A Happily Startling Advent

 

Advent at Grace

I suppose it is appropriate to be happily startled by the Nicene Creed on the first Sunday of Advent. That was my experience at Grace Episcopal Church in Woodlawn last Sunday when we came to that moment in the liturgy. 

Grace Church is an Anglo-Catholic parish in an old neighborhood that was once thriving but now bears that inner-city urban blight seen in the wake of white flight and new suburbs. The church sponsors a soup kitchen, a food pantry, a clothes closet, and a warming station on cold winter nights. Their motto is, “Where street and altar meet,” doing everything they can for neighbors in need.

I like to visit Grace, especially during Advent, for a dose of Anglo-Catholic liturgy. This past Sunday, the service moved along as expected with prayers, chants, and hymns. The service was printed out for congregants to follow. When it came time for the Nicene Creed, my first delightful surprise was in the gender-neutral language. Instead of talking about how Christ “was made man,” with the incarnation, the creed stated he “became truly human.”

Another gender-neutral turn was in reference to the Holy Spirit. I have never understood the Holy Spirit as “he,” anyway (if I were to think of gender, I would think in feminine terms). I usually just shuffle through those gender pronouns in the creed without giving them voice. This translation of the creed we read on Sunday, however, gets around gender altogether by saying, “who proceeds from the Father” and “who has spoken through the prophets.”

But the real zinger for me was that the creed I recited with the congregation had no filioque clause (the part where it says the Spirit proceeds from the father and the son. Instead, it harked back to the very early form which simply states that the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father. Church history buffs know that the filioque clause was the final straw that launched a rift between the Eastern Orthodox Church and the Roman Church.

Tracking Down the Source

Maybe I’m a bit of a church nerd in this, but it was quite enlivening for me to hear the creed in this newer form that was also an older form. When I got home, I had to do some research to find out where this version of the Nicene Creed came from. (see the full text of the translation below).

I got help online from Trinity Episcopal Church in Concord, Massachusetts. In a letter to the congregation, their rector explains the “New Words for Old Words” that the parish would be using in their services. He explains that

The translation of the Nicene Creed we are using this summer comes from Enriching our Worship 1 which are supplemental liturgies prepared by the Standing Liturgical Commission of the Episcopal Church in 1997. There are three major changes in this translation: language around the incarnation, the filioque clause, and the removal of a gendered Holy Spirit.

In his letter, The Rev. Christopher Whiteman writes of the incarnation passage:

The difference here is the Son being “made man” or “becoming fully human.” The original Greek contains the word ánthrōpos from which we also derive the word anthropology. This word in its singular form is translated as “man,” but in the most common usage of its plural form means people of all genders. The Greek word anḗr means biologically male in both its singular and plural forms. If it was essential that Jesus was incarnated biologically male, the word anḗr would have been used instead of ánthrōpos. Of course, we can use “man” in the English language similarly to ánthrōpos in the Greek but practice has changed. In academic circles Christians believe that the Son being biologically male in the person of Jesus is significant and use that as the basis for excluding those who are not biologically male from the priesthood. In the fourth century, Gregory of Nazianzus, an early pivotal thinker of Christianity and one of the authors of the creed we use, suggests that to ascribe human relationships and our understanding of gender to any of the persons of the Godhead is like a perverse joke.1 This passage appears to suggest that the best way forward is emphasizing the Son becoming human in the person of Jesus rather than biologically male.and even in common language, we more frequently go to “humanity” or “humankind” to describe the collectivity of people.

In translating this Greek idea into English as “became truly human,” we are emphasizing that the importance of the incarnation is the Son becoming human–one of us. Some Christians believe that the Son being biologically male in the person of Jesus is significant and use that as the basis for excluding those who are not biologically male from the priesthood. In the fourth century, Gregory of Nazianzus, an early pivotal thinker of Christianity and one of the authors of the creed we use, suggests that to ascribe human relationships and our understanding of gender to any of the persons of the Godhead is like a perverse joke.1 This passage appears to suggest that the best way forward is emphasizing the Son becoming human in the person of Jesus rather than biologically male. 

