SERMON

Proper 7

June 21, 2015

Christ Church, Stratford

It's been a while since I shared anything here on the blog. This post is worthy of sharing, some have said.

Preparation for this past Sunday was difficult for me. I knew the events in Charleston must not be ignored, in fact, probably ought to be a principal motif in our corporate prayer and worship; so I scrapped earlier ideas for a sermon gathered from our excellent and wise Bible Study group who are so helpful to me in disclosing what the Scriptures are saying to us in our particular place and context.

Turning toward Emanuel AME Church in Charleston, a town I used to visit frequently and used to know rather well, I found memories of growing up in Meridian, Mississippi, crowding in on my consciousness. Memories of seeing the Klan marching in white-robed and masked anonymity in front of the Winn Dixie on 8th Street; of hearing that a bomb had been left at the front door of the synagogue and that a passenger in the bomber's car being killed in a shoot out; of the FBI agents and reporters who swarmed the town after the disappearance of three young men, "civil rights workers," who were ultimately found to have been murdered with the involvement of law enforcement officers from both Meridian and nearby Philadelphia; recognizing that those three Martyrs of Meridian must have driven past my house which was on the usual route from Meridian to Philadelphia. All of that crowded in and nearly overwhelmed. And then to think that such evil is still so alive after so many years. My denial or naivete were strong.

Anyway, here is the sermon that emerged from that emotional flood of memories. Following the sermon, as you will read, we knelt for the Litany of Penitence, and we named in the Prayers of the People those who had died at Emanuel AME Church. We also sang a powerful postcommunion hymn to which I was led by my colleague Pastor Cathy Rohrs of Grace Lutheran Church in Stratford. Here is a link to the hymn:

http://www.carolynshymns.com/they_met_to_read_the_bible.html

Here is the sermon:

1 Samuel 17: (1a, 4-11, 19-23), 32-49

Psalm 9:9-20

Psalm 133

2 Corinthians 6:1-13

Mark 4:35-41

I

What a day they were having, Jesus and his friends. The crowd gathered beside the Sea of Galilee to hear Jesus had been large, so large that he had gotten into a boat from which he could keep them from pressing in on him as he talked to those gathered on the shore. His friends, Peter and James and John and the others had spent the day beside him as he taught and told those wonderful stories of his. As evening was coming, he suggested that his friends, his disciples, join him in the boat so that they could go over to the other side of the sea. It wasn’t so far, not much further than the distance from here to Port Jefferson. Maybe his friends thought Jesus was now going to spread his good news about the Kingdom of God to the pagans who lived over there on the other side of the Sea. Maybe he just needed to take a break. That was probably at least part of it, because as soon as they set sail for the other side of the Sea, he fell asleep, exhausted from so much passionate teaching and pouring out his heart to those who came to him.

But then came the storm.

Even today, I am told, storms come sweeping down through the mountains north of the Sea of Galilee and before you know it, they are on you we a fierceness that is truly terrifying and truly dangerous.

And where was Jesus? He was fast asleep.

His frightened friends roused him and said, “Master, do you not care that we are perishing?” "Do you not care?" This is the question that rings down through the ages. The question that is or has been on the lips of everyone of us -- or will be. “Master, do you not care that we are perishing?” He did care, and he rose from sleep and because he wields the power of the the Love of God, he calmed the storm. So powerful was his response that, hardly taking the time to be grateful, the disciples were afraid. He had saved their lives and they were afraid.

II

Nine children of God, some of them young, some of them old, lost their lives on Wednesday while they were participating in a Bible Study and Prayer Group. One whom they had welcomed into their place of worship and into their circle of study and prayer rose up and gunned them down. Watching the news coverage, I remember a quotation from someone in Charleston, or was it something written on a posterboard some was holding, that said, “God, if we are not safe in your house, then where?” It is just another way of saying, “Master, do you not care that we are perishing? Master, are you sleeping? Do you not care?” It was their question. It was the Disciples’ question. If it our question.

