Uncompromising Genuflexion

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. 

Jesus, Rubrics, Football and Intellectual Property

IP violations at 3:37 and 4:24?

By Larry Beane, crossposted from Father Hollywood.

I just read an intriguing essay on so-called intellectual property by Jeffrey Tucker ("A Book That Changes Everything" - from his collection of essays Bourbon for Breakfast: Living Outside the Statist Quo) in which he recommends a seminal book (Against Intellectual Monopoly) on the topic.

This is a timely issue in this day and age of digital reproduction.  Is copying theft?

And what about patents and trademarks, not only of words, but of gestures?

How is it that a young professional athlete can drop to a knee on the football field to pray can now "copyright" an ancient gesture of submission to God?  What kind of a crazy world do we live in?  The athlete has now registered his name with the United States government as a synonym with the gesture that theoretically means he can demand royalties for it.  Now, I understand that the trademarked rubric is not mere genuflection (as done above in this clip from my first Mass (when You Know Who - are we allowed to say his name? - was barely old enough to drive) at 3:37 and again at 4:24 at the high altar of the magnificent Historic Zion Evangelical Lutheran Church in Fort Wayne, Indiana), but also involves touching the forehead.  Fair enough, but I routinely do that when I kneel at my own ad orientem altar at Salem Evangelical Lutheran Church in Gretna - as the height of the altar makes it happen sometimes without my even thinking about it.  Should I be thinking about a football player instead of Jesus when I genuflect?

I hope this young millionaire athlete doesn't come after me, my Church, or the Lord Jesus Christ for royalties, or sue us for breaking some kind of federal writ of IP.  Of course, this young man could become the world's richest man if he gets a few shekels every time someone reads Phil 2:10.  And how many other Christian liturgical gestures can be copyrighted by sportsmen?  Doesn't judo involve bowing?  Don't hockey players sometime cross themselves when they hit the ice?  And what about a water polo Ave Maria?

For the record (and may I say "after further review"?), I don't plan on changing the rubric of the Western Mass for the sake of anyone - not even someone as remarkable as a Really Important Football Player with the full weight of the federal law (here all may genuflect) of the USA and the bureaucracy of the NFL behind him.  

On Being Witting or Unwitting Ritualists

The article "Witting or Unwitting Ritualists," by Dr. John Kleinig is a profound argument for why I try to incorporate the ceremonies of the Western Rite. His analysis picks up and expands upon what our Lutheran Confessions say regarding ceremonies: "1] Falsely are our churches accused of abolishing the Mass; for the Mass is retained among 2] us, and celebrated with the highest reverence. Nearly all the usual ceremonies are also preserved, save that the parts sung in Latin are interspersed here and there with German hymns, which have been added 3] to teach the people. For ceremonies are needed to this end alone that the unlearned 4] be taught [what they need to know of Christ]" (AC XXIV:1-4).

Kleinig wrote:

"All this is of great importance when we consider the rituals associated with Christian worship. Lutherans all agree that the liturgy should communicate the Gospel. Now, the traditional danger in this is that we then think about the Gospel only in intellectual terms. But since the Gospel is Christ’s life incarnate for us, and our life incarnate in Christ, that is, a whole way of life lived by the grace of God, it must be communicated totally to the whole person. And that happens via the ritual proclamation of God’s Word, and the ritual performance of the sacraments. The Gospel requires ritual enactment for it to take its full effect. Yet, we must always remember that even the best ritual is never an end in itself; it must always serve the Gospel and communicate it effectively to those who are to receive it" (Kleinig, "Ritualists", 7).

And again . . .

"While Luther and the reformers with him were critical of many contemporary ceremonies and rites, they did not attack and abolish them - as did the enthusiasts who were totally averse to all external ritual, and wished to de-ritualize Christian worship in favour of inner experience. The reformers were bent, rather, on sorting out the ritual confusion all around them. They therefore made a number of crucial distinctions. First, they insisted on the primacy of the means of grace which Christ himself had established by his command and backed up by his promises. These were the essential parts of Christian worship, and so were not subject to negotiation. The Word of God then instituted and decided what was absolutely necessary in Christian ritual.