Of the second major difference, the removal of the filioque clause, Whiteman writes,

In the Book of Common Prayer (1979) translation, we say:

We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life,

who proceeds from the Father and the Son.

In the Enriching our Worship translation, we say:

We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life,

who proceeds from the Father.

The filioque clause is the “and the Son” which suggests that the Holy Spirit proceeds from the two other persons of the trinity not just one. This clause is not original to the creed and was only officially added in the western churches during the eleventh century as part of the East-West Schism when the church broke in two. In 1976, Anglican and Orthodox theologians issued the “Moscow Agreed Statement” in which Anglicans agreed with Orthodox Christians that the filioque clause should not be included in the Nicene Creed. In 1994, the General Convention of the Episcopal Church resolved that any new liturgies from that point on would not include the filioque clause. The removal of the words “and the Son” corresponds to the original Greek text and aligns us with current Anglican liturgical practice.

 

Of the gender-neutral references to the Holy Spirit, Whiteman writes,

The third major change in this translation of the Nicene Creed is the removal of gender from the Holy Spirit. In the 1979 translation the pronoun “he” is used for the Spirit and in the 1997 translation “who” is used. It has become common practice in some Episcopal churches to replace the 1979’s “he” with “she” when reciting the creed, but this gets us into another sticky situation: one in which we ascribe masculine aspects to parts of the Godhead and feminine aspects to others. This could suggest a play between gendered forces within the nature of God and goes against Gregory of Naziansus warning that we should not ascribe human concepts of gender in our theological expressions even though we are given the language of Father and Son. The Greek word for spirit, pneûma, is neuter and so the authors of Enriching our Worship chose to render the Holy Spirit without gender. This is not a perfect solution, but no words we choose can fully encapsulate God.

I’m not sure how many of you find this sort of discussion interesting, but for me it was an enlivening turn to take on this first Sunday of Advent at Grace Episcopal Church, “Where street and altar meet.”

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Nicene Creed 

We believe in one God,

the Father, the Almighty,

maker of heaven and earth,

of all that is, seen and unseen.

We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ,

the only Son of God,

eternally begotten of the Father,

God from God, Light from Light,

true God from true God,

begotten, not made,

of one Being with the Father;

through him all things were made.

For us and for our salvation

he came down from heaven,

was incarnate of the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary

and became truly human.

For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate;

he suffered death and was buried.

On the third day he rose again

in accordance with the Scriptures;

he ascended into heaven

and is seated at the right hand of the Father.

He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead,

and his kingdom will have no end.

 We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life,

who proceeds from the Father,

who with the Father and the Son is worshiped and glorified,

who has spoken through the prophets. 

We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church.

We acknowledge one baptism for the forgiveness of sins.

We look for the resurrection of the dead,

and the life of the world to come. Amen.

 

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Halloween: A Liturgical Perspective

There are some people today, particularly within the Evangelical community, who steer away from Halloween celebrations, fearing that the holiday glorifies satanic forces. That is why we see so many "Fall Festivals" at churches that do not want to use the word, "Halloween." 

Rev. Peter Cary has shared on his blog, Santos Woodcarving Popsicles, an article by Bishop Shannon Johnston, "Yes! Halloween Is Christian - Wonderfully so!" explaining how the holiday fits within the liturgical cycle of the church. Many Protestants, especially in the South, are so far removed from the liturgical calendar of the historic Christian church that they may not grasp some of their own faith heritage. Having some liturgical perspective can be helpful. You can read The Rt. Rev. Johnston's article here.

Tomorrow, tune in for a Jungian perspective of Halloween.

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A Liturgical Reset Button

Last Sunday I visited my friends at Grace Episcopal Church in Woodlawn on Birmingham’s northeastern side. It is an old  part of town that is trying to revitalize, and Grace has long been a help to those in need as well as a witness to the Anglo-Catholic liturgy.