Trusting that we are not likely to hear a voice from Heaven providing a quick and easy answer, just how ARE we to respond? Yes, how are WE to respond. Because it IS our job to respond. I don’t know about you, but that thought makes me afraid. It is a very tall order and the magnitude and importance of the question makes me afraid that I am not up to the task. Fear not exactly like Jesus’s disciples were afraid, but afraid nonetheless. Afraid because WE are called to be Christ’s presence in the world. He has left the job of responding to us. It would be easier to stay asleep in the back of the boat, but times like these SHAKE US up and WAKE US up and demand that we respond to the question addressed to each of us: “Do you not care,” says the world to us, “that we are perishing?”

Where do I get this notion that the resonse is up to us? I get if from Jesus.

We must never forget that as he was preparing his friends for his departure and absence, Jesus said to them, “12Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these . . .  (John 14.12) If we believe, says Jesus, we will do the kinds of  things he did, and we will do even greater things.

So, what kind of answer can we give? Here is a powerful suggestion from Bishop Dan Edwards of The Diocese of Nevada:

[He says] It is too small a thing to condemn racism once again. It is too small a thing to condemn gun violence once again. It is unacceptable to attribute the violence against a Black congregation to a deranged lone gunman when systemic racism and systemic violence are pervasive and are being overtly acted out with increasing frequency. We must not "heal our people's wounds too lightly," as Jeremiah put it. Nothing short of the gospel can speak for us to this tragedy, a gospel not just proclaimed but acted on to usher in the Kingdom. We need a lot more Kingdom right now -- a lot more justice in the distribution of resources and opportunities, a lot less racist blaming of minorities to distract poor whites from the real forces behind their growing numbers and declining quality of life, a lot more curiosity and imagining our way into each other's situations, a lot less grudge clinging, a lot more hope for the common good, and a lot less scrambling to get our piece of the action. We need the gospel to infiltrate the real life of the

people, not just as individuals but as a people, and make the creation new right now.

In 1963, in Birmingham, Alabama, there was a church bombing that killed five Little Girls who were on their way downstairs from Sunday School. Preaching at their funeral, The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King said, “We must be concerned not merely about who murdered them, but about the system, the  way of life and the philosophy which produced the murderers.

III

You and I share a common humanity, and we claim Jesus as our Lord. Because we have promised to follow him and to walk in his ways, we must begin and begin again continually and over and over to do all in our power to address the evils or racism and classism and the materialism, plutocracy and greed that infect our society. We must do all we can by speaking only love, by living only compassion, by praying to be freed from every mean and lowly thought. We must do that in the workplace, in the home, in the grocery store, on the commuter train, on the internet and wherever else we find ourselves

What does that look like and how does that sound?

Bethane Middleton-Brown is the sister of DePayne Middleton-Doctor, who was martyred

last Wednesday. Addressing the presume shooter she said, “I acknowledge that I am very angry,

[but] [my sister DePayne] taught me that we are the family that love built. We have no room for

hating.”

Nadine Collier is the daughter of Ethel Lance, who was martyred last Wednesday. Addressing the presumed shooter she said, “You took something very precious away from me, I will never talk to her ever again. I will never be able to hold her again. But I forgive you. And have mercy on your soul. You hurt me. You hurt a lot of people, but God forgive[s] you, and I forgive you.

It looks and sounds just like that.

May the world see and know and feel that you and I do care that many are perishing. And may we wake from our sleep, not to fear, but to hope. And may we, with God’s help, do all in our power to proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ; to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbors as ourselves; striving for justice and peace among all people, respecting the dignity of every human being.

None of us directly caused the events of last Wednesday, and yet we are caught in the web of society and culture and practice that keep perpetuating such atrocities. It is appropriate therefore to acknowledge complicity, our dependence on God and our desire to walk in the way of Jesus. Please turn in your Prayer Books to page 267 and join me in The Litany of Penitence, offering to God Almighty our confession, our humility and our trust in his love.

