Thoughts About Confirmation

Sunday at the Cathedral was especially glorious; a bunch of people were confirmed. Before the actual confirmations, several people were baptized. In one family both the mother and her infant were baptized.  As the young mother was having the sign of the cross traced on her forehead by the bishop, and as he intoned the words, “You are sealed in baptism and marked as Christ’s own forever,” tears slipped down her cheeks.  I saw the same thing happen last year when an another adult was baptized.  Still, having witnessed many, many over the years, and having performed a few myself, it is a rare sight to see tears.

After the service, I saw the young mother and said, “It’s not often I see someone cry at a baptism.” I had more to say, but before I could get it out, she began to apologize.  I cut her off and finished with, “It was wonderful!”  She smiled, relieved I wasn’t scolding her and said, “It meant so much to me.”  That was not unlike what I’d heard a year earlier when I spoke to the man who teared up--along with his wife who sponsored him.

I share this with you because I have for a long time thought we make it too easy to become baptized and confirmed as adults.  In the early centuries of the Church, especially before Constantine made Christianity a legal religion--by the way, he did NOT make it the state religion; that happened later--a person presenting for baptism was expected to undergo at least a year’s rigorous instruction. The belief was that people should know what they were getting themselves into, partly because they might have to die simply for being a Christian. Those preparing for baptism were not even allowed to witness the Eucharist, much less partake. They were excused from the congregation at the peace.

Today many parishes make preparing for baptism and confirmation as easy and as non-taxing as they can.  At the Cathedral, adult confirmation classes usually span six to eight weeks of one hour sessions. Some other parishes do more, most do about the same; some do less.  I suppose we think if we Episcopalians make it too hard, people might not get confirmed and, therefore, won’t become members of the church. I understand this. These days it’s hard to keep people focused on anything very long. I can imagine folks giving up and moving on and I don’t want that.

At the same time, I’m not sure that requiring a year’s study would have changed anything for that young woman or the man last year. For them, the experience of joining the communion of saints, of being grafted into the Body of Christ, was probably as moving as it could be. Would I like them to know more of our rich heritage as Episcopalians? Do I wish they had a better understanding of what’s going on in worship, and more important for me, why it’s going on? Sure. But I can’t honest say they would be any more engaged or dedicated to a life in our Lord because of it. 

Like many things as I get older, the clear lines of my cherished beliefs blur sometimes. I suppose if I tried I could come down firmly on one side of the other of this matter. But, I’m stilled moved by the tears.

Peace,

Jerry

What Did Jesus Say?

A few weeks ago I delivered a talk in Florence, Alabama titled Who Was King James and Why Did He Want A New Bible?  It was great fun and there was an extended Q and A when I finished. One participant asked, “You mentioned that you had 15 or so different translations of the Bible in your personal library. Since we need to know exactly what Jesus said, which translation should we use?”

The question is both understandable and troubling at the same time. We all want to know “exactly what Jesus said.” The essentials of our faith can be said to rest on the report of his death and resurrection, but much of our beliefs about both the particulars of faith and how we are to live as Christians flows from what the Scriptures report of his life and teachings.  Needing to have an accurate historical record is clearly understandable. But we are faced with a score of problems in knowing. I was only able to mention a couple in my response that day. Here are some common ones.

First, the earliest known written Gospel dates from around 70 AD. That’s about 30 years after his resurrection. How trustworthy are your 30 year old memories of details of conversations?

Second, the oldest fragment of a manuscript of a Gospel dates from about 125 AD. It is about the same size as a playing card and is a portion of John containing 114 words.  That’s 95 years after the resurrection. The oldest complete copy of the first Gospel, Mark, dates from about 450 AD, though an almost complete copy without the longer ending dates from around 300 AD. Almost certainly based on older copies, we can’t check them against older versions because none have been found.

Third, even if we had the original manuscripts, they would likely be in Greek since all the others are. Jesus apparently spoke Aramaic. So the writer had to translate his Aramaic words into Greek to write them down. If you’ve ever learned a language as a second language, you know that not all words have exact equivalents and that often something changes, at least subtly, in the translation. On top of that, words alter their meaning over time. When the KJV was developed in 1411, “prevent” meant “precede.” Now it means stop. Another is “allege.” Then allege meant “prove,” now it means “assert someone has done something wrong.”

Fourth, each of the Gospels don’t remember Jesus’ words in the same way. In some cases the words are the same; in other cases there are important changes.  For example, “Blessed are the poor,” in one Gospel becomes, “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” in another. Additionally, not all Gospel report the same sayings in any form.