I like to visit there to offer part of my tithe to the work they are doing on the streets, and I also enjoy the liturgy, especially during Advent. On that second Sunday of Advent, the liturgy provided me with an important “reset.” Don’t we all need a reset button from time to time?

My reset came by way of the Prayers of the People. One of the things I like about the Book of Common Prayer is that the prayers offer a collective wisdom of what kinds of things we ought to pray for. In shaping our corporate prayer, we are also provided guidance on what things are important and how we should live our lives to help improve the chances that our prayerful intentions may be met.

I came to worship that day with concern over the state of our nation’s political mood. The selected prayers for that day were from the Prayers of the People, Form IV. The passages that resonated with me and helped me to bring some quiet to my soul were these:

Guide the people of this land, and of all the nations, in the
ways of justice and peace; that we may honor one another
and serve the common good.

Give us all a reverence for the earth as your own creation,
that we may use its resources rightly in the service of others
and to your honor and glory.

I took comfort that I could join with so many others in that prayer to honor the common good and to reverence the environment. I also took comfort that these words from the 1979 Book of Common Prayer perhaps will seep into the nation’s conscience. I found hope that there is this continued witness to how we should order our lives.

The next passage brought our prayers to a more personal level:

Bless all whose lives are closely linked with ours, and grant
that we may serve Christ in them, and love one another as he
loves us.

Lord, in your mercy
Hear our prayer

O Lord in your mercy, hear our prayer and guide my steps.

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Why Pray?

Prayer can take many forms. There is the urgent plea for help or guidance, there is the quiet prayer of thanks whispered at day’s end or when family is gathered. There are prayers of confession, prayers of praise and adoration. Private prayers and public prayers may take the form of petition, praise or gratitude.

Some will ask, why pray? Is there really a God to pray to, or if there is, why do we imagine that God is listening? Does prayer make a difference in what happens in our lives and in the world?

For me, it is important to gather with others in prayer. I do not imagine that I am bringing my case before God in an attempt to change the mind of the divine or to coerce supernatural intervention. Participating in the public prayers of the church, however, is a way for me to bring myself into a deeper consciousness of what God’s own concerns may be for the human community in which I live. 

Mending Battered Sails

I discovered liturgical prayer at a time when I had been battered by circumstances and unsure of which way to turn. Ironically, it was religious life that had left me battered. I was a graduate of Golden Gate Baptist Seminary and had just completed a two-year missionary assignment teaching English at Hong Kong Baptist College.

During my entire four years of college and three years of seminary, my Southern Baptist denomination had been enduring its own “culture war” which some of my colleagues refer to as “the religious wars.” Those with a conservative fundamentalist orientation within the Southern Baptist Convention were highly displeased with the state of higher education, especially of what they viewed as liberal trends in seminary education.

By the time I returned to the States after two years overseas, the fundamentalists had successfully wrested control of the denomination. I found a church where I no longer had any hopes of making a spiritual home. Leaving meant severing possibilities of serving in the profession in which I had been trained, but staying would have created far too much dissonance. Since I had become acquainted with an Anglican priest in Hong Kong who had once been a Baptist, I decided to explore the Episcopal Church to see if there were any possibilities for me there.

A New Language

I discovered in the small Anglo-Catholic Episcopal parish of St. Andrew’s in Birmingham an ancient liturgy that opened up a new world of faith for me. Having been raised in a non-liturgical tradition, I saw the ancient liturgy of the church as a new language for worship. In order to learn all that I could, I committed myself to the liturgical life of the Church. I made the conscious decision to become a learner. I was committed to learn a new language of worship and to proceed as if I did not even know how to pray.

In the months that followed, I began to find some healing and inner re-structuring as I allowed myself to be shaped and guided by the liturgical prayers of the church. I would say that I found a spiritual formation by way of the 1979 Book of Common Prayer. The beautiful prayers I heard and took part in throughout the liturgical year increased my awareness of God’s own concern for those who struggle, those who suffer, and those who seek justice.