The Confession and Absolution

Way back when Prayer Book revision was a hot button issue, I recall that one of the points of objection was the changing of the 1928 Prayer Book words of the Nicene Creed from “I believe” to the original, ancient “We believe.” The criticism was “I don’t know what YOU believe, so why should I say ‘We’?” The answer, of course, is what was said earlier in this series of articles: The Nicene Creed is the Church’s formal statement of belief. It is what “the Church” believes, though any one of us may at any time be more or less firm in our belief in the Creed’s particular claims. The “we” is “We the Church.”

But that’s not my point. Those objectors didn’t seem to have any trouble with the language of the confession which, time out of mind, had said, “We confess.” WE confess. It is a corporate confession as much as it is a personal confession – maybe more so. It is not a breast-beating “I am not worthy. I am a worm and no man.” (sic). It is an acknowledgment that we, as a body, have fallen short of Christ’s vision of what a community founded on love can be. C. S. Lewis once said that he felt dishonest when he said the Prayer Book words “the burden (of our sins) is intolerable.” He said he didn’t feel any intolerable load as a result of his sins. Then, he says, he realized the confession was not about his feelings. It was simply making a statement of fact. We screw things up, individually and corporately, and we can acknowledge and be appropriately sorry for that.

And what is “sin”? There is a useful distinction between “Sin” and “sin.” Capital “S” sin is the human condition. The world is broken in some way, and we inevitably feel a separation from God, from our neighbors and our true selves. This is the human condition. It is the world we are born into. This separation from God, others and self – and the fear that this inevitable separation engenders in us – causes us to act in defensive and selfish ways. Those defensive and selfish ways are “sins.” Capital “S” Sin leads us to little “s” sin. It is healthy for heart, mind and soul (and body as we are now learning) to get honest about this, by acknowledging our fear and the bad choices it leads us to. Confession is not about “I am not worthy, I am not worthy” so much as it is about “We are worth so much more than we are giving ourselves credit for.” We are God’s beloved. Immediately following this confession of the way things are, the priest or bishop PRONOUNCES God’s forgiveness. The priest does not “forgive.” God forgives (even before we ask); the priest or bishop merely assures us all of the forgiveness that God’s unconditional love offers us.

The Prayers of the People

The Book of Common Prayer directs that at each Eucharist the gathered People of God pray for the Universal Church, its members, and its mission; the Nation and all in authority; the welfare of the world; the concerns of the local community; those who suffer and those in any trouble; and the departed (with commemoration of a saint when appropriate). This part of the Eucharist has always seemed to me to be “under-rated.” I mean, here we are, the beloved People of God, gathered in God’s presence in the special way that a Eucharist provides, and, as a body, we “have God’s ear.” (Yes, we always have God’s ear, but this is corporate worship, the uniting of God’s People in attention and intention. That is a very different thing from our private prayers and petitions.)

Like the Peace, it feels to me like this moment of corporate prayer has gotten diluted. In Rite II the opportunity for members of the congregation to offer their own concerns is almost always offered. In my experience, there are sometimes a few whispered petitions – nothing wrong with that - but it feels to me like a missed opportunity. What if one were to say in a voice loud enough to be heard something like, “I pray for my friend Fred who is in the hospital for surgery,” or “Let’s pray for those Christians in Syria who are being held captive and are in danger of death,” or “Lord Jesus, please hold my daughter close as she moves out into the world and her new job”? What if? I can almost guarantee that it would draw us closer in love and concern for one another. This is so different from the monologue read from the front of the church by someone in vestments. What if the Prayers of the People were read by a member of the congregation (or a deacon located among them), making it clear that these are the prayers OF THE PEOPLE? Another thing to notice is that even if there is some vocal response from the congregation when we pray for those in distress or need, there is usually nothing said when space is made for thanksgivings. Again, what if one were audibly to say something like, “I give thanks for the safe return of my friend from Afghanistan,” or “Thank you God for gathering my family together this Christmas”? What if?