I couldn’t leave the questioner with a set of problems in trying to answer his question, so after pointing out some dilemmas, I offered my own approach for consideration. While I don’t think I can be sure of exactly what Jesus said, I think I can see certain themes in what was reported he said. These themes include God’s unconditional love for us, the necessity of our loving each other even when the “other” seems unlovable, care for the sick, the hungry, the poor and the imprisoned, and the necessity to tell others of the messages of Jesus. I then said something like, “If we could just manage to do these things today, we’d be demonstrating we know what Jesus said.”

What do you think? 

Peace

Jerry

Keeping the Dogs At Bay

Well, I guess I lied a little bit when I said last week was the last of Why Do We Do That series. I really intended to give you a break, but I began to feel bad about leaving out someone very much in evidence in most Episcopal cathedrals and in other parishes too. This someone’s office and responsibilities have been around at least since the early days of the Anglican Church and very likely before that. I speak of the Verger.

The Verger is a lay person who dresses in a black gown called a cassock. Over that the Verger wears a purple or violet chimere. The latter is a garment that begin life as a part of what university professors wore. It looks like an academic gown, but without sleeves and it worn open at the front. The Verger carries a short virge (latin: virga meaning twig or rod). Why? Originally, the Verger led the processions and had to use the virge to assist the procession in moving through the crowds. The crowds could become unruly in their enthusiasm sometimes. The virge was useful for waking worshippers who might have dozed off or for keeping the dogs and other animals from approaching the altar!  Sometimes they may have had to wack a chorister who had become disruptive. Remember, the invention of pews and sitting for worship is a relatively modern innovation. For centuries people stood, or sat on the floor, or brought their own little stool to church. They, and small animals like dogs, cats, and chickens, milled around during worship, so the Verger had to keep order.

Early Vergers had a host of other responsibilities too. Besides keeping order, they took care of the buildings and its furnishings, helped prepare for the liturgy, and dug graves. Today, behind the scenes they still help prepare for the liturgy. They also ceremonially precede the service participants as they move about the church. You’ll notice them most at St. Mary’s as they walk in procession and at communion when they direct someone with bread and the cup to worshippers who were unable to go forward to receive communion.

The official website of Episcopal Vergers says, “We often say that every parish has a verger whether they are identified as such. Some typical verger duties are assigning, training, and checking in lectors, chalice bearers, acolytes and prayer intercessors.”

We can be thankful that modern Vergers almost never need to keep the dogs at bay.

OK. Next week I promise a more “theological” topic and to lay off the history stuff for a bit. I’m blogging about the topic What Did Jesus Really Say? Fair warning though, sometimes I just can’t help myself and history rears its head.

Peace, 

Jerry

Why Do We Do That? Part 3

Someone asked me recently why I was doing this series. The answer is simple. I think it is important to understand the reasons we do what we do in worship as a means of enhancing our experience. Plus, if we joined a club of some kind, we’d likely be taught the customs and traditions of the club to help us feel more at home. Same thing here. So today, in the last of these for awhile, I’m focusing on why the clergy and laity dress as they do to lead worship.

If you’ve come to the Episcopal Church from some other denomination, you’ve noticed we dress funny for worship, i.e., we have unusual garments that are worn. We are not alone in having special garments that are worn by the clergy and those assisting at the altar. We retained the Roman Catholic worship garments of the Reformation period of the Church and have been using them every since. [There is a “more or less” here, but there’s not space to elaborate.] Some other liturgical groups use the same garments and they are making their way into churches that might not have used them 50 years ago, such as some United Methodist parishes. So, what are they called and why do we do it?

The white garment we wear at services of Holy Eucharist is called an alb, from the Latin word for white.  A garment much like this, the toga, was the daily wear of Romans in the formative years of the Church.  When clergy wore them they were just wearing their “street clothes.”  But as the dress style changed, the clergy kept the alb as their basic garment.  Originally these street clothes might be of different colors, but over time, the Christian community settled on white as a symbol of purity.  

Laity serving at the altar wear albs too. Most albs have hoods, but some clergy wear a modified alb called a cassock-alb.  It is essentially an alb without a hood. The albs are tied at the waist with a cord called a cincture. One underlying reason we wear vestments is to cover what we wear under them so as to not call attention to ourselves in a way that distracts worshippers. 

While all those at the altar wear the alb, clergy also wear a colored strip of cloth around their necks called a stole.  The stole is a sign of their office as clergy.  Priests wear it over both shoulders, hanging down the front. Deacons wear the stole diagonally from the left shoulder to the right side.  The stole originally was a kind of Roman robe or cloak which was worn by civic officials.  Over time, in the Church it became simpler and took its current form.  The stole represents the authority of the office of priest or deacon with the priest’s stole also representing the yoke of Christ they took on at ordination.