I heard collects invoke the presence of God, as in “Almighty God, to you all hearts are open, all desires known and from you no secrets are hid.” Ancient prayers such as Phos Hilaron (O Gracious Light) became new and rich for me. When I sang the Gloria and the Sanctus with the congregation during the Sunday liturgy, I was praying ancient prayers that connected me with that “great cloud of witnesses” who have stood to say those words of praise for hundreds of years (and who continue to say them in all of the liturgical congregations today). 

During the prayers of the church, I was brought with the community into awareness of those in trouble or in prison. My heart was drawn to people who suffer in body, mind or spirit. I was reminded in the context of prayer to reverence the earth and to care for it. I became aware of the holy task of those who fight for justice, freedom, and peace. All of this happened within the community at prayer.

Throughout the liturgical cycle of the year, there were seasons of joy and seasons of sadness; times for repentance and times of affirmation. There were days of fasting and days of feasting. Community prayers were there in the midst of worship to guide us in our grieving, in our waiting, and in our moments of celebration.

Why do we pray? I learned that when I allowed the liturgy to pull me away from my limited frame of reference, I came into a larger awareness of what the presence of God means. I gained further insight into what the reign of God entails. My prayer life was expanded. By participating with the praying community, concerns I might not have considered were brought to mind. Even the cosmic presence of Christ as sustainer of the world became a cause for celebration. 

Praying with Grace

Last Sunday when I visited my friends at Grace Episcopal Church, I was reminded once again of why we pray. During the Prayers of the People, the worshiping community there made use of some intercessions from The Church of England’s Common Worship: Times and Seasons. In the Episcopal Church, there are six basic forms in the prayer book to select from for the Prayers of the People during the liturgy. Using a different form was an enriching change, but the beauty and the content of the prayer was a wonderful illustration of how prayer can draw us into an awareness of how we are called to participate in doing the things that God does. 
 
Here are the prayers as prayed at Grace last Sunday:

The Prayers of the People

Upon the rich earth send a blessing, O Lord.

Let the earth be fruitful

and its resources be hallowed.

we ask you to hear us, good Lord.

Prosper the work of our hands;

may all find dignity and just reward in their work;

free the exploited and oppressed.

we ask you to hear us, good Lord.

Guide us into a sustainable future,

and give us the will to share the fruits of the world.

we ask you to hear us, good Lord.

Teach us to cherish the water of the earth,

and to conserve the seas, lakes and rivers.

we ask you to hear us, good Lord.

Where the earth is parched and the well has run dry;

where war brings want, and children go hungry;

where the poor cry out for bread and for justice,

give hands to care and heal, and compel us to be generous.

we ask you to hear us, good Lord.

We ask you to hear us, good Lord,

for the sake of your Son, our Savior Jesus Christ.

Amen.

(Adapted from the Church of England’s Common Worship)


When you find yourself wondering why we bother to pray in this muddled world we live in, consider how we can be enriched, encouraged, and formed by the prayers that we engage ourselves in.

                                     

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“Were You There?” A Palm Sunday Reflection

[This essay was first posted in 2016 with the title, "Crafting, the Cross and Holy Week"]

“I could not help thinking that when the slaves sang, 'Were you there when they crucified my Lord?' they actually were there. They were there in a way that neither the plantation owners then – nor nice church people now – could realize.”

On the day after Palm Sunday, I made some palm leaf crosses similar to the ones pictured here (I got the pic from Sermon on the Sidewalk blog). I went online and found a great YouTube guide for making them, as I had done last year. 

In the past, I found it to be a good remembrance of Holy Week and its message, as I kept the cross in the car throughout the year. This year, I made the crosses because I had to do something with my hands to calm the emotions I was feeling and to put my thoughts into perspective.

You see, the Palm Sunday service did an unexpected number on me. I don’t know why I say “unexpected” because Palm Sunday usually has a profound effect on me in some way. This year, though, I thought it would be different because I have not been especially attuned to the season until this week. Sometimes the beauty of church liturgy, whatever the season, is that it is there when you want to truly engage, but if you are not up for deep engagement, you can still take part in the rhythm of the service in a lighter, more peripheral manner. I thought this year would be one of those peripheral participations.