Here’s a thought: what if on Sunday each of us was responsible for praying out loud for those people and issues that concern us, and “the prayer list” was what we took home to guide our prayers during the weekdays, knowing that the clergy and others were praying that same list in church throughout the week as well?

The Nicene Creed

This creed is “the Church’s faith.” It is what we, as the whole Church, hold to be true. It is what “We believe.” This is different from The Apostles' Creed. The shorter Apostles’ Creed is derived from the earliest known rites of Holy Baptism. It was the question and answer dialogue between the bishop and the one about to be baptized: “Do you believe in God the Father?” “I believe in God the Father.” The Apostles’ Creed is a personal statement and it represents “the faith of the Apostles,” that is, what the early church held as a summary of the faith inherited from the earliest of times.

The Nicene Creed came later, around 325, and it was hammered out in a council of bishops and others whom the Emperor Constantine the Great had called together to settle conflicts brewing among various local Christian communities about what was “true.” Constantine was something of a monomaniac - he wanted one emperor in charge of one empire that had one understanding of this newly “official” Christianity. Many see this interweaving of state and church, of politics and religion as an unfortunate thing. The arguments for and against are endless and never likely to be conclusive or agreed on. At any rate, this creed became eventually, though not immediately, the official statement of the whole Church.

This creed is more than an antique statement in outmoded terms. Our challenge is to ask “What were the earliest Church leaders trying to say by the words of this creed?” What did it mean to THEM to say “he came DOWN from heaven”? What did that mean to THEM? Then we must ask how we would state that truth in today’s terms. It isn’t an easy task, but it is a necessary one. Today’s Christians are not asked to embrace an antique and superceeded cosmology (map of the universe), one that includes a physical heaven above the clouds and a literal hell under the ground, for instance; but what are we to make of these earlier claims? And how DO we understand these ideas in our own day? We don’t have to cross our fingers as we say things that use an ancient world-view, but neither are we expected to believe no longer reasonable statements from a pre-scientific world. Reciting the Creed, we stand united as one people with one basic faith – with much room for human reason and experience to guide us.

The Sermon

I am a believer that when clergy take the ordination oath, “I do solemnly engage to conform to the doctrine, discipline, and worship of the Episcopal Church,” they have sworn to conduct worship according to the explicit expectations of the Book of Common Prayer. There is lots of freedom and room for creative variation within what is permitted, but there are also limits. Each Eucharistic service simply says, “Sermon.” That means it isn’t optional. In general the sermon takes as its main text the Gospel reading, but there is nothing hard and fast about that. I’ve certainly preached using the Hebrew Bible as the main text, likewise The Epistle.

Sermons are peculiar critters, not a lecture,not a speech, not primarily “educational,” but “formational.” They are meant to inform us, but in the deeper meaning of that word: to form us within, to shape our inner selves. They are meant to address the “heart and soul and mind” with which we are asked to love the Lord our God. It is another way our worship seeks to help us grow more Christ-like.

Ideally the sermon explores the “there and then” aspect of the reading. That is, what was the issue? Why was this story told? What life situation did it address in its own time and its own place? What was going on in the lives of the original hearers? Then there is a turn: how is our life situation like theirs, and what does the reading have to say to us about our lives here and now. What is the Good News for us? (Thank you, Professor The Reverend Bill Hethcock.)

How long should a sermon be? Professor Hethcock’s wisdom about that is if you notice that it is too long or too short, then it probably is. A sermon should hold your attention and touch your heart in such a way that the passage of time is not noticed at all. The correct length of the sermon is the length you don’t notice.

The Gospel Reading

Whatever else is included or not included, every Eucharistic service has a reading from one of the four Gospels, Matthew, Mark, Luke or John. It is most often the case that the other readings are chosen in relation to that Gospel reading and follow an orderly chronology of Jesus’s life, teaching and ministry. That is, over the course of the Church’s year (beginning with the First Sunday of Advent), we follow Jesus from birth to death and resurrection. The readings invite us to journey with him. It is one way we “walk the way of the cross” as we worship together.