"Secondly, the reformers recognized that there were certain ‘rites and ceremonies’ which were either inherited from Judaism or invented by the church to communicate the fullness of the Gospel and to elicit a full response to it. They realized that, even though these rites had not been instituted by Christ, they were necessary for the ‘good order’, ‘well being’, and ‘discipline’ of the church. Nevertheless, these rites could vary from time to time and place to place, provided that they were in accord with God’s Word and consistent with the Gospel.

"Lastly, the reformers condemned as idolatrous those rites and ceremonies which were either forbidden by Scripture or incompatible with the Gospel. 

"Now, none of this makes any sense unless the reformers were convinced that ritual was important in worship, because it involved the activity of the Triune God in the means of grace" (Kleinig, "Ritualists," 8-9).

And finally . . .

"Every pastor is either a witting or unwitting ritualist. He is, after all, responsible for the performance of that ritual which is necessary for the communication of the Gospel to the members of his congregation. That is not always an easy business, nor is its importance always appreciated; for, while the Lutheran Church has traditionally been a liturgical church, it exists in a culture where liturgical worship, with its emphasis on corporate and supernatural activity, has become alien, incomprehensible, and even nonsensical to many people. So, unless the pastor understands the role of ritual in worship, and creates some appreciation for it by his leadership, both he and his congregation will suffer confusion. They will be caught between the devil of trendy, liturgical innovation, and the deep blue sea of obstinate, liturgical traditionalism. 

"As a church we, therefore, need to perform our rituals wittingly, without becoming either reactionary ritualists, insensitive to the needs of people, or individualistic anti-ritualists who damage our congregations. We may even eventually come to a rather unexpected appreciation of the liberating power and enriching beauty of ritual" (Kleinig, "Ritualists," 9).

The question is not whether we will be ritualists and users of ceremony. For ceremony and ritual are inherent in everything we do. The question is how we will use that ritual and ceremony, and will it communicate what's of the church, what's timeless and everlasting, what saves, forgives, and gives life.


These are just some of the highlights, but I recommend the entire article. 

So, could I just...

By Larry Beane

I'm getting a lot of requests for baptisms lately.

But it's not necessarily good news.

Just today, I got a call from a guy who lives about an hour away and would like his children "christened" at Salem Lutheran Church  "Christened."  That's always the first clue.  He said the name of his home church quickly, and then explained that his parents live in the area and that it would be most convenient to "just do it there."  So, could I just do the baptism?

I slowed him down and found out that he belongs to a Presbyterian church.  I told him that we do have Presbyterian churches in the area and that it would be best to find out which one is in fellowship with his church.  He insisted that Salem Lutheran would be more convenient, and that Lutheran and Presbyterian is really the same thing anyway.  So, could I just do the baptism?

I explained to him that Lutherans and Presbyterians do have some fundamental differences.  I briefly explained, for example, the difference between our views on the Eucharist.  He said that he was christened a Catholic and had no problem with our view of the Sacrament.  So, could I just do the baptism?

I recommended that he find a church that believes the way he believes.  I asked him which denomination of Presbyterian his church belonged to.  He didn't know.  He explained that did not pick that church based on belief, but based on the fact that they are convenient and have a really good school.  Belief really isn't the issue.  So, could I just do the baptism?

I explained that if I were to baptize his children, they would be under my pastoral care.  They would be Lutherans.  He replied that this would be fine with him.  He would have no problem being a Lutheran.  He didn't know what Lutherans believe, but he was certain that he would be fine with it.  But he really likes to go to the Presbyterian church because it's so convenient. And they have a really good school.  So, could I just do the baptism?

I felt like I was stuck in one of those Rev. Hans Fiene Lutheran Satire cartoons complete with the monotone computer voices, circular reasoning, the astonished silent blinking pastor, and Offenbach's Can Can music.

So, could I just do the baptism?

Liturgical Extremism

By Larry Beane

It has become cliché that there are two extremes for everything.  And this often leads to the conclusion that the answer to "extremism" is to be lukewarm.  In liturgical matters, the reasoning runs like this: In the LCMS, one can find both praise bands and dancing girls on the one hand, and Gregorian chant and "smells and bells" on the other.  And since these represent the "liturgical extremes" in our synod, they both must be "wrong"; the "right" answer must be a compromise position in the mushy middle.  There is an assumption of the equality of opposites.