The Liturgy Drew Me In

So we processed into the church with palm branches, participated in a liturgical reading of the passion narrative from the Gospel of Matthew,  heard a brief homily, celebrated the Eucharist, and it was all very nice. I didn’t get all emotionally caught up in the rejoicing stage or in the “crucify him!” moment. It was all nice and pat. Then came the closing hymn, “Were You There?”

“Were You There?” has long been a powerful and moving song for me. It is one of those Negro Spirituals that has made its into many hymnals, Catholic and Protestant alike. It was not the first time I have had mixed emotions about Negro Spirituals, often noting their simple beauty that arose from such hardship. 

During Sunday's service, however, I glanced down at the bottom of the page and read the source of the song which was listed as from “Old Plantation Hymns.” The loaded term, plantation, was just too much to keep me on the periphery. I could not help thinking of the hardship inflicted upon the slaves by the plantation owners. I could not help thinking that when the slaves sang, “Were you there when they crucified my Lord?” they actually were there. They were there in a way that neither the plantation owners then – nor nice church people now – could realize. 

The institution of slavery was oppressing and “crucifying” people, not for our salvation, but so that they could have a bowl of sugar on their table, abundant crops in the field, and money in their coffers. How often does our society still oppress or take advantage of workers just so we can have goods in the market and food on the table? “Sometimes, it causes me to tremble…” 

Craft Time

I had to get still and quiet Sunday night after the service. I couldn’t just shake it off; I had to dwell with it for a while. Then with a new day come Monday, I needed another routine to put me into a productive rhythm. I knew if I let the morning be “craft time” the use of my hands to make things would get me grounded again. 

The other thing that helped my perspective was having just seen the BBC documentary, “How Art Made theWorld.” In one episode, it was pointed out how cultures around the world had used art to come to terms with people’s awareness that we will all face death. Many cultures have incorporated religious art that acknowledges death. One of the things that art can do is to find an object that acknowledges death and at the same time provides comfort and hope. The Christian cross was given as an example of such a symbol.

So I busied my hands, steadied myself, and practiced an age-old art form whereby I could come to terms with death and celebrate life at the same time. There was also the factor that this was a fun thing to do, like so many projects we did as children. There is still the reality of suffering and death, but a little bit of art can give us courage to live. A day of crafts can give us a steady hand to work for change in the future. 

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Cosmic Mass Now Playing

Two wonders are too great to be told but must nevertheless be declared. There is the wonder of creation and the wonder of the human journey toward wholeness and redemption. One of my favorite rites in the Episcopal Church is Eucharistic Prayer C which proclaims the drama of redemption against the backdrop of the mystery of creation.

Everyone has experienced a sense of wonder in the presence of creation. “Breath-taking” and “awe-inspiring” are terms often ascribed to nature. There are innumerable examples which can connect us immediately with the wonder of existence, causing us to marvel at the mystery of the universe.

Who cannot stand in wonder when gazing at the night sky? I can recall as a child the joy and amazement I felt when looking at the stars. By the time I was 10 years old I had been schooled in the concept of light-years and by the time I was 14 I had watched the Apollo lunar landings as our first steps of space exploration were televised. I spent many a night looking toward the Pleiades, marveling at the vastness of the universe and wondering about my place in it. The sheer grandeur such a sight can give one the sensation of being afloat on a sea of mystery, as if on the cusp of tapping in to an ancient memory in the mind of God.

Beginning in the 1990s when the Hubble Space Telescope began sending us images from deep space, we saw a multitude of galaxies at various stages of formation. Increased knowledge led to increased wonder and amazement.

Juxtaposed to that outward vision of the universe, the inner journey that we all make can also instill us with wonder. Some call it a journey toward wholeness, some call it salvation, others call it enlightenment. It is a path we take as individuals and also as a community. Sometimes increased moments of awareness come in private meditation; sometimes that awareness comes while gathered in community. Often it helps to proclaim the Great Mystery as we come together for worship. Eucharistic Prayer C can be a vehicle for that proclamation.