But it isn’t exactly a strict chronology – there are profound subtleties in the choice of readings. For instance, Advent begins not with an account of the coming Nativity of Jesus to which the season of Advent is meant to lead us. Rather, every Advent begins by focusing not on the “first coming” of Jesus, but the Second Coming which we now await. The readings on that first Advent Sunday direct us beyond the birth in Bethlehem, which, after all, has already happened. We cannot await an event that has occurred in the past. We can celebrate it, give thanks for it, deepen our appreciation of what that birth means, but we can’t really “wait” for it. What we await is the Second Coming of Jesus. The readings direct our attention to and through the Nativity to the horizon of our existence and the Christ who is our future. Without the promise of our ultimate future with Christ, Christmas can be reduced to sentiment and nostalgia. The readings steer us toward a more meaningful contemplation of Christmas by placing it in the context of eternity.

Another subtlety is that in the Gospel story, once Jesus is seen by Peter, James and John radiant and transfigured on the mountain, Jesus resolutely directs his path toward Jerusalem and the fateful events that will occur there. Thus, at the end of the Epiphany season, we hear the story of that Transfiguration, and on the following Sunday we begin the season of Lent, which is our own intentional directing of our attention to the Jerusalem events of Holy Week (Last Supper, Crucifixion, Entombment) in preparation for the joy of Easter. The readings invite us into deeper relation with all those events.

I always think of this interweaving of readings and theology and psychology as a sort of symphony with many elements making one sublime music. And, like a symphony, whether or not we know much about musical composition – what IS the sonata form? When did the violins rise above the oboes and play the theme again? – we are moved and changed by experiencing the music. Our liturgy is like that – it shapes us in ways beyond words and definitions. And the more we encounter it, the more we are touched, shaped and changed by it – increasingly changed into the image and likeness of Christ, which is the reality and the goal of the spiritual journey.

The Second Reading

The second reading appointed for each Sunday Eucharist comes from writings in the Christian Testament other than the Gospels. Most often the reading is from a letter of Paul but may come from another letter writer, The Book of the Acts of the Apostles, or The Revelation. Paul wrote his letters to fledgling churches beginning around 49 C.E. (A.D.). The oldest of the Gospels, Mark, was likely composed and written down between 65 and 75 C.E. Thus Paul’s accounts of the activities and life of early church communities and his accounts of Jesus’s life and words (though these are few) are the most ancient accounts we have. His description of "The Last Supper" predates all others. (On the night before he died, Jesus took bread . . .) The Gospels report events that happened much earlier than Paul’s writings, but the Gospels themselves were written down long after the events they relate.

Paul’s letters are curious things. He was writing specific advice, critique and thoughts about the significance of Jesus to specific communities with specific questions, problems and conflicts. He was not legislating universal solutions and responses for all events in all times. We are invited to learn from these letters about why and how Jesus matters. We are invited to learn how to address problems, puzzlements, conflicts, struggles and crises in our own time, not necessarily copying Paul’s specific solutions, but, using his example, to discover how that same Jesus would have us address life in our own day. Example: Paul decrees in his letter to the church community in Corinth that women should cover their heads. That was a solution related to the Middle Eastern custom still in use today of women wearing scarves and covering their heads and faces. That particular dictum of Paul has long been abandoned by most Christian communities of our day. The issue that Paul may have been addressing (something like competitive hair styling) is really about the need for all (men and women) to behave thoughtfully and decorously, respecting the sensibilities of each other and caring more for the joy and serenity of worship than for any tangential, petty issues. That “advice” is as apt now as it was then.

