On Liturgy: Collaboration
Maggie Alsup
From time to time, students ask me to help them plan events and work with their student organization. They often aren’t sure what they are asking for, but they come seeking the comfort and guidance that liturgy can offer at their event. They know that the words we use have power to transform and uphold them. They know that the world of prayer and meditations and liturgy is my wheelhouse, but they also know that I will work with them to craft liturgy and language for our campus with their input. I could do my own thing and bring liturgy from my own perspective, but that would never end well. I have to bring those who will participate in the liturgy into the conversation and creation process so that what we craft truly speaks to the campus community and to the student body.
The process of working alongside students to offer words and share a rich history of liturgy creates a space for them to experience the divine in new ways. Many of my students come from religious and faith backgrounds that dictate what is said and who can speak, so when I offer them the space to craft and create alongside me, it becomes a life-giving process. It creates a space of ownership and lets students’ voices be heard. Leading with input and voice models for them the importance of creating space in worship and life for those who often are not heard.
One fall semester the student group Spectra, our campus’s gay-straight alliance, reached out to me to ask for help in planning a remembrance service. The president emailed me to see if I was available to meet with them. We set up our meeting time, and when the student arrived at my office, they were rather hesitant. Standing in my office doorway, I could tell they were not confident of how I would respond when they asked, “Could you help us write and lead a Transgender Day of Remembrance service?” I could sense their hesitancy, unsure if they should really come and settle in for a conversation or if they should just wait at the door for a quick response.
I told them I would be honored to work with them and Spectra to create this service, and after my response, the student visibly relaxed, then came into my office and took a seat. I asked them all sorts of questions about the event, the student group, who the service was for, and what ways they would like me to be involved. We spent over an hour in that first meeting talking about this service, and when the student left, I told them I would send them an email with a draft of a service and looked forward to hearing from them with their input and guidance on how to proceed.
I spent the next couple of days thinking back on our conversation and began crafting a remembrance service. It was vital in our service to have a place of welcome for those who gathered, but the student also wanted to make sure we had a moment of confession—to acknowledge the ways we individually and communally failed our trans siblings. There was time set aside to read the names of those who were killed. There was a space for lighting candles and sharing words of hope for a better world for trans people and all who find themselves marginalized by society and church.
I sent them the draft of the service and told them that as we had discussed in our planning meeting, this gathering would be one of remembrance, confession, prayer, and hope. It would be an acknowledgement of the ways we fail our siblings, and a call for us to be better and work for the betterment of life.
The next morning, I heard a knock on my office door. I looked up to see the student in the doorway of my office holding a printed copy of the service. I invited them to come in and sit down. They joined me in my office, and I asked them what they thought about the service, if they had any input or ideas about things we needed to change. They looked at the pages in their hands and back to me. This looking back and forth continued for a moment, until they finally opened their mouth and said, “I fell asleep last night reading this.” There was another pause followed by, “I cried as I fell asleep reading this. My pillow is soaked in tears.”
I asked if they were okay. I told them that if it was too much or did not reflect the direction we needed to go in, we could scrap it and try again. They responded, “No. I cried and have continued to cry because this is the first time I found myself in the liturgy of worship. And I just didn’t know how much I needed to see myself in it.”
“This is the first time I found myself in the liturgy of worship.” These words have stuck with me ever since that day in my office. I have spent my life in ministry working for others to feel that sense of belonging—through worship, through pastoral care, and countless prayers and liturgy—I want these young people I work with to know and feel that sense of belonging. And in that moment, this young person had felt that, and it was all I could ask for the remembrance service liturgy.
There are still moments in my ministry that I think about that moment and that student’s confession. I think of them as I craft new liturgy, work with new students, find new ways to connect and collaborate with another generation of students. They have become my guide for leadership and worship. Any time I craft liturgy for a campus event, I think about this pivotal moment in my life and ask myself, “Are students going to see themselves in this liturgy?” It is my guide and call to remind myself to include others in the work and creativity of liturgy.
