The blog of the Rev. Joseph Peters-Mathews, vicar of St. Joseph-St. John Episcopal Church, Lakewood, WA. Sermons, cooking adventures, musings on society.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Children in Church
"Interestingly, Jesus put a child in the center of his disciples, 'in the midst of them,' in order to help them pay attention. The child, in Jesus' mind, was not an annoying distraction. The child was a last-ditch effort by God to help the disciples pay attention to the odd nature of God's kingdom. FEw acts of Jesus are more radical, countercultural than his blessing of children."
- Hauerwas and Willimon, Resident Aliens
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Ritualism
I wanted to shout, "YES! Yes yes yes! You get it, why don't we?!" By that I mean he used the right term to describe some of the ways we embody the liturgies that we celebrate together. Regardless of if there's smoke and bells or cassocks and surplices three Sundays a month for Morning Prayer, we are more ritualistic than Southern Baptists. And those places with smoke? More ritualistic than those places that don't have those things. Either way, we have a ritual that we embody in a variety of different ways.
What so many of our people (lay and ordained) seem to not realize(? know? have been taught in seminary or forgot?) is that the degrees of ritualism are about smoke and bells or absence thereof. Hearing those things described as "high" or "low" church irk me. One's positions on the church aren't inherently communicated in how one worships. Places that still insist on using the 1928 Prayer Book or 1662 or something on their own are low church because the church has a whole has adopted something else. They might have billowing smoke, but they're not worshipping in common with the rest of the Church.
Churchmanship (I wish that weren't a gendered term) has to do with the episcopacy and the hierarch of the church. While I was in Mexico I saw a delightful demonstration of high churchmanship with very, very little ritualism attached. The priest with whom we worked was committed to the Church. She has disagreements on social/theological issues with the Presiding Bishop and the bishop who ordained her, but she's committed to being a part of the church. Our eucharists were QUITE different than anything we have in the Chapel of the Good Shepherd, but I think she was relatively high church.
I personally identify as quite high church, which I attribute to my having been raised in such a low church tradition where each congregation does what it will. I place a strong emphasis not just on local communities of faith, but on communities of faith being in community with one another. I think that the Church is Christ's bride, not that individuals are Christ's brides. That's why I like the Derek Webb song "The Church" (the last line of the refrain is "If you love Me you will love the Church"). And while identifying as a high churchman, I think I am far from being a big ritualist.
But at the same time there are places whose ritualism I can enjoy and worship and then other places where I want to scream about what's going on. I might not like all of the theological implications of the customary at Trinity Church, but there's definitely "full, conscious, and active participation by the people there." We do things in the Chapel that drive me crazy because I think we're clinging to something (all the time and not occasionally) that isn't where life is anymore (e.g. Evensong with unrehearsed Anglican chant for the Psalter four nights a week).
I think what I most look at in Eucharistic celebration is how the presider embodies the prayer. I don't care if they have magic hands crossing things all the time - unless they seem more focused on the magic hands and getting their movements "right" than on the prayer. I think there's certainly a way to do both well (and it might involve some memorization and muscle memory), but when not done well I certainly understand why less ritualistic traditions are critical of our "dry, moribund liturgy." That doesn't mean the sacrament is invalid or that the prayer isn't said. But I understand wanting to hear a prayer being prayed and not read as though it's a story. And I surely don't want a presider to get to "gave thanks to you" and have body language that says, "Oh, yeah, I have to point up right now" and then quickly throw a hand up.
There are lots of degrees of ritualism and churchmanship in The Episcopal Church. Sometimes the two go hand-in-hand, and sometimes they aren't related to one another at all. I think that it would be helpful if we consciously work on altering our language (which students at General are doing) so that we don't use the two interchangeably.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
(A Modified) Order of Worship for Evening
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Quotation for Christ the King
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Sermon: Gleaning
from Sit and Eat:
Lydia's congregant Jennifer Goodnow preached this sermon at St. Lydia's on Sunday, June 20 as part of our exploration of the book of Ruth. Jennifer is a teacher and life long Episcopalian. You can read the text for her sermon here.