The Psalm

The Hebrew Scripture reading is followed by the reading of a psalm, or occasionally by another “song” like the Magnificat or Song of Mary. The Psalter (collection of psalms) has been called Israel’s book of hymns. Many of the psalms are clearly written for use in worship, but, frankly, some of the things expressed in the psalms are horrendous. See especially the ending of Psalm 137: its first six verses poignant and beautiful in their plaintiveness, the final three verses vindictive and repulsive. But the Psalms are not necessarily endorsing every emotion and thought that they present, no more than Shakespeare endorses the murderousness and nihilism of Lord and Lady Macbeth. The psalms are sublime in many ways, but they also reflect the range and variety of human emotion. They are a mirror more than a model of faith and behavior. Our Scriptures do not shy away from the truth about the human condition – we are capable of truth, beauty and goodness; and we are capable of mean-spiritedness and hatred. All these turn up in the psalms. The psalm included in The Liturgy of the Word is meant to be voiced by the people, not a trained, select few – like a choir. Our worship is in part based on the notion of hearing and responding. The Hebrew Scripture reading is heard, and the people make a vocal response in saying or singing the psalm. This pattern is found throughout our worship. The people in the congregation are not an audience. All present – the people as much as the priest – are the actors, the dancers, the performers in a beautiful, joyful ritual dance. The audience is God

The Lessons

Following The Collect of the Day come The Lessons, readings from Holy Scripture: The Hebrew Bible, The Epistles and other Christian Testament writings, and The Gospels. There are readings appointed for each Sunday and major feast which may or may not fall on a Sunday like Christmas, The Day of Epiphany and The Ascension. The readings from The Hebrew Bible (or in Easter Season the Book of the Acts of the Apostles) are of two sorts: readings chosen because they have some connection with the Gospel reading like a prefiguring of Jesus (i.e. the kingship of David) or a topic which Jesus addresses in the Gospel reading (i.e. bad shepherds versus good shepherds); or the Hebrew Bible readings may be read “in course,” a continuous reading of certain sections like the Saga of Abraham, the story of Joseph, and the writings of particular prophets. This “reading incourse in The Lectionary (as this list of ‘proper’ readings is called) recognizes the dignity and integrity of the Hebrew Bible is its own right. That is, the writings of The Older Testament have a power and beauty of their own and not just as “supporting actors” in the story of God’s redemption of Creation. According this dignity to The Hebrew Bible recognizes, among other things, that when “The Scriptures” are referred to in these very Scriptures, it is, with extremely few exceptions, the Hebrew Bible that is being referred to. The Hebrew Bible is the only Bible Jesus and Paul knew. The readings are in a three year cycle that we call Years A, B and C, generally containing, in this order, Matthew, Mark and Luke. The Gospel of John is interwoven among the three years’ readings and is especially prominent during Lent.

The Collect of the Day

This first part of the Holy Eucharist is called the Liturgy of the Word. It centers around the Holy Scriptures, and these readings from the Bible are preceded by another collect, this time the Collect of the Day. This second collect focuses us on the particular date or occasion on which the day’s worship is taking place. Christianity is a very time-conscious religion. In the Incarnation of Jesus, God entered into time and space in a new and unique way. This means that time and space have been hallowed (made holy) in a way which humanity not been conscious of before. Time, for us, is not just a succession of hours, days, weeks and years. For us, time is a path, a journey, a progress toward God. It is our walking the way of the Cross in the companionship of Jesus. From Advent to Christmas to Easter to the Ascension and the Coming of the Holy Spirit, time has direction, always “God-ward.” The Collect of the Day marks our temporal location along that way like that star on the map in the local mall that says, “You are here.”

