates us from the altar. My son Quentin and I are somewhat uncertain about the procedure with the communion cups, but several congregational members step over to help us.
On a whole, Quentin and I were welcomed into this community and several members made personal efforts to help us with some of the idiosyncrasies in this worship. For the most part, the conversational element of the pastor’s explanations and introductions engendered familiarity and intimacy. Even so, the worship itself maintained a sense of ritual that allowed me to feel an encounter with the holy God and also to recognize the routine. This was a small group of worshipers, celebrating the age-old liturgy, with little concern for accommodating concerns for cultural relevance. Worship was authentic (in that it involved and arose from the people), participatory, God directed, and satisfying.
(This is my first blog as a guest in another church. It projects my impressions of being a guest and an observer, a new role for me. My primary concern for the morning was: how does this congregation welcome and engage a visitor, and how do I as a visitor find commonality with my hosts. CW, 01 July 2011)
Many friends and family gather in the Narthex prior to worship; it is a lively place. I am greeted at the door to the nave and given a bulletin, but no other special welcomes are given.
Random thoughts:
The pastor begins the service with a longer explanation of the events of the day. In particular, he describes the cantata to be sung by the choir and its context within the day’s lectionary readings. He also asks us to sing one stanza of the Lutheran chorale, Vater unser im Himmelreich. He notes that later we will sing this chorale instead of reciting the Lord’s Prayer.
This introduction is helpful and invites a sense of intimacy, by suggesting that we are all participating by hearing the cantata in the context of the Word proclaimed. (Thus, no sermon today; but this seems like the sermon before the sermon.) On the other hand, the introduction is too long and detracts from the activity at hand, which is worship. There is too much self-awareness and analysis; I am ready to experience and participate worship rather than reflect upon and understand it.
This morning, the congregation uses portions of ELW Setting 8. I find the singing of “Kyrie Eleison” with organ and choir to be authentic (in that everyone is singing and offering their best) but also incongruous with the situation. The organ accompaniment does not provide the necessary bounce and joy to propel the syncopation of the melody.
We are invited to face the center aisle during the prayers, another act of intimacy. I appreciate seeing the rest of the congregation and time is allowed for individual petitions.
Communion is celebrated around the altar. We stand together in a circle, facing each other as the cup and bread circle through the group. No rail separates us from the altar. My son Quentin and I are somewhat uncertain about the procedure with the communion cups, but several congregational members step over to help us.
On a whole, Quentin and I were welcomed into this community and several members made personal efforts to help us with some of the idiosyncrasies in this worship. For the most part, the conversational element of the pastor’s explanations and introductions engendered familiarity and intimacy. Even so, the worship itself maintained a sense of ritual that allowed me to feel an encounter with the holy God and also to recognize the routine. This was a small group of worshipers, celebrating the age-old liturgy, with little concern for accommodating concerns for cultural relevance. Worship was authentic (in that it involved and arose from the people), participatory, God directed, and satisfying.
Introduction
On June 1, I began a three month sabbatical, within my job as Director of Music at First Lutheran Church in Saint Peter, Minnesota. This blog is primarily a place for me to record the fruits of my reflections while on sabbatical and to enter into conversation with members of the First Lutheran community.
Since two primary purposes of my sabbatical are to do some reading about liturgy and worship and to visit a variety of churches, many of these posts will comment on those two objectives. At the end of the sabbatical, I hope to be able to direct these thoughts toward questions and applications relating to worship, music, liturgy, and community in the local context of First Lutheran Church.
To respect my hosts in the churches that I visit, I will refrain from identifying the church in the blog. Often, my blogs have the quality of a journal entry - mostly unedited, perhaps hastily written, and display my first impressions.
Chad
Since two primary purposes of my sabbatical are to do some reading about liturgy and worship and to visit a variety of churches, many of these posts will comment on those two objectives. At the end of the sabbatical, I hope to be able to direct these thoughts toward questions and applications relating to worship, music, liturgy, and community in the local context of First Lutheran Church.
To respect my hosts in the churches that I visit, I will refrain from identifying the church in the blog. Often, my blogs have the quality of a journal entry - mostly unedited, perhaps hastily written, and display my first impressions.
Chad
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