There are women who come to my neighborhood on a regular basis to go through the garbage bags that the supers leave out for sanitation pick-up the next day. These women are well-known by the supers, always work in a tidy and organized fashion, and clean up after themselves, tying up bags when they have collected what they need. The women collect cans but also go through the black garbage bags and collect clothing that Upper East Siders deem unworthy of the many local thrift stores.
I have often wanted to talk with them but I don’t speak Spanish very well and I don’t want to scare them. I’m guessing they are undocumented and suspicious and fearful of being turned over to La Migra. I’d rather smile and say good morning and leave it at that instead of frightening them with the many questions I have.
They are foreigners. They speak Spanish and I believe are from South America. They may not speak English. They may have little education, little opportunity other than collecting cans and clothes. They are modern day gleaners, sweeping up the remainders of people who live n the wealthiest, highest educated zip code in the United States. They are the Ruths of the 21st century.
It’s easy for me to look at these disenfranchised women and compare them to Ruth. Ruth has chosen the life of a foreigner in a foreign land, just like them. Women during Ruth’s time had little power. Childless widows had no power. The gleaners on my block – if they are undocumented – are, technically speaking, against the law. If they were caught they could be deported, even though NY is not exactly Arizona. The gleaners I see on my block are poor. They are in a desperate situation, like Ruth.
However, I am gleaning as well. I’m a spiritual gleaner. God has laid out a huge feast for me … and I am eating crumbs off the corner of the table. I believe God sees more in me than I can see for myself. I think that God’s perfect paradise, enlightenment, full communion with God is just over my shoulder. But I am looking for it in the wrong place. I’m looking straight ahead and can only see a glimpse of it out of my peripheral vision. I’m standing and eating the crumbs that have fallen on the edge of a table and that’s all I can see. If I would shift my gaze a bit more, I would see an enormous banquet with dish after dish laid out on an endless table. But, I seem to suffer from a myopia that does not allow me to realize what is present. The Hindus call it Maya – the mistaken belief that the world we are living in now is all that is real which leaves no room for the other-worldly or divine.I used to go to another church, an Episcopal church, here in Manhattan. Dogs are allowed in the church and I would bring my golden retriever, Music with me to the service. A few years ago, we decided to switch the Eucharist from the wafer to homemade bread baked by different congregants. It’s a honey-infused, whole-wheat crumbly cake. Connor, my godson, hated it when he was younger. He would receive and then palm his communion bread and try to sneak feed it to my dog! I used to tell him that dogs don’t need communion because they are already in full communion with God. My dog, Music is pure love. We humans are the ones who need the help! We need the communion with each other and God. When I come to St. Lydia’s every week, I eat a piece of baguette and I drink three buck chuck from Trader Joe’s – but that’s not my communion. My experience of communion is being in community with everyone here. I have small moments in life when I’m not simply gleaning. When I’m not eating crumbs off the edge of the table, moments when I get a clearer sense of the feast that is laid out for me and everyone else in common union.
We share the sermon at St. Lydia’s and I invite you to reflect on your own experience of spiritual gleaning, communion, or anything else that resonates with you from the text or my words tonight.
Read it all...
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Tidy Vestments
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
On Crooked Hearts
Going Paperless, Chapter 5
This was on the Third Sunday in Lent, we didn't have service the next week, and I had spring break afterward, so I didn't write last week. Chapter 6 will hopefully be coming soon (by a guest author!), but I was on a plane for it, so I can't write it. Luckily, the guest author (if he'll write) was also leader for both 3 and 5 Lent. I might get him to write some reflections on his first leading experience.