A Song of Praise

Continuing our walk thorough the words and intent of The Holy Eucharist:

Following the Collect for Purity (Almighty God, to whom all hearts are open) comes a “song of praise.” The usual choices are the Gloria (Glory to God), the Kyrie (Lord, have mercy), or the Trisagion (Holy God, holy and mighty). Each of these is ancient and has held a place in Christian worship since the earliest days of the Church: The “Gloria” from the second or third century. The more penitential songs, often used in Lent or Advent, are less songs of praise and more. Many other songs may be used, but should properly be songs of praise or an appeal for God’s mercy and compassion. Thus we follow acknowledging God’s intimate knowledge of us (Almighty God, to who all hearts are open) with praise of the Holy One, and we do so using the Church’s most ancient hymns. As we stand in praise of God, we do so in concert with all those who have sung these words over the past two thousand years, and, as we poetically imagine, who now sing these hymns in the nearer presence of God in the life after death. This is the fulfilling of the words of another great “modern” hymn (1759) by Charles Wesley,

Let saints on earth in concert sing
With those whose work is done;
For all the servants of our king
In Heav’n and earth are one.

The Collect for Purity

Almighty God, to you all hearts are open, all desires known,
and from you no secrets are hid: Cleanse the thoughts of our
hearts by the inspiration of your Holy Spirit, that we may
perfectly love you, and worthily magnify your holy Name;
through Christ our Lord. Amen.

A “collect” (pronounced COLL-ect) is a prayer whose purpose is to gather the congregation together with unity of intent, that is to “collect” (coll-ECT) us. The Eucharist begins as a corporate act, an act of a single people and not just a gathering of individuals. Throughout the Scriptures, Jewish and Christian, God has consistently acted to redeem “a people,” not just certain individuals. In the middle ages, Christian worship became a spectator sport. Individuals came to church to do their private devotions while Mass was being said in a language they did not understand by priests who were physically remote from them, separated from the congregation by screens and rails. Our Prayer Book calls us together in unity of heart and mind and intention. This particular collect reminds us that we are utterly known to God and that we are filled (inspired) by God’s Spirit dwelling within us. This prayer, therefore, states what we believe to be reality – we are known by and filled with God.

During Lent and in response to requests, I thought I would walk us through the Rite of Holy Eucharist, a kind of “instructed Eucharist” in slow motion, day by day. The goals are to deepen our understanding of what our Prayer Book tradition intends and to provide some insight into the riches our worship offers us – sometimes in very subtle and beautiful ways. Let me know what you think of this idea.

We Gather for Worship

In my growing-up years, it was customary to enter the church, kneel in prayer, acknowledging God's presence in "God's House," the church building. The time before corporate worship was spent in quiet and preparation for the encounter with God that is about to occur. I agree with Annie Dillard who has said, "Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping god may wake some day and take offense, or the waking god may draw us out to where we can never return." What we often encounter, however, is something more like a preview of Coffee Hour, full of chatter and pleasantries -- not bad things in themselves, but certainly a missed opportunity to open one's heart and soul and mind to the mystery we have come to experience. At the very least, the chatter that could easily be conducted in the many other nearby places makes it difficult for those who might like to be present to God in reverent quiet.

We Begin Our Worship

Following a hymn chosen to gather us as one people united in voice and in intention, our Eucharistic worship during Lent will begin with The Penitential Order (Book of Common Prayer (BCP), page 351). This is an optional way to begin our worship with confession and the assurance of God’s unconditional love. It is an especially appropriate way to begin in the penitential season of Lent.

Having gathered as the People of God, we begin by saying these words:

Celebrant Bless the Lord who forgives all our sins.
People His mercy endures for ever.

We “bless” water at baptism. We “bless” crosses to worn on neckchains. We “bless” God’s people at the end of each Eucharist, but what does it mean to “bless” God? The world “bless” has many meanings. In its Hebrew origins the word “bless” comes from the verb meaning “to kneel down (in adoration). The idea of blessing people or objects is a secondary meaning derived from the first. So, we begin our worship by “blessing” God – adoring God, ascribing all worth to God. (The word “worship” is derived from “worth-ship,” that is ascribing worth, value to something or some one.)

We begin our worship by adoring God and ascribing to God all “worth-ship.” God is valuable and worthy above all else, and we bless – kneel our hearts before – God.