Liturgy: Nurturing the Sacramental Imagination

Christopher Q. James

I grew up fishing every summer with my family. We would travel to south central Missouri to fish for rainbow trout in the valley of the Ozark Mountains. We skipped a few years when I lived farther away in seminary and then as my wife and I were starting our family. When my son was about five years old, my father and I took him on his first fishing trip. It was just a day trip a couple hours away, but we still fished for rainbow trout. Within a year or two, we traveled farther and spent more days fishing in some of those same valleys in south central Missouri (see p. 2 of this issue). 

One Christmas, while my son was still young, we gave my father a framed picture collage of my son’s first fishing trip with his grandfather. It comprised several photos of my father and my son along the bank of the stream, the elder teaching the younger the art of the craft. And there was a photo of all three of us, with our stringers full of our catch. Underneath the photos was a quote by Henry David Thoreau: “Many men [sic] go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after.” My parents are both gone now, yet we continue to cast our lines remembering all they taught us.

What does any of this have to do with worship and liturgy, the “work of the people”? Jennifer Lord’s feature article in this issue raises (and answers) many good questions about worship and liturgy. She rightly identifies resistance some have toward the term liturgy as connoting worship that is “rigid,” “absolutist,” and composed of “prayers and rites that have been prepared and passed along and upheld by those in power.” Lord points out that, for some, liturgy “seems . . . synonymous with a formalized and repeated ceremony that is rote,” that merely preserves the past rather than responding to the present, not leaving space for the Holy Spirit to surprise us, and perpetuating a “misuse or even abuse of power” (see p. 4). While a fair critique, perhaps Lord would agree that this objection toward liturgy represents a narrow and extreme understanding of the term, gained maybe through a poor experience of church, in general, or of a liturgy carelessly and thoughtlessly enacted.

We are formed and shaped by our experiences, conditioned by our nationality, race, class, gender, privilege (or lack thereof), and more. While the terms worship and liturgy are often and understandably used interchangeably, there are distinctions. Generally speaking, worship is the act of assigning (ultimate) value and allegiance to someone or something. The Directory for Worship of my faith tradition, the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), begins with this sentence: “Worship gives all glory and honor, praise and thanksgiving to the holy, triune God.”¹ Perhaps it may be helpful to think of the distinction this way: worship is what we do; liturgy is how we do it, and liturgies can (and should) vary widely. One of the values of the Presbyterian/Reformed tradition is the holding together of form and freedom in worship. That is to say, what we do (worship) takes a certain shape, but how we do it (liturgy) changes from one congregation to another and even from one Sunday to another in the same congregation.

In the Reformed tradition, worship (what we do) consists of Gathering, Word, Eucharist, and Sending. Eucharist happens in Presbyterian congregations every week in terms of the meaning of the word, “giving thanks,” yet still a great minority give thanksgiving weekly in the form of sharing of the Lord’s Supper. This is all a form of worship in which congregations gather together, receive God’s word, respond in thanksgiving, and go back out into the world. Yet there is great freedom in how this happens. 

Just as Lord shares an experience that led her to reflect more deeply on her understanding and leading of worship, I too was prompted to consider the meaning of worship, its liturgical elements, and the telos to which it all points.

I grew up on the worship of the Presbyterian/Reformed tradition in the latter part of the twentieth century in a large, old, historic church with wooden pews facing forward in rows affixed to the floor. In many ways, the worship that nurtured my faith growing up could be considered what some have pejoratively referred to as “a talking head up front,” with lots of words and little to no movement. Those words may have been both spoken and sung, but still only words. On the first Sunday of every other month, we celebrated communion, but even then we stayed in our seats, and the elements were brought to us. Lots of words and no movement except to stand for hymns. The thrust was toward the cognitive and appealed to the intellect. I do not mean to be overly critical. The worship of my growing up was normative for the mainline Presbyterian/Reformed tradition at that time, and my faith was certainly nurtured by it. However, it was not until I began planning and leading worship regularly that I started asking questions about how the elements of worship exist together and what larger purpose they strive to achieve. 

That led to the realization that worship itself is catechetical. The act of worship teaches, instructs, forms, and shapes faith over time, so the liturgy of a congregation at worship will either help or hinder that catechesis. Much ink has been spilled over arguing whether “traditional” or “contemporary” forms of worship are better or preferred. But that argument begs the question: Better in what way and for whom? To what end? And I think of Thoreau: “Many . . . go fishing all their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after.” Or in this case, many experiment with different styles of worship without realizing that it is not style they are after.

Liturgy, the how of worship, the nuts and bolts that make worship what it is to be, is not an end in itself, but rather aims for something beyond itself. That something is the holy triune God who created the cosmos, became incarnate in Jesus the Christ, who lived and died and lives again among us through the presence of the Holy Spirit. All liturgy should not only point to that but help us to experience it here and now.

Referencing Kierkegaard’s metaphor of worship as theater, Lord rightly argues that God is not merely the “audience” of our worship but rather “God, the Holy Trinity in the perichoretic sense of eternal dance around Glory, is onstage with us all, in us, among us, through us, leading us, enticing us, summoning us; the centripetally and centrifugally acting Holy One is with us” (emphasis hers). I would take this a step further to suggest that, in our worship, God is not merely onstage with us worshipers, but that through the liturgy, we participate in God.² The best liturgy enables worshipers to see, know, experience, and be a part of what God is doing in and for all of creation.

For this reason, a focus on the style of worship is beside the point. Good liturgy can be traditional or contemporary. It can include choirs or bands. It can use scripted, preprinted prayers, or extemporaneous ones. The point is not the style of worship but the content. If liturgy is not merely “the work of the people,” as Lord’s etymological study reveals, but even more “the work of the people for the people,” a benefaction for the public good, and if liturgy is meant to point beyond itself and lead worshipers to participate in the work and being of the triune God, then what is the content of that worship?