From my perspective it was great. James is a GREAT leader with very clear signaling. He has a teacher's air about him and does a great job teaching pieces. For the first time we incorporated an Agnus Dei into the service. OH! What a great start we had! I'm getting ahead by jumping to the fraction. So, there were a lot of people there that night. I had a friend visiting and some spartners and a family that hadn't been there in awhile. I wasn't leading so I sat somewhere else and helped ring. I'd trained two ringers the day before at least one of whom was there. They're working to start leading sometimes.
This was the day that I really wished, from a music perspective we could have a regular presider, just so that the lay-planners and the clergy people could more easily and regularly plan on what's going on. This week the presider, who serves as a priest at an Anglo-Catholic parish, sang the Collect for the Day. We hadn't planned it necessarily, but he did...and I droned. While Colin and I are not of one mind about what should be sung (if you don't know, I say sing everything; let's make life a musical!) I think that working to having more things sung has a major benefit: everyone can join the prayer in an orderly fashion.
While I stand in the orans during prayers to indicate my being a part of the prayer the presider is praying on behalf of the gathered community, a sung prayer gives sonorous space for the people to join on a drone. I first experienced this during a sung eucharistic prayer at St. Gregory's and it excited me. Then I talked about it with Taylor Burton-Edwards who gave me the image of a soloist and a choir. All are singing, but one is leading the way...and everyone's voice is being heard. Everyone is embodying and actively taking part in the prayer.
All our music was the same for Lent, and Matt preached a great sermon. He sat in the same chair the presider has been sitting in, and it was great on so many levels. Seamless choreography between preacher and presider, and it just worked out really well. The music is being learned, and the parts are getting stronger, I think. James led again last Sunday, but I don't know how it went yet. I really wish my idea of a group of people leading and singing together had worked out. It would be really nice to work out physical placement in the chapel and other stuff in a group and to hear people who are doing it's perspectives.
This week we're doing different stuff for the Passion and we're looking at the rite. I'll let you know how it goes.
Also: check out this post about learning to pray through humming.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Lydia-esque
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Going Paperless, Chapter 4
This past week things again got better. We took out that extra phrase in "Return to God," and we were much stronger singing the refrain together. I'm thinking about how to get a drone going, but I think it's going to stem from having some ringers that drone around the people. We might be condensing our seating, maybe which would help people hear the ringers. I think this week again I'll do all the petitions, but starting next week my have a few other students prepared to offer petitions to model it so that the next week more people will have seen people other than me offer biddings, thus when I open it up, they might be comfortable opening them.
We sang the second phrase of "Come Light of Lights" a whole lot this week. Slight malfunction that was no big problem, but we sang it over and over again. I could've taught the whole song, but I've been trying to keep it simple. Maybe this week we'll add the first phrase in. I've been going with just the second because it fits better with right before the gospel, especially if you're teaching a song very, very quickly as someone walks five feet to the altar to get the gospel book and comes back with it. That's thus far been teaching it and then us singing once or twice. Not enough time for the entire song.
I'm still trying to figure out how to teach a second phrase that has different music but the same words; when I start the second phrase the people often join in, even if I'm indicating to listen or that I'm singing. This isn't just a chapel thing, though, I've seen it other places. I think our space contributes to that, though. I think our space and what we do with it is going to get more and more important in both the paperless music we're doing and just what we're doing with the service. This dialogue about a second phrase with the same text is because we sang "What We Need is Here" as we went up to the table.
Four weeks in and I'm really starting to appreciate the way the presiders can sing as they set up the table and get things ready. I've watched Mo. Sandi and Fr. Mark do this lately. It's nice to see them pouring things or getting them just ready and still being in the community. I think that they probably appreciate it, too. I know that I get frustrated when I have to do stuff with my hands which means I can't hold a hymnal to sing whatever we're singing. We did Mark Miller's Sanctus et Benedictus again, and the hosannahs at the end are the same as the second phrase in "What We Need." Requires some thought.