What is Eucharistic Prayer C?

The prayers for Mass, or the Eucharistic service, are labeled Eucharistic Prayer A, B, C, and D. The most frequently used are Eucharistic Prayers A and B. By far the most poetic and the most cosmic of the Masses is Eucharistic Prayer C.

Consider the opening prayer as the Eucharistic Rite begins:

God of all power, Ruler of the Universe, you are worthy of 
glory and praise.
Glory to you for ever and ever.

At your command all things came to be: the vast expanse of 
interstellar space, galaxies, suns, the planets in their courses, 
and this fragile earth, our island home.
By your will they were created and have their being.

From the primal elements you brought forth the human race, 
and blessed us with memory, reason, and skill. You made us 
the rulers of creation. But we turned against you, and betrayed 
your trust; and we turned against one another.

Later in the Mass, just prior to the consecration of the bread and wine, we hear this prayer:

Lord God of our Fathers: God of Abraham, Isaac, and 
Jacob; God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ: Open our 
eyes to see your hand at work in the world about us. Deliver 
us from the presumption of coming to this Table for solace 
only, and not for strength; for pardon only, and not for 
renewal. Let the grace of this Holy Communion make us one 
body, one spirit in Christ, that we may worthily serve the 
world in his name.
Risen Lord, be known to us in the breaking of the Bread.

The Celebration at St. Andrew’s Church

St. Andrew's Episcopal Church

I was delighted last Sunday as the service unfolded at St. Andrew’s Church to hear those magnificent liturgical prayers from Eucharistic Prayer C. At the end of the service, my wife commented to the rector, the Reverend Ed Hunt, about how much she loved Eucharistic Prayer C. Father Ed replied that the church will be using it in the liturgy from now until September. You heard it right – the Cosmic Mass will be playing for the rest of the summer at St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church on Birmingham’s Southside.

So come one and all, every Sunday from now until September at 10:30 a.m. to St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church  in Birmingham where you can meditate on a cosmic scale in  music, worship, liturgy and poetry.

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Experiencing Wonder in Worship

(Part 4 in the series Experiences of Mystery and Wonder)

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The Three Paths

In the Bhagavad-Gita, the Lord Krishna explains to the young warrior Arjuna that there are three paths to salvation – three ways to achieve oneness with Ultimate Reality. There is the path of selfless action, the path of self transcending knowledge, and the path of devotion. I’m no expert in Hindu philosophy, but when I first read of the three paths to salvation, I saw parallels in my own Christian experience. One can find examples of commitment to religious life that fall within these three categories. For some, action is primary. We see that in the hundreds of charitable agencies and the social justice committees that one finds in many Christian denominations. For others, knowledge is the key. Theological studies come to mind as well as Sunday school lessons and apologetics. Then there are those who focus on devotion. There are many examples of devotion ranging from daily prayer to public worship to Eucharistic adoration and veneration of the saints.

In my own experiences and observations, I have seen how religious groups will emphasize one or another of the three paths. Baptists tend to emphasize knowledge over devotion and action. Pentecostals and charismatics are stronger on devotion with their emphasis on praise and worship. Catholics often emphasize devotion and action. Liberal Protestants are strong on action and knowledge but are less inclined toward devotion. The Salvation Army stakes its whole identity upon action. What about your own faith tradition? What do you see emphasized? Which of these three paths are you inclined to take?

On the Path of Devotion

In matters of public worship, we tend to structure things to be conducive to the experience of wonder, but that wonder does not happen every time. How many ho-hum church services and dull sermons have you sat through? When that moment of wonder and transcendence does come for you, it may not necessarily happen for your neighbor in the next pew. We treasure those moments when they occur, knowing that it does not happen every day (nor would we necessarily want it to happen every day).

By the time I was a teenager, I wasn’t fully cognizant of the concept of worship or of any particular experience of mystery and wonder to be found at church. My own understanding of wonder in the context of worship was expanded in an unlikely place while I was still a teen.

