What the Rolling Stones have to say about liturgy

 For all my friends who might not get what they want but they might just get what they need...

 

I never know what to say when someone asks me where I attend church.  (Truth is told, I stammer a lot, which is why I am usually glad Vance answers for me).   It is very complicated.  Novel worthy actually, and at times the narrative reads like the script of Downtown Abbey or The Blacklist depending how snarky and/or dark, as well as how bluntly honest I may be feeling at the moment. My character is a mix of the Dowager Countess, Raymond Reddington and Lady Mary all in one. 

 One of the hardest parts of telling a good story is coming up with an opening line.  Unfortunately for me, “Call me Ishmael” or “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,” or “It was a dark and stormy night,” have all been taken.  I have been known to give an answer that ranges from, “I am a recovering evangelical fundamentalist or a closet Anglican or someone who has married into the Methodist tradition and had her child baptized in the Methodist tradition or a frustrated theologian who agrees mostly with Wesley and less with Calvin or as someone who thinks St. Paul had issues.”  Once at a Lenten retreat, I passed for a Catholic and even my new Baptist friend that weekend had no idea I was raised more in line with her tradition than not.  But perhaps the best answer would be, “It remains a mystery…”

  I am a frustrated theologian, a novice liturgist as well as an armchair church historian.  And I am quite certain I would have found seminary far easier than nursing school.  Each of those traits made me a really good hospice nurse and it remains to be seen whether or any of those will serve me well as a high school teacher.  It will always be my personal belief that if I understand your theology, I can make sure you have a good death.  I am not so sure theology works well with high school students; although staying prayed up certainly has its value, if for no other reason than it keeps me from killing any one of them.  

  I just finished teaching a unit on healthcare career decision making.  Most of my students have no idea which career to choose if any in healthcare, and after the occupied bed making exercise, a few are seriously considering dropping my class.  I asked them to write an essay answering the question, “If I did know which career to choose it would be…” Last night I was thinking about how I could have answered the kind priest regarding my worship preference and perhaps the opening line to my story should be, “Well, if I did know, I would be Anglican, I think…”

  I found it surprising to learn to that if I were a Church Father, I would be St. Melito.  There is a self-survey that you may take online to learn exactly which Church Father you may be.  And I can never pass up a good quiz.  I have a great love for history and liturgy.  I am attached to the traditions of the ancients but also recognize that Old World as great as it was is passing away. I am loyal to the customs of my family but would not hesitate to suggest to a heretic blood relative that the troubles in the Holy Land might be his fault.  Little is known about St. Melito, but he might have been responsible for organizing the Old Testament canon.  According to legend, he had a love for the old and the new and saw rich symbolism in liturgy.

  So, like St. Melito I am often confused by what I want and I what I need. Most of us if really honest, only like about five hymns and two verses of scripture.  We love to sing Amazing Grace and kind of become frustrated if we don’t know the hymns chosen for the service.  We really only want to hear Psalm 23 or that God loved the world.  We really aren’t comfortable with what Jesus said about anger or lust or envy or pride and we don’t like singing theology.  This would be why the priest chooses the hymns and the lectionary repeats itself every three years.  We aren’t supposed to hear only what we like. 

  I have experienced shallow.  I need deep.  I have been down the road with churches that change worship styles according to culture and fad.  I have even been offered a bagel and cup of coffee during the middle of worship.  I was sincerely waiting on a hotdog.  I need ritual that will withstand the test of time.  And you can’t get that at Starbucks and as much as I love Starbucks and a café peppermint mocha latte, I don’t need that a church. I live in a world of uncertainty that changes every day.  I need stability and not a church staff that changes constantly. I need responsive psalms that let me hear God speak and my voice answering. I need liturgy that does not change.  My life is cra-cra.  I am raising a teenage boy and working on 20 years of marriage.  I am a nurse, a high school teacher, a friend and a wife. I never know what crisis will need my attention next or when.  I need communion where Jesus offers healing in exchange for my mess, which is not a fair trade, but then I am not looking for fair. I want peace. I need to pray prayers that everyone says so I am reminded that I am not the only hot mess in town. I need to hear the perfect looking couple and family saying “Forgive us our sins,” so I know that they are likely having fights the same as us. I don’t want a pastor showing me provocative images on a big screen to get my attention so I will remember the sermon point. I am already immersed in multimedia constantly. I want to hear the scripture and I want it ringing in my ears till I walk in again next week.  

 And this is what liturgy gives me.  It was developed over 2000 years.  It was assembled among culturally diverse, multi-generational group who didn’t always agree, but agreed on this: worship is simply about God.  Those ancient prayers go deep into our subconscious, our mythic selves and transform us over time.  Church is not about learning new stuff or feeling good or differently, it is about being changed through sacramental rhythm and that only happens over time and repetition. Like a stone being thrown into river.  Eventually the water rubs the edges smooth.  Eventually.

 I will never fully be able to tell the story of how it is I came to love liturgy and it will always remain a mystery to me how this is saving me again and again.  I have a feeling that all of us show up in church at one time or another quietly and desperately calling for help.  If you are alot like me, you might show up every week or so screaming silently for help and trying not to be distracted by the latest text message, what you are going to eat for dinner, how are you going to retire before 85,  how frustrated you are at your co-worker or the latest argument with your kid or spouse.  We want help and we don't exactly know what this looks like.  We don’t really know exactly what it is that we need, we just know we need something and it is this something that liturgy gives us.  It is through the strange hymns that span centuries, men that dress up in ridiculous clothes that have not changed much in over 500 years, saying prayers and creeds that I would recognize parts of even if spoken in Latin, Greek, Italian, Spanish or English, lighting candles and burning incense and kneeling and standing and bowing and raising hands and blessing and being blessed and forgiving and being forgiven and giving and receiving peace, and eating and drinking from the same cup and same piece of bread, that we are given not what we want, but what we need.