In Chapter 3 I told you about introducing "Whoever Eats This Bread" as a round as a breakthrough moment. The first part starting singing stronger when the second part was introduced. This week, someone started the second part (or started to start it) before I did. When I did they joined me. Then someone started a third. I think that when we got fully going we were singing it in five parts. There may've only been 2-4 voices singing on each part, but they were singing and could be heard. As I signaled to end we all finished our parts, and the last part was a tiny voice singing with her mother. She got nervous when she realized she was really the only one singing, but I nodded to her and sang with her.
I had to think on the fly for our song after the dismissal Sunday night. We're doing "Jesus is With Us, Let Us...." during Lent, but I'd only heard it with "Go in peace to love and service the Lord" and "Let us bless the Lord." Fr. Mark used, "Let us go forth in the name of Christ," which didn't fit either of my settings, so we sang "Let us go with Christ." I think, since we've done that two weeks now and are rather robust at it I'm going to introduce the layer either this week or next. I feel like seeing that this can be more complex encourages the people, but that could be a false perception.
Apparently one of the girls was leading with her hands during the song. She has experience at home with her mom doing musical stuff with hand signals, so the idea of up and down with the hand is not new to her. After I gathered my stuff together to head out to St. Lydia's I came into the chapel to go through and out. As I walked in three girls and a mother (two of the girls belonged to her) were singing "Whoever Eats This Bread" in three part round. The tune and text stuck. A student's wife said to me (with some enthusiasm), "We liked the round! It was good!"
So, we're getting it. Little things like tiny voices singing on their own at the end of the round or people singing the songs outside the service are nice. I left bubbling and was quite pleased, which Emily noticed. I also got a really encouraging e-mail last week, which helped. Lots of good affirmation about this coming around. Easier to keep going when there's encouragement. I have some broader ideas, too, but those will have to wait awhile.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Intentional, Repetitive Worship
My hackles were raised at blaming worship that is “rote, predictable and uninspiring.” The other side of seeing worship as “rote” is seeing it as “by heart”. Worship “by heart” has been the Judaeo-Christian tradition for at least 3,000 years. I would like to see the peer-reviewed statistical evidence that there is a correlation between “rote, predictable” worship and causality of decline. I have participated in plenty of “rote, predictable” worship, from Taize, through great cathedrals, to China, and the heart of Zaire, where there is clearly no correlation to declining numbers. The danger of linking “uninspiring” to “rote and predictable” is it feeds a prejudice that in order to grow numerically in our “new context” we need to abandon the liturgical tradition of Roman Catholicism, Anglicanism, Orthodoxy, etc. Nothing, IMO, is further from the truth. In this context it is worth noting the recent announcement that the proportion of Roman Catholics worldwide has increased. IMO we need training and formation as leaders and communities to celebrate worship that is “by heart, common worship, and inspiring.”
I hate to say it, but I've encountered a lot of Episcopal worship that is "rote, predictable, and uninspiring." But the reason it's been that way hasn't been that I know what's coming next. The services that have been the best for me haven't been ones that deviate from the text or rubrics of the prayer book. A lot of my feeling about a good service aren't about wacky liturgy, but rather that the people -- especially the leaders, music, clergy, and other lay leaders -- are invested in what's going on. They are focused on the moment and know what they're doing and know what's going to happen.
That's been what I've so much enjoyed about the LT90 Eucharist on Thursdays in Chapel, and I hope that the same thing is coming through on Sunday nights. The groups responsible for putting those services together get together and talk extensively about what's going to happen in the course of the service. They put thought into it and they make decisions. On Sundays we've added the Creed. We've also altered the presider's binder so that there is a note saying, "Turning to page 358 in the Book of Common Prayer let us reaffirm our faith," or something to that effect. This is a child-friendly service. Children in large part neither know the Creed nor know where it is -- yet. The Thursday eucharist planning class plans the service on Tuesdays, makes notes, collaborates, and on Thursday morning goes over what they've decided and practice the service.