The celebrant of the Eucharist also wears an over garment called a chasuble.  Chasuble is from the Latin word for “little house” because the garment shelters the celebrant.  The chasuble can be simple or elaborate, but it is always seamless as Jesus’ robe was said to be—the robe for which the soldiers cast lots and is meant to remind us of that robe.  

In some parishes, celebrants don’t wear the chasuble, wearing only the alb and stole. In other parishes, that might be considered “low church,” i.e., they have a little less emphasis on ritual and custom, the celebrant and others may wear a black garment that hangs to the top of their shoes and has a little square cut out at the neck. It’s called a cassock and is worn instead of the alb. Over that, they wear a long white scooped necked garment called a surplice. Over that, they wear their stole.  This was essentially how the clergy dressed at the time of the Reformation in England. The return to albs and chasubles, which had been Middle Age customary wear, came about in the Anglican Church in the 19^th century because of liturgical reform called the Oxford movement. That movement sought to return to the liturgical practices and customs of the Middle Ages.

Deacons don’t wear chasubles at the altar. They wear a similar though simpler garment called a dalmatic. It is the liturgical color of the day with simple decorations. Just like the alb had been the daily wear in Roman times, with some servants wore the dalmatic as their sign of office. It’s liturgical origin seems to have been Byzantine and was introduced in the West for liturgical use in the early 4^th century first in Rome. It spread from there and was universally adopted by the 9^th century.

For certain processions, such as major feast days, the celebrant or the Officiant may wear a cope.  The cope was originally just a cape worn outdoors to protect against the weather.  It is a large outer garment, open in front.  Attached to the back is a colorful section of cloth that originally was a hood.  Now it is purely decorative and is removed once the clergy are in position at the front of the church, just as you would take off your coat once you’re settled in.

For other services called Offices, such as, funerals, weddings, and Morning and Evening Prayer, the Officiant will wear cassock and surplice, unless there is a Eucharist.  The cassock is actually a garment some priests wear as daily wear over their other clothes.  For some of the offices, the Officiant may wear a black, stole-like band of cloth over the shoulders and down the front.  This is called a tippet and originated in the 14th century.  It is typically Anglican, though some non-Anglicans wear them.  Bishops dress differently from the other orders of clergy, that’s enough for today.

Peace,

Jerry

Why Do We Do That: Part 2

Last week I started by writing, “In this season of preparation for confirmation, I’ve found over the years that many people other than the inquirers wonder about why we Episcopalians do certain things in our worship.” The other thing I’ve run into is visitors commenting on how “Catholic” our liturgy seems. Today’s blog deals with that comment.

Yes, our liturgy seems very Roman Catholic and there’s a good reason. During the reign of Henry VIII in England when what would become the Anglican Church was developing, Roman Catholicism was the only way the English worshipped. This was true on the continent too, but Luther’s and other’s reforms on the continent didn’t just focus on theological differences with Rome, but with worship practices as well. The strong belief in the Protestant Reformation was that the Church had strayed far from the purity of the early Christians theology. Equally important for the reformers was that worship practices had been corrupted and needed to be reformed to return to that simple approach to worship. Consequently, much of the Roman liturgy was dumped and replaced with what the continental reform leaders thought the early Church was like.

But not in England. Sure, there was a strong sentiment to rid the liturgy and the Church of “excesses,” but the definition of excesses couldn’t be agreed upon. Also, unlike many continental Churches, the English Church kept archbishops, bishops, priests, and deacons and retained a bishop led organization--or episcopal with a little “e” structure. The big change here was these clergy could, and did, marry. (In the Episcopal Church, the other change is to give the other clergy and the laity an equal representation in the governance of the Church.)

There were many heated theological debates and some substantial theological changes were finally made. However, the liturgy retained much of the form and language of the Roman rite on which it was based. Many practices of the Roman church were retained as well, but many more were removed. For example, Anglicans still pray for the dead, but we have no provisions for paying for masses for the dead and we don’t believe our prayers hasten their departure from Purgatory--since we don’t believe in such a state. We pray for the dead, according to our Catechism, because we still love them and want them to continue to grow in grace.

During Elizabeth’s I reign, the Anglican Church really began to take shape. Tiring of the endless debates and tensions, Elizabeth decreed that, believe what you will about various matters, but we are going to all worship the same way. Using the Book of Common Prayer became a liturgical requirement and that Book, kept the essence of the Roman liturgy, while changing very little. Revisions made in the liturgy in her ordered Prayer Book, combined the more reformed ideas with the older Roman ideas, enabling people with both sensibilities to worship together and to “hear” what they needed to hear. 

