On Liturgy: Liturgy in Times of Crisis
Maggie Alsup
In the joyous and sorrowful times, one thing that brings us together is our liturgy. It calls us back to God and unites us with one another in these milestones. One of the ways students describe me to new students is as the college’s “designated pray-er.” I am honored that they see me in this light and have used that term to describe my role. For I am the one who stands before them and the college community in all the seasons of our campus life to share prayers and liturgy. It is an honor and joy, but it is also a great responsibility.
In my tenure as their college chaplain, I have stood before them more times than I would like to share prayers and lead liturgy when a classmate has died. These young people come to college with joy and anxiety over their future. They are ready to take on the challenge of changing the world and making their mark. They are excited to dream about the ways they will do good for the world through their work and service. I wish I could do my best to shield them from the harsh realities of life. I wish I could bottle up their joy and optimism and avoid the pain. The reality is I cannot, no matter how hard I try.
So, in these times of pain, we turn to one another. We hold prayer services. We hold space for students to gather and grieve. We offer counseling services and care. In most cases, we gather for memorial services—a time for our community to collectively grieve and seek God’s guidance through the pain.
One such time was the death of a senior athlete. He died at the start of Holy Week, and we held his community memorial service on Maundy Thursday. The week before I had everything ready for Holy Week and for Maundy Thursday because it is a big week for our students and the religious life community. Those plans all shifted on Monday morning when I got a call that a student had died and we needed to begin the protocol for taking care of our community. This was a difficult loss for our community; we were less than two months from graduation, and this student had a bright future and plans in place for life after college.
He was an active participant at the local Catholic church. He was a newlywed, and he and his wife lived in town. He was invested in our college community, but also in the larger town community. He left a huge mark on all who knew him. As we navigated Holy Week differently that year, we still gathered for worship.
We gathered for his memorial mass with his church family. We heard familiar words of liturgy. We sang the familiar hymns. We prayed the words of comforting prayers. Later that week, when we gathered on campus for our memorial service, we used similar liturgy. We used the same Scriptures. We found comfort in the familiar words of prayers. And though it all, I walked alongside students, citing, reciting, and praying familiar words of liturgy—words used in other worship spaces, words used in grief support gatherings, words used in sessions with students, words used in times of prayer.
The thing about liturgy is that it carries us. It holds us. Liturgy is like a potholder for life—it allows us to hold and handle the stuff of life in manageable ways. It gives us the words and framework for speaking with God that we might not always be able to articulate in times of crisis.
While we were struggling as a community to find the words at a time of great loss, we had these ancient words from various traditions to hold us, to carry us through this time. We were able to find common language across our different beliefs, different religious traditions, and different theological lenses to name the hurt and sorrow and to call upon God for support and care. And that was a true gift for each of us.
Sadly, this student’s death is not the only one we have experienced as a community. Liturgy held us through all these losses and will hold us again when needed. I am grateful to be a part of a tradition that has a rich liturgical history. I am glad there are poets, theologians, and others who have written and continue to write for the full life of faith, including moments of crisis. For there are times when words are hard, times when we do not have the energy or ability to voice what we are facing. But through liturgy, we are able to name our experience, to cry out, and to seek God in moments of crisis.