I had been invited to attend a special service at a local Assembly of God Church. I was assured that I would receive a blessing if I went. The church was a small cinder block building with a tin roof and plain windows that had to be opened in the summer since there was no air conditioning. The first time I went, I didn’t make it to the front door. I was running late and the service had already started by the time I arrived. Because of those open windows, I heard the service before I even turned off the road. Such exuberant singing and hand clapping was going on, my plain vanilla Southern Baptist nervous system was a bit unsettled by all the commotion. I could not see myself walking into that building, so I used the lateness of my arrival as an excuse to turn around and go back home.

Later, I was able to visit the little church and to get there on time. It was quite an experience to say the least. You have to realize that this was the early 1970s before Pentecostals had entered into the mainstream of society. I was 16, maybe 17 years old, and teenagers were supposed to be hip and cool (I suppose that is still true of teens today). These were backwoods country people who worked hard for what little money they had. You wouldn’t have found a professional or a socialite in this group. Neither was there a businessman or a politician among them.

Joining in the Chorus

I looked around at this rag-tag group of country folk. I thought to myself, I am still in high school and probably more educated most people in this room. What in the world am I doing here? I was accustomed to “Holy, Holy, Holy,” and “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.” Substantial hymns sung from substantial hymn books. These people were singing Stamps-Baxter tunes from worn out yellowed paperback books. I remember the man who got up to lead the congregational singing. He was a red-faced man with a pot belly and wearing a baggy suit jacket. His idea of directing the congregational singing was to roll up his paperback songbook into a tube and wave it around. To really encourage participation, he began to slap that rolled up songbook into the palm of his other hand as he leaned forward toward the congregation, walking from one side of the church to the other.

After every verse of this one particular song was sung, the song leader directed us to continue with the chorus, singing it over and over. The name of the song was “Some Day.” I had never heard the song before, and have not heard it since, but I still remember the chorus:

Some day, some happy day
From sin, set free;
I’ll live with Christ for aye
Some day, some day.

As a teenager, I wasn’t particularly interested in someday – I was more interested in the here and now. I wasn’t even sure what living “with Christ for aye” was supposed to mean. I don’t know how many times that chorus was repeated, but the red-faced man up front, as well as the crowd in the pews seemed to know exactly the right number of times to sing it in order for it to have the most satisfying effect. While this song was being sung, I was looking around, not feeling any particular kinship with these country bumpkins, still wondering what I was doing there. Then something happened. For some reason, I knew that I should stop being so judgmental and self righteous. For some reason, I said to myself, “You can stand apart or you can join in and see what happens.” For some reason, I decided to join in, singing and hand-clapping with abandon. It was an inner shift that created an inner opening.

Somehow, within the space that those people had created for worship, the possibilities of “some day” cascaded into the “here and now”. I found myself experiencing that divine reality that dwells with us each day. It is part of our breath and bone, present at all times, but often not recognized. We were celebrating that reality together. All of us were caught up in the wonder of a divine and loving presence. I could have missed it, but for some reason on that night I chose to join in with that group of sincere people with whom moments before I had found so little in common. My heart learned something that night. And my friend was right – I did receive a blessing.

Many Avenues

If devotion is your path, there are many ways to get there. Usually it depends upon where you feel most at home. Since I have come to experience liturgical worship, I have found that even within one liturgy there are many avenues. My first experience with liturgy was in the Anglo-Catholic tradition in the Episcopal Church. Later I learned the Roman Catholic tradition, which follows the same liturgy that I had become accustomed to among Episcopalians. My wife and I visited a predominately African American Catholic Church in town. We were impressed that within the same liturgy they took their own music and customs and made the place really rock – it was great! The same was true when we visited the Hispanic Mass at our church – same liturgy, different music, different energy.

Of course, there are many other means to worship and devotion within many other traditions. Sometimes seeing how other traditions connect with the eternal gives one a new appreciation for one’s own tradition.



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