A lack of intentionality affected how I felt about a number of services that I myself planned. First problem there is that I was planning them on my own. Often times I was making bulletins the night before and doing exactly what Taylor Burton-Edwards says NOT to do: plugging and playing hymns from a lectionary hymn guide, leaving the same typo-ridden prayers of the people form, and springing new things on Ashley at the last minute. One of the best services I remember planning was on Native American Sunday (or something like that in the UMC), where I used the guide, but I was conscious to begin with about our observing it. I knew who the preacher was, and although we didn't coordinate with him explicitly, I knew that his sermon would likely have a myth from an Indigenous Americas people. I put a lot more thought and effort into that service and everyone in the room, as I recall (and there were only 8 of us) felt something different.
There is a big difference in worship from rote and worship by heart, and uninspiring is linked to rote, I think. In my experience, when leaders are just going through motions and doing what they have to do, or appear to be sight-reading a eucharistic prayer that's been out for thirty years (and they've been priests for that long or longer), or blaring the music over the people rather than assisting the people in singing praise to God, the gathered assembly goes through the motions and just gets through the service. The best services I've been to that I can recall are ones where, even in the confines of the normal week-in-week-out plan decisions about worship are intentionally made so that the people together can do their work, whether that's choosing one good familiar hymn and dropping the instrumentation every other voice or officiants at spoken morning prayer focusing on the moment and living in it.
Worship by heart can grow from worship from rote, but it takes a lot of focus and intention.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Going Paperless, Chapter 3
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Going Paperless, Chapter 2
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Going Paperless, Chapter 1
Sunday, December 6, 2009
It's the work of the people: Sunday Nights
I'm sitting here watching Torchwood before I work on a Church Music paper and my final Tutorial Seminary Paper. And Right now they're reading Daniel 12.10 (title of the Episodes is "End of Days"). How appropriate for Advent. This is the first in a three part series that I've promised my senior warden for over a month now, and it was spurred by conversations with Taylor Burton-Edwards and Fr. Malloy. The conversations were about services that I like here at the General Seminary (and those I don't like to some extent), and then we talked about Sunday night, and TBE put it succinctly when I described the service: it's the work of the people.
Sunday night is the family/community Eucharist, and it has some quirks, and I fell in love with it last February when I visited the seminary. It starts with either the opening acclamation or a hymn. Sometimes the processional hymn is the hymn of praise, and sometimes we sing or say the Trisagion or the Kyrie after the opening acclamation. A priest from the community (and believe me, we have plenty) is always the presider, but students are usually the preachers. This is the opportunity for students to preach in the chapel in a service before their senior sermon. This is the most child-friendly of the services.
Children carry the cross and the gospel book, they are usually the oblation bearers. Lately we've had kids that can read reading the first lesson (we only do two) and the prayers of the people. Most of the time the sermon starts with an invitation for all the children regardless of age to join the preacher on the chancel steps. The music is provided by students with musical ability. We've had guitar players, organists, and a vocalist who accompanied herself with a tambourine. And they're all awesome.
Sunday nights is a time when the GTS community comes together (in varied sizes) and brings its gifts to glorify God and enjoy God's goodness in the Eucharist. And we don't tidy up living in community: children scream, they crawl around the chapel (one especially enjoys the altar rail on the dean's side as a destination), they kick the pew wracks in front of them, they babel. Sometimes they cry or meltdown and need to be held. They try too hard to hold infants and toddlers. But they have a part to play and in all their noise and messiness they glorify God and at least remind me (as if I could ever forget!) that honestly living in community is messy because we're broken, messy humans.
And adults I think have a lot to bring and learn. Students preaching often ask questions as part of their sermon, which my elementary school principal mother will tell you may not always be wise; you never know what the answer might be. They have a role to play not just in worshiping, but in formation. There are children who stand with me and the presider (and somtimes others) in the orans. They look on the in the prayer book that I take up with as they learn the memorial acclamations. They are learning now about acolyting, helping the presider set the table, taking directions from sacristans and altar guilds.
And it's not a show. And it's not cold or detached. It's worship. It's the work of the people, and I'm headed there now.