In other words, if liturgical dancers are bad, so must liturgical incense.  If we are opposed to Amy Grant, we must equally decry Gregorian chant.  This reasoning is often hurled at those who are sometimes labeled "high church."  This logic equates the lady in the skin-tight leotard to the lady covered by the mantilla - and condemns them both as the same side of the extremist coin.

So, according to this line of thought, the "right" way to conduct a Lutheran liturgy is to be liturgical, but not too liturgical; reverent, but not too reverent.  Page 15 (or its modern incarnation,  page 184) is fine, but without all of the chanting.  A plain-vanilla recitation of the Words of Institution is encouraged, but without the genuflecting and elevating.  Stole and alb are good, but chasubles represent "extremism."  The goal is to become a raging moderate.

The Rev. Prof. John Pless once cited a quip (if memory serves) that the Rev. Dr. Norman Nagel advised, tongue in cheek, that pastors wear their stoles a little crooked lest they be accused of being "high church."

I believe the solution to the plague of our liturgical diversity in the LCMS does not lie in some kind of golden middle, a compromise position that equates tradition with innovation and tries to play to the majority (and ends up like the proverbial possum on the yellow line in the middle of the road).  Rather, I think we should consider what is being confessed and what our circumstances are.

Luther complained that, in his day, vestments and such were treated in a superstitious way - as though the vestments and candles were the beating heart of the church (e.g. SA Preface:13; LC 1:314).  And thus, canon laws developed that micromanaged such aspects as to what had to be worn for what service and how many candles had to be placed on the altar.  This represents the true extreme: not the existence of chasubles, but rather the notion that they add to God's Word.  On the other hand, Luther famously chastised Karlstadt for his iconoclasm - for his extremism was the same thing: making the rejection of traditional vestments and liturgical forms an equal and opposite superstition.

The "happy middle" is not necessarily a "bronze age" page-15 service that steers clear of both hand-waving and kneeling.  Rather, avoiding the extremes is essentially to avoid the superstitions and legalism, and to enjoy the rich heritage of the church without turning them into a kind of cult, to retain the old and steer clear of the innovative - as is the liturgical position laid out in the Augsburg Confession and its Apology.

By way of example, I just finished reading the now-sainted Richard Wurmbrand's In God's Underground.  It is a more complete and autobiographical account than his bestselling Tortured for Christ.  Wurmbrand was a Lutheran pastor who courageously spent many years in prisons in Romania (as did his wife and son) for his Christian witness and ministry behind the Iron Curtain.  He went on to expose Communism to the west, and with his wife and son, founded Voice of the Martyrs.

I highly recommend this book as a spiritual exercise.  It provides the opportunity to reflect on the meaning of confessing Christ, of the role of faith, and the inevitability of the cross as part and parcel of the Christian life.  The book has very little Scripture and almost no doctrine.  It is not a theological treatise.  Nor is it dry history or personal hagiography.  It is an account of the triumph of faith and love in the most horrific of real-world conditions.  It is a good thing for American Christians to read, especially given that with few exceptions among us, we do not suffer for the faith.  And it is written by a Lutheran pastor to boot.  We have the luxury of debating doctrine and practice, and then going out for a steak dinner with our families afterward.

Not so for Christians who labor under oppression.

One passage struck me as being of particular interest to Gottesdienst readers, and led me to ponder the matter of liturgical extremism.

On page 203, Blessed Richard writes about the Divine Services that he conducted in between his two periods of imprisonment, the brief time he had in leading his congregation as a free man outside of prison, after the church buildings had been confiscated.  He writes:

"Our services were as simple and as beautiful as those of the first Christians 1900 years ago....  Sometimes we met in open country.  The sky was our cathedral; the birds supplied our music, the flowers our incense, the stars our candles, the angels were the acolytes who lit them, and the shabby suit of a martyr just freed from prison meant far more to us than the most precious priestly robes."

What strikes me here is that Pastor Wurmbrand gives us a window as to what the Lutheran liturgy of his time and place looked like (before Communism seized the building and the implements of worship).  Notice, he speaks of these things as beautiful, but not necessary.  He does not attack such things as vestments and incense, and nor does he treat them as the very essence of Christian worship.  He is avoiding the extremism of