Most certainly, the content of the liturgy includes all the things we typically think of when we think of worship: prayers of various sorts (adoration, confession, illumination, thanksgiving, praise, lament); music, both vocal and instrumental; and readings from the common faith story Christians share as found in the Bible. But more. Liturgy—the work of the people for the people—is evangelistic, calling worshipers over and over again to remember the story of God’s salvation history and to rehearse it together whenever they gather. No one is a “master Christian.” No one has fully and finally arrived at faith with no need to go further or learn more. We are always in the process of becoming, and good liturgy is always in service to leading worshipers more fully into the heart of God’s work in the world. As Martin Luther is often quoted: “A Christian is one beggar showing another beggar where to find bread.”

To this end, Lutheran liturgical theologian Gordon Lathrop argues that the liturgy of our worship should make the center strong and open, the circle and the symbols large, the words of Christ clear, and the periphery permeable.³ Whether we have been Christians for a hundred years or just considering the possibility, the liturgy continues to invite us to receive (or remember) the waters that wash and welcome us and then lead us to the Table to feed on God’s life and love so all can then go to share that life and love with the world. Liturgy done well always recalls two features of who we are as a part of God’s salvation history: we are washed (baptism) and we are fed (Lord’s Supper). Lathrop writes: “Numbering the sacraments, counting them as discrete phenomena can mislead us here. We may do better by considering a sacramental singleness: the bath leads to the meal; the meal and the sending to the poor recall the bath.”⁴ Liturgy that intentionally nurtures the sacramental imagination, providing opportunities to actively remember (anamnesis), ushers us most profoundly into the “eternal dance around Glory,” as Lord calls it.

So much of what the liturgy does is care for symbols and use them wisely because liturgy needs more than just words to bring us to God. Just as God haollows the materiality of creation by becoming incarnate in Jesus, so we too take the stuff of earth to rehearse in our assembly the story of salvation: water, word, bread and wine. Lathrop calls these “holy things,”⁵ and these are all engaged in service of the assembly, accompanied by ritual movements and gestures that help make worship strong, open, large, and permeable, so that all people are welcome, washed, and fed. None of this is new or original to us, nor should we think we have to make it up. We simply receive with gratitude what has been handed down to us and live it out in our own time and place. Embracing a liturgy that is, at its heart, sacramental, is a matter of claiming the larger Christian tradition that has always been available to us. Of course, some interpretive work may be needed to live that out in one’s own particular location and context, but novelty is not necessary. Of course, presiders and other leaders of worship need remember that liturgy is not a script, but a lived reality in which we participate in God. As I have written elsewhere:

Educators know that the real curriculum is not the lesson plan for the day, but what actually happens in the classroom, the interaction between teacher and student.  Musicians know that music is not the score, but what actually happens on stage when notes emerge from instruments and blend together as one. Liturgists know that worship is not found in a book or worship bulletin handed out at the church door, but rather is what actually happens in the sanctuary when thanks and praise emerge from the heart and mind and blend together in holy awe of the triune God.⁶

The way presiders and other worship leaders enact the liturgy in their words and gestures all contribute to the gathered assembly’s experience of the liturgy. Leading the liturgy with our words and movement is a matter of careful interpretation and communication.

The congregation I pastor gathers every week, both literally and figuratively, around the baptismal font. Water is poured visibly and audibly in welcome, forgiveness, blessing, and sending. Every week for the past eighteen years, this congregation comes to the Lord’s Table to share the feast of the risen Christ. Since doing so, our liturgy is now a much more sensory-rich experience as we not only hear the Word of God in Scripture and sermon but also see the Table set for a Holy Meal, smell the freshness and fragrance of the bread and wine, feel their texture, and taste the goodness of the Lord. The Word is not only spoken but also embodied as Christ is made even more fully known in the breaking of the bread. We receive Christ in the meal as pure gift and are then sent to serve the world God so loves. Indeed, Word and Sacrament together have further awakened us to the real presence of Christ among us. Sharing this meal as a part of our weekly worship draws us nearer to the heart of God and sends us out to share the heart of God with our community.

This sacramentally rich liturgy has significant implications for mission, as well. We are welcomed and fed, then sent to welcome and feed others. Disciples are formed by such liturgical catechesis. After several years of celebrating the Lord’s Supper weekly, members of my congregation felt called to establish a self-serve food pantry on our church property. This food pantry is open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. No questions are asked, and the only qualification needed to receive food is to be hungry. We receive donations of food and finances from members of the church and community. Church members stock the food pantry every day of the week to feed those in our neighborhood and surrounding community. Relationships form, stories are shared, and people are cared for. 

This, too, is work of the people for the people. The ministry of the food pantry flows out of the liturgy of our worship. It is, as Lord quotes Byron Anderson and Aidan Kavanagh, respectively, “humanity at full stretch before God,” and “doing the world the way the world was meant to be done,” taking worship out into the world. Indeed, through it all, we learn the liturgy by heart so that we no longer have to look at our feet or count our steps but are instead free simply to participate in God for the wholeness of all.

Notes

1. Directory for Worship, Book of Order, Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), W-1.01.

2. Paul Fiddes, Participating in God: A Pastoral Doctrine of the Trinity (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2000).

3. Gordon W. Lathrop, Holy Things: A Liturgical Theology (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993), 132ff.

4. Gordon W. Lathrop, The Pastor: A Spirituality (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2006), 62.

5. Lathrop, Holy Things.

6. Christopher Q. James, “On Liturgy: Getting Got by the Triune God,” Call to Worship: Liturgy, Music, Preaching, & the Arts, 53.3 (Louisville, KY: Office of Theology and Worship of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.): 56.