The most fundamental of these is in what was commanded to be said when the bread and wine were administered. The more Roman words were, “The Body of our Lord Jesus Christ, which was given for thee, preserve thy body and soul unto everlasting life.” The more reformed words were, “Take eat this in remembrance that Christ died for thee, and feed on him in thy heart by faith, with thanksgiving.” The first allows for the idea that the body and blood of Jesus are really present in the bread and wine. The second makes the sacrament much more a memorial of his death and requires the faith of the recipient to make the bread and wine “real.” Both of these sentences were to be said. And they still may be.  (Rite I on page 338, prescribes them as the preferred words at administration.)

So, we look “Catholic” in our worship, but we reformed a lot of our beliefs and practices. Elizabeth established in the Church the via media, the “middle way.” Often understood as wishy-washy, what via media actually means is we can accommodate a range of beliefs as we worship together as the Body of Christ. I think this is one of our great strengths. I hope you do as well.

Peace,

Jerry

Why Do We Do That? Part 1

In this season during which many parishes are preparing people for confirmation, I’ve found over the years that many people other than the inquirers wonder about why we Episcopalians do certain things in our worship. Today I’m starting a short series trying to address some of those questions.  Since this is the Season of Easter which spans 50 days, I want to begin by talking about a major liturgical change that’s made in the service for the season.

In most Anglican parishes around the world, the custom has developed to omit the General Prayer of Confession during this season. Why? Easter Season is understood to be the most joyous season of the Christian year with the focus more on praise, thanksgiving and our redemption than on confession. The Book of Common Prayer includes a rubric that allows for the omission on occasion and this great festival season is seen as a particularly good time to omit it.

There’s more! Before the Reformation, there was no general prayer of confession in the liturgy. People were expected to engage in self-examination and confession before coming to church to worship. This expectation influenced the trend for Christians to routinely to make private confessions to the priest on Friday or Saturday before Sunday worship. So, omitting the prayer is actually a return to the earliest practices of the Church. Outside of private confession, the idea also was that the very act of giving thanks to God was an acknowledgment of one’s sinfulness. The Prayers of the People also typically contained the Kyrie Eleison, which is penitential in nature. All this is to say, we don’t try to diminish the need to confess our sin; we just emphasize something else for a few weeks. 

Now to one other Easter practice. In many parishes, week after week, following the Sanctus (Holy, Holy, Holy...) most everybody kneels for the remainder of the Eucharistic Prayer.  In many of those same parishes, during the Easter season, people remain standing rather than kneel. Why? Same reason we omit the general confession. As redeemed people, we can boldly face God rather than humbly falling to our knees.

Besides which, kneeling for the Eucharistic Prayer is a particularly western or Roman practice to start with. In the Orthodox Churches, they always stand for the Prayer and always have. In the earliest Christian Churches in the west, there weren’t chairs, much less kneelers, so everybody tended to stand. Kneeling entered the worship practices of the western liturgy in the High Middle Ages. The reason many people in Episcopal Churches stand for the Prayer year round is because it is the more historically “correct” way to pray. [BTW, to be completely “correct,” stand with your elbows at your side, your forearms pointing away from your body at about a 45 degree angle to your body and in front of you, with your palms open. This is called the “orans position,” the historic posture of prayer. You often see priests in this posture as they pray the Eucharistic Prayer.]

However, local customs are hard to change unless a particular rector really pushes for it. So in St. Mary’s practice, at Easter you are likely to see only a very few people standing during Easter--I’ll be one of them. One of the wonderful things about the Anglican Church is we don’t force people to conform to a particular practice in worship. What seems to matter most to us is this: if what you’re doing doesn’t disturb others as they worship and it enhances your experience of the Holy Mystery--do it! Stand if you wish; kneel if you wish; sit if you must. We’re just happy you’re there to worship our Lord as a diverse community of the faithful.

Peace

Jerry

Creeping to the Cross

I had such a good response through emails and personal comments to last week’s post, I thought I’d continue the historical theme, but this time jump ahead to the medieval Church, especially in England, to which have much in common as Anglicans.

Holy Week was the heart of the Church year since Jesus’ passion and death was the heart of late medieval Christianity. From Wednesday on, the services were very elaborate with each day having special ritual observances. In the earlier medieval period the rituals were even more involved and powerful, but some of that vigor had waned. For example, the Vigil of Easter had been moved to Saturday morning rather than beginning at sunset Saturday night.

Palm Sunday’s procession was perhaps the most elaborate and eloquent of the processions of the Sarum rites. [Note: the cathedral at Salisbury, often called Sarum, had developed the liturgy that was largely in use across England. It was the revision of this rite that was the backbone of the Prayer Book liturgy developed during the English Reformation. Our present liturgy still has much in common with Sarum.] The rite began with blessings, sprinkling of holy water on the assembled people, reading the story of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem and the crowd’s reaction based on John’s gospel account.

Flowers and green branches were then blessed, distributed to everyone, and then all began the procession out of the church, led by a crucifix. The procession wandered through the village or city, finally making its way back to the church. There were a variety of other elaborate ritual actions including during the liturgy. Back inside the church the Passion story from Matthew was sung by three clergy and while this was being sung, worshippers, using sticks brought for the purpose made crosses for themselves. These crosses were kept in their homes until the next year and were thought to have special powers for warding off evil. Remind you of the palm crosses still used in many parishes on Palm Sunday?

Maundy Thursday was a very solemn liturgy. The kiss of peace is omitted because Judas betrayed Jesus with a kiss. Three hosts were consecrated: one for communion that day, one for Good Friday communion, and the third to be used in a ceremony at the end of the Good Friday service. When the liturgy was over, the altar or altars were stripped of everything on them. Water and wine were poured on them and they were washed with a broom of sharp twigs. All of this was to allegorize the stripping of Jesus, scourging him and crowning him with thorns, and the water and blood that flowed from the spear wound. 

People attended Tenebrae services on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. These were services in which candles were snuffed out one by one to symbolize the abandonment of Jesus by his disciples. But the Good Friday service was the most significant one of the week. In medieval Christianity, the passion and death of Jesus was the center of their theology, and indeed, the idea of literally sacrificing Jesus again at each Eucharist was central to worship.

Good Friday was a day of deep mourning. There was no Eucharist. The Passion story was read from John’s gospel. A veiled crucifix was brought into the church while a series of reproaches were sung. The cross was unveiled in three stages. At each stage the priest would intone, “Behold the wood of the cross, on which hung the savior of the world. Come let us worship.” After the final unveiling, the clergy and the people would begin “creeping to the cross,” as it was known. They crept barefoot and on their knees down the main aisle of the church to kiss the foot of the cross. After this adoration, the third host from the Maundy Thursday Eucharist was brought from the niche and after all said the Lord’s Prayer, the priest, and the priest alone, communicated.

This practice of creeping to the cross was one of the most frequent targets of Protestant reformers from 1530 on. It was very hard to extinguish the practice because it was so much a part of the lay piety. Well after Elizabeth’s reforms were implemented, people still wanted to creep to the cross and did, in spite of an official condemnation of the practice.

But perhaps the most imaginative ceremony of Good Friday was at the end when Jesus was symbolically buried in a niche in the north wall called the Easter sepulcher. The priest, unvested and barefoot, brought out the third host from Maundy Thursday in a small container called a pyx. The pyx and the crucifix that had been venerated, were wrapped in linen and taken to the niche. A watch was kept at the niche until Easter morning that included the presence of many candles. The pyx and crucifix were removed on Easter and used in the Easter liturgy.

As you compare these rituals to our modern actions, you can see both the continuity and the alterations. For example, like them, we take the bread and wine of Maundy Thursday to a special place, but we do it on Maundy Thursday rather than Good Friday. Today we have no Easter sepulcher; we have an Altar of Repose to receive the elements. Many parishes have watches during the night on Thursday until noon Friday. And often there are candles and flowers. Our symbolism is not Jesus in the tomb, but Jesus in the garden in prayer and we are watching with him. This bread and wine are consumed on Good Friday and there is no consecrated bread or wine kept in the tabernacle because, as we understand it, Jesus is dead.

For our forebearers, the sepulcher was the central part of the liturgy of Holy Week, designed to inculcate and give expression to orthodox teaching, not merely on the saving power of the cross, but on the Eucharist too.  With its many lights and night watches, it constituted an especially solemn form of public worship of the consecrated bread or host.  It was a popular focus for lay piety and devotion.  But it was also the principal vehicle for the Easter proclamation of the Resurrection.

Yes, the services of our modern Holy Week can be long and sometimes tedious in our busy lifestyles. Still, without this visual reminders of Jesus’ final days and hours, can we really appreciate the wonder of his resurrection in its fulness? Earlier generations of Christians didn’t think so.

Peace

Jerry