by Burnell F. Eckardt Jr.
This is an article that was written and printed in the Michaelmas 2002 issue of Gottesdienst, in my Liturgical Observer column. It seemed an appropriate piece to republish, in view of the kerfuffle that has arisen in LCMS circles since this summer's convention that featured genuflecting clergymen at the Divine Service.
Now they even have lobbies, gyms,
boutiques, banks, and McDonald’s restaurants on their premises. The megachurches have certainly not gone
away; they have merely become more mega.
The rationale for making the churches into marketplaces is generally the
idea that the gathering of people to exchange greetings over coffee is to be
considered a “meaningful” part of Christian worship. Maybe the Golden Arches haven’t yet become
Golden Steeples, but they certainly aren’t very far away from the chancel.
Since this is so, it behooves us who know
better about what is the truly meaningful part of Christian worship to make our
confession all the more bold. As we
believe and teach, so must we confess.
Since Christian worship must be the worship of Christ, and since
Christ’s sacramental presence is at the heart of Christian worship, what is
called for here is a re-evaluation of our liturgical ways of confessing the
faith, as we seek continually to be faithful.
What appears to be at issue in the worship
wars waging across America
these days is how, or whether at all, we may liturgically insist upon
the Gospel. There is considerable
pressure being placed upon churches and pastors to declare that it is improper
to insist upon anything liturgical at all, saying, rather, that the freedom of
the Gospel means that we can worship any way we see fit, so long as the words
expressed in worship are consistent with the Gospel. The battleground finds the proponents of
liturgical leniency contending for a separation between form and substance,
while the defenders of orthodox liturgical practice maintain the old maxim lex
orandi, lex credendi (literally, the rule of prayer is the rule of
believing): the rubrics governing the conduct of our worship have direct
bearing upon the essence of our faith.
More simply put, we contend that the way one conducts himself at prayer
is tied to the focus and heart of his prayer.
Liturgical worship recognizes that the
posture and behavior of the participants is a reflection of what they
profess. To cite the extreme case, if
someone enters the church with a pink spike hairdo, rings of one kind or another
piercing his body in various places, a swagger in his gait, a smirk on his
face, and perhaps a chortle at every reference to Jesus that he hears, it
becomes apparent that he does not really wish to be present, or associated with
the Christian Church. Therefore, on the
contrary we find it fitting to dress properly for church, to carry ourselves
with decency, to make the sign of the cross, to fold the hands, to stand erect,
to bow the head, or—notwithstanding its increasing unpopularity—to bend the
knee.
Which brings me to the topic of this
essay.
Of the fact that genuflexion is biblical
and apostolic there can be no doubt.
Daniel “knelt down three times a day” to pray (Daniel 6:10), Solomon
knelt in the presence of all Israel
at the dedication of his temple (1 Kings 8:54), and Esdras knelt in prayer (1
Esdras 9:5). The Wise Men knelt before
the Christ (St. Matthew 2:11), a leper knelt to beseech His mercy (St. Mark
1:40), Stephen knelt (Acts 7:59), St. Peter knelt (Acts 9:40), St.
Paul knelt (Acts 20:36) and maintained the significance of
genuflexion (e.g., Ephesians 3:14; Philippians 2:10), and most importantly,
Christ Himself in Gethsemane knelt down to pray (St.
Luke 22:41). Tradition relates that St.
James’s knees, from his continual kneeling, had become callous as those of a
camel (Eusebius 2,23: 76). Genuflexion
is certainly a matter of form, and it ought to be self-evident that it is
directly related to substance. Although
we ought never consider a failure to genuflect in itself a statement
against what it professes—for that would be judgmental—we always recognize that
genuflexion is itself a statement of faith.
It is unmistakably a way of adoring Christ. In the worship setting, it is also
unmistakably a way of adoring Him in the Sacrament.
We must learn to do liturgically what we
say theologically. Most especially lex
orandi, lex credendi is true in a sacramental sense, and this leads me to
offer this particular application. In
view of the liturgical malaise we face, and especially the evidence of manifest
disregard and disdain for the Holy Sacrament, a liturgical response is in
order. It’s high time that we who call
ourselves confessional all got used to genuflecting before the Sacrament every
Sunday. For this more than any other
liturgical action demonstrates the object of our worship and allegiance.
This assumes that we offer the Sacrament
every Sunday. The rise of the megachurch
makes it all the more imperative that we set before our people what we know to
be the heart of Christian worship, namely, Christ on the altar. And this is no more legalism than to insist
upon Christ. To offer the Sacrament
every Sunday to those who desire it is to offer them Christ. It is simply a matter of faith: lex
orandi, lex credendi. The Christian,
according to the Catechism, should be admonished and encouraged to receive the
Sacrament frequently by “both the command and the promise of Christ the Lord”
and by “his own pressing need, because of which the command, encouragement, and
promise are given” (Section 4: “Christian Questions with Their Answers,” Luther’s Small Catechism 43). Should not the churches therefore be offering
the Sacrament for frequent reception?
