When liturgy fails to serve

During his visit to Sydney last year, Mark Driscoll expressed surprise at the ‘clunky’ services in the Anglican churches he visited. To his eye, there was no discernible flow that connected the different elements of these gatherings.

Now, we could rejoice that he didn’t visit our church, and move on. Or we could get defensive: he’s a brash young American who has built his church from scratch, so of course he prefers the way Mars Hill works, and he doesn’t have the rich liturgical tradition of the Book of Common Prayer behind him. Yet if an outsider favourably disposed to our churches cannot grasp what is going on, we must admit we have a problem: either there’s nothing to get, or it’s not getting through.

Let’s dispense with one potential misconception first: Mars Hill does use liturgy. Driscoll might not have used the L-word, but he described their meetings as following a consistent structure that left this listener feeling that a service at Mars Hill would be more predictable than expected! His beef is not with liturgy itself, but with liturgy that doesn’t serve the church or, therefore, her master.¹

In what follows, I hope to explore the place of liturgy in contemporary church. Is it still necessary or appropriate to have liturgical controls? And how does this fit with a missional approach to church that aims to make our gatherings accessible to the unbeliever?

Appreciating Anglican liturgy

First, however, some context: I have at various points been involved in a number of Anglican and Uniting churches in Sydney—in congregations that have used a great deal of formal liturgy through to very little. I now serve as an Anglican minister, partly because I appreciate the liturgical intent that was formative for the Church of England. In other words, there are principles behind the Anglican formularies that I believe are still valuable and practicable.

Scripture

Firstly, the Book of Common Prayer gives prominence to Scripture. Provision is made for regular, systematic reading of the Bible. For the most part, the congregation is read to, but even in an age of much lower literacy, Cranmer insisted that the congregation recite Scripture to each other at key moments.

Furthermore, the language of Scripture is appropriated and woven through the elements of the service. Biblical words and phrases are found in prayers, exhortations and declarations. The effect was so profound, the English language was forever changed.

In addition, the prayer book placed enormous importance upon God’s word preached. Through the Homilies, Cranmer aimed to lift standards as well as ensure that sermons were actually preached to the people. (Prior to the Reformation, sermons were as infrequent as four times a year—or less.) With the Homilies establishing a baseline, preaching licences could be reserved for those who were genuinely able.

Engagement

Secondly, Cranmer was determined to make church intelligible to all. Services were in English, not Latin, and the priest was required to speak audibly. Our cultural distance here is great: our common sense is so offended by the thought of an incomprehensible service, we are tempted to write this principle off as completely obvious. However, what lies behind Cranmer’s goal of intelligibility is the importance of lay engagement. Anglican services were meant to be intelligible so that the whole congregation could participate in them, rather than merely witnessing some priestly hocus pocus.² 

Educative

Thirdly, liturgy was deliberately educative. Cranmer’s care in formulating and revising services reveals his belief that liturgy requires an appropriate order of service. He ensured, for example, that the prayer of confession and the pronouncement of absolution were said before communion, so that communion could not be thought of as a sacrifice that won forgiveness. The reading of the Scriptures was preceded by a recitation of Psalm 95 to highlight the importance of hearing the word that was about to be read.

This represented a rediscovery of the horizontal dimension of church: edification. The practice of medieval Roman Catholic worship was directed almost totally vertically through the priesthood to God, so a swing back to edification was desperately needed. Religious superstition both derived from and further added to the ignorance of the laity. Cranmer’s response was to shape his liturgy so that it proclaimed the gospel both implicitly and explicitly.

Liturgy in a contemporary context

How might these insights be appropriated for 21st-century church? I am convinced that they still hold true. Our time together must be centred around the word of God, for the word gathers us in the first place. Consequently, our time must also be responsive, as the congregation must not merely hear the word, but do what it says (Jas 1:22; cf. Matt 7:24; Mark 4:24; Luke 6:46, 8:21, 11:28, etc.). Inevitably, this means a gospel-shaped service, but, nevertheless, it is worth requiring this explicitly to ensure that the balance is right. A liturgy that deliberately aims at these three things—that is, one that has an educative intent—has the potential to work for believer and unbeliever alike.

Timeless principles are all very well, but what about my church? How does this fit with the received tradition (aka the congregation) of St Someone’s?

Formal liturgies

Let me claim boldly that there are two poles on the liturgical spectrum. At one end lie those who like formal liturgy—be it 20 years or 20 generations old. There is a respect for tradition and our forebears in the faith that is commendable. It is arrogant to assume we always know better.

However, there is a danger that such churches can get comfortable. It is not uncommon to hear a preference for formal liturgy expressed as just that—a preference—not a theological conviction, but a fondness for what makes us comfortable. The liturgy is like the favourite slipper we put on to feel that all is right between God and us. The potential for danger is great: the congregation can stop listening to what is said; they can disengage, participating in a rote rather than a rite; and they can no longer be edified by the form of service. Worst of all, the gospel becomes so familiar, it is overlooked.

Unrecognized liturgies

At the other end of the spectrum, one might anticipate finding those who dislike liturgy. I suspect it would be more accurate to describe this position as being occupied by those who believe they don’t have one … and are wrong. In my experience, many contemporary services are just as ordered as those taken from a prescribed form—if not more so: every service opens with a song or two (so latecomers can sneak in discreetly); the children’s talk occurs at the same point to allow the leaders of the children’s program a consistent time limit for their work; the offertory song is here; the creed goes there; and the sermon is always a predictable length. We might not recognize it as liturgy, but it is just as rigidly structured. We are rightly fond of order, but in our weakness, it is often used to cover laziness or apathy. Having created a contemporary service that is fresh and different, we retain precisely the same freshness and difference for far too long.

That being so, the same dangers apply, but with perhaps one more: if what is labelled ‘contemporary’ becomes stale through repetition, what hope is there for improvement? The cutting edge is found to be blunt, and the congregation can fall prey to whatever get-fixed-quick scheme catches the eye.

Random liturgies

There is, unfortunately, another possibility: the church with a random liturgy. Services are not planned with care, but just happen. Elements take place in approximately the order that the service leader thought of them a few hours earlier. It is hardly worth observing that this approach educates a congregation into thinking that what we do in church is largely irrelevant, as long as we have included all the expected items. This is formalism of the worst kind!

An intentional approach

The problem is that we have confused formality and liturgy. Formality is no more a guarantee of genuine liturgy than informality is a guarantee of the absence of liturgy. The degree of formality can be left as a matter of preference for the congregation of St Someone’s, so long as the liturgy actually serves its purpose: to ensure that God’s word is proclaimed, that the people respond, and that the congregation is alert to what is taking place.

In preparing services, I have started with the word. How does the passage or topic of the preaching shape the meeting? If it drives the congregation to repentance, it makes sense for the sermon to come early, making room for confession, thanksgiving and praise. If it exhorts people to live out their identity as believers, it is better placed late, so that it can follow after such things as prayers, creeds and communion. I also believe that it is helpful to read systematically through the Bible, so we have one reading from the sermon series and another from the book we are reading through.

The songs should be chosen to support the theme raised by the passage, but with sufficient breadth to express both what God says and how we respond at the appropriate point in the service. Indeed, the music, following the pattern of the psalms, should be a microcosm of the whole service: it should include both objective proclamation of God’s word and subjective responses to it. Responses should be directed towards God in thanksgiving, and towards the congregation in exhortation.

Above all, value the element of creativity. The gospel must always astonish us, and yet, at the same time, make perfect sense to those with the mind of Christ. It is extremely encouraging for Christians who have been in church for years to discover something from a fresh angle.

Examples

It may be profitable to demonstrate how this could work by sharing some examples. For a series on the prophet Jeremiah, the final sermon was an exposition of Lamentations 3. The series was timed so that we also came to the end of John’s Gospel in our systematic reading. With the sermon titled ‘The man who has seen affliction’, it will not be surprising to learn that the sermon aimed to show Jesus as the fulfilment of Jeremiah, the prophet whose personal suffering mirrored the judgement on the nation. The opening songs were chosen to prepare the congregation to hear this (‘My Lord, you wore no royal crown’ and ‘Blessed be your name’), and then, in a departure from the usual practice, the two readings were read back-to-back to emphasize their connection. Unusually again, they were followed by a song before the sermon (‘May the mind of Christ’). Having followed Jeremiah’s suffering over the previous weeks, it was easy for the congregation to be reminded of the greatness of Christ’s loving sacrifice for us, and the sermon was followed by a musical item that rehearsed the events of Jesus’ last hours from a very personal perspective (with lyrics like “my pure Lord” and “the gift for me and you”—my italics). We then sang a song that owned that forgiveness, while moving past our emotional response towards a determination to live for Jesus. We prayed, and then closed the service with an upbeat song that enabled us to express our joy. The order of service was shaped by the gospel; its elements were chosen to emphasize the message of the sermon passage; and the congregation was led into what not only felt like, but also actually was, the natural response.

A few weeks earlier, the sermon had focused on Jeremiah 37 and 38, and played around with the idea of illusion. It looks like Jeremiah is trapped, but this is merely appearance; it looks like the city is safe, but this too is illusory. Our service leader on the day—an accomplished amateur magician—was able to weave the theme through the service in a helpful way. ‘Things not being what they seem’ linked to the passage of John that we were reading (the first resurrection appearance) and to what we were doing in celebrating communion. The converse also applied: we said the creed together as an expression of what we know to be true.

Often just one flash of creative think­ing can generate the momentum that makes a service work well. Some briefer ideas:

• In a series on the seven deadly sins, it was helpful to consistently place the sermon early so that we could respond with confession and ask for strength in our weakness.
• I’ve found that it often works well to time the introduction of new songs so that they fit with the sermon series. ‘The voice of the Lord’ was perfect for Jeremiah; ‘We belong to the day’ reinforced the message of 1 Thessalonians; and ‘Never alone’ had plenty of scope for a series on Jonah!
• The week we read John 18:1-11, we placed the reading within the song ‘How great is our God’ immediately after the line “darkness tries to hide/And trembles at his voice”—which meant that we were reminded of the majesty of Jesus’ giving himself for us, both in word and then in song. Later in the service, the sermon was on Ephesians 3, and it was easy to be awed by what Paul was saying.
• With a little thought, the practice of reading systematically through a book seemingly unrelated to the sermon series can be extremely powerful—for example, reading the farewell discourse from John during a series on Deuteronomy (Moses’ farewell discourse), the early chapters of 2 Corinthians alongside a series on Isaiah, Hebrews with a series on eschatology. Seeing God’s word illuminate itself is encouraging both for the congregation and the preacher.

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Taking care with our liturgy isn’t easy. It requires more time, more energy and more planning. Sermon series need to be laid out well in advance so that the other elements of the service can also be planned. Creativity is hard to do under pressure, so the more time you allow yourself, the easier it is, the better the results.

There’s one final advantage for the minister: you won’t lead a service on autopilot if you’ve put this much thought into it! I’ve found that good liturgy knocks over my professional detachment and enables me to join with my brothers and sisters in hearing God speak afresh. 

Endnotes

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