How can one receive it frequently if it be not offered frequently? If we are teaching and confessing the
importance of frequent reception, yet persistently adhere to the
Rationalist/Pietist innovations of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries
which allowed some Sundays to pass without even offering the Sacrament, then
there is a clear contradiction between what we say and what we do. We really have no right to call ourselves
“confessional Lutherans” if we do not seek to correct this blatant deviation
from the sacramental and, until well into the sixteenth century, universal
practice of the Christian Church.
And given the current sacramental crisis,
genuflexion before the Sacrament is becoming more difficult to see as an
entirely indifferent matter. This is not
to say that it ought to become a law for Christians; this is not and should not
be a matter of forced submission. Though
Christ’s Body and Blood are truly present here, we make no laws out of the
Gospel, though we are commonly charged with doing just that. I find, rather,
that because genuflexion is an adoration of Christ in the Sacrament, I can
scarcely do otherwise than to bend the knee.
If I find myself recognizing that the impetus for genuflecting is a
strong one, it is not because I feel constrained to follow some law, but rather
because I desire to confess my faith boldly.
And our wanting to do so is not only because
of the megachurch phenomenon, but in view of another consideration pertaining
to our own liturgical milieu. Even among
those who like to think of themselves as more traditional and confessional in
worship preferences, there is still—there has been for a long time—a critical
bone of contention over the issue of receptionism. The receptionist position holds that the
words of Christ apply only to those parts of the elements which are actually
received. The receptionist view is that whatever is not consumed is mere bread
and wine, since it is not included in the entire sacramental action. The Formula of Concord’s Article VII (“The
Holy Supper”) declares that
if the institution of Christ be not
observed as He appointed it, there is no sacrament . . . And the use or action
here does not mean chiefly faith, neither the oral participation only, but the
entire external, visible action of the Lord’s Supper instituted by Christ, the consecration,
or words of institution, the distribution and reception, or oral
partaking of the consecrated bread and wine, of the body and blood of
Christ. And apart from this use, when in
the papistic mass the bread is not distributed, but offered up or enclosed,
borne about, and exhibited for adoration, it is to be regarded as no sacrament
(SD VII: 83-87, Trigl. 1001f. ).
What the Formula means to reject is the
abuse of the Sacrament, where the Host is enclosed in a monstrance for
adoration only and is never eaten. But
the receptionists have taken this to mean that only that portion of the
elements actually used in the Distribution are truly Christ’s Body and Blood. They have taken this usus statement
from the Formula of Concord to mean that the Body and Blood of Christ cease to
be present in every instance where the Sacrament is not being eaten and drunk,
and have forgotten the logic of abusus non tollit usum—let not the abuse
determine what ought to be done—and so have come to the conclusion that
Christ’s true Body and Blood may or may not be present in this or that
particular element. No longer can the
celebrant with complete conviction repeat the words of Christ, This is My
Body, for now we must wonder, what is this? when is is
operative? or what, for that matter, is truly meant by is?
No wonder they have grown sloppy at the altar,
and unwitting bedfellows of the megachurch promoters, who, like them, give
evidence that their true affections lie somewhere other than there. No wonder they rush through the Words of
Institution with such haste that we wonder what train they have to catch after
the service. No wonder they have no
trouble with plastic individual Communion cups: it isn’t really Christ’s
own very Blood in there; it only might be, and at that, only when
consumed, or, come to think of it, only at the moment it is consumed! For after consumption, by the same token, it
is no longer in use either, since the use has ended; and therefore, it is no
longer Christ’s Blood. But now, alas, we
must wonder when, if ever, the elements are truly Christ’s Body and
Blood. Not before, not after, only
during! But what is “during”? At the moment it passes the vertical plane of
the opened lips? At the nanosecond it
sits on the tongue before digestion begins?
Thus is becomes virtually never. Meanwhile the megachurch promoters would retort,
“Who cares? Let’s go to McDonald’s for some real fellowship.”
But we take Christ at His word. He simply
says, This is My Body. Now let us
consider: lex orandi, lex credendi.
How are we to behave, in consequence of this truth, especially knowing
there are those who deny it, or who don’t care about it? They are saying that Christ’s Body does not,
or may not, truly sit on the altar. How
can we be idle here? The Scriptures
declare, “I believed, therefore have I spoken” (Psalm 116:10). What does our posture say? What do our actions say?
Here is one confessional Lutheran who
believes it is time for all who have not yet done so to take a serious look at
genuflexion. The bending of the knee is
a clear and unambiguous gesture of adoration, such as we offer to Christ
alone. Yes, we believe that Christ is
here, that He sits on the altar because of His own words, This is My Body,
and that He is here worthy to be adored.
Lex orandi, lex credendi.
Certainly, apart from the use there is no
Sacrament, which is why as Lutherans we reject the use of the monstrance, an
ornate case intended only for the exhibition and adoration of a Sacred
Host. But we do not by this token deny
that the Sacrament, as properly administered, is worthy of adoration. It is the true Body and Blood of Christ! Of course it is worthy of adoration,
as nothing else on earth. Moreover we
affirm that the chief thing in the Sacrament, besides the bodily eating and
drinking, are the words “Given and shed for you for the forgiveness of sins” (“The
Sacrament of the Altar,” Luther’s Small
Catechism, 31). But by genuflexion
we affirm that what is “given and shed for you” is indeed the Body and Blood of
Christ, by His own words.
Surely it is not wrong to adore Christ’s
Body, which is Christ Himself. His
purpose is not to present His Body here for adoration but for oral reception,
to be sure, but is it not proper to emphasize in our ceremony the truth that it
is His Body that we are about to receive?
Do we not agree that His true Body is where He says it is? These ceremonies are most appropriate
settings for the mystery that is Christ among us, and for us. “No one, unless he be an Arian heretic, can
and will deny that Christ Himself, true God and man, who is truly and
essentially present in the Supper, should be adored in spirit and in truth in
the true use of the same, as also in all other places, especially where His
congregation is assembled” (FC SD VII:126. Trigl.
1015).
Receptionism seeks to slice and divide
which of the consecrated elements are His Body and Blood and which are not, or
worse, to put off the moment of the change until the bread is received. This amounts to a new reading of Christ’s
words, as if He had said, “This will become My Body when you eat it, but is not
yet at this moment of consecration My Body.”
But Christ said is, and He cannot lie. Once is is denied, the Zwinglian
position wins. The receptionists put off
the effect of is until later, whereas the Zwinglians put it off until
never, a difference only in degree. Even
transubstantiation, the Thomist invention and philosophical construct which
maintains a distinction between the substance (Christ’s Body and Blood, truly
present) and the accidents (the taste, appearance, etc., of bread and wine,
which they hold to be no longer substantially present), is nowhere near as bad
as this. Though both constructs are
unacceptable, the rejection of Christ’s is is far worse than the
impropriety of its philosophical analysis.
As Luther once put it, “Sooner than have mere wine with the fanatics, I
would agree with the pope that there is only blood” (AE 37: 317).
In about the year 1200, a new view of the
Sacrament became prevalent in the teaching of Peter Comestor and Peter the
Chanter, who held that the bread was not consecrated in the Mass until the
Words of Institution had been spoken over both bread and wine. As a matter of
protest against this view, there arose the practice of elevating the Host before
the consecration of the cup. Those who
confessed that the presence of Christ was effected by the words This is My
Body supported their confession by at once adoring it, without waiting for
the words to be spoken over the chalice.
At Paris,
this elevation even became a matter of synodal precept (see
www.newadvent.org/cathen/05380b.htm). Certain superstitions also began to arise
in connection with this elevation, which nevertheless ought not detract from
the fact that genuflexion was understood as a bold act of adoration, of
refusing to concede the adversary’s contention.
This was uncompromising genuflexion.
Similarly, in the days of the Reformation,
there arose a telling liturgical difference between the Lutherans and the
Reformed, reflective of their respective views of the Sacrament. Since the Reformed held that it was a mere symbol,
they were content to discontinue the practice of genuflecting. Their strong emphasis on the sovereignty of
God brought with it an iconoclasm and disdain for anything which might be
considered idolatrous worship of “graven images.” Hence genuflexion became particularly
odious. But the Lutherans parted company
here, and insisted not only upon the real presence of Christ’s Body in, with,
and under the sacramental Host, but also upon a rejection of any view of God
which separated Him from the Incarnation. For the Lutherans at the altar,
genuflexion became a means of affirming their faith in Christ’s real presence
in the Sacrament, as well as a liturgical means of rejecting the errors of the
Reformed. The Reformed refused to kneel;
the Lutherans consequently made clear their desire to bend the knee at the
altar rail. This too was uncompromising
genuflexion.
It is this aspect of the genuflexion which
is particularly appealing, and a comparison to our milieu can hardly be
missed. Both the receptionists and those
who favor liturgical leniency find genuflexion odious, and generally for the
very same reasons we find it proper.
They do not see, as we do, that Christ is on the altar for us to
eat and drink, and that this is critical to our faith. Friends, Lutherans, countrymen: Let us
now respond to these errors in a simple, free, and unambiguous way. Heedless of the megachurchgoers, the
receptionists, the critics, the naysayers, and all torpedoes, let us likewise
make our confession by serene, sincere, devout, and uncompromising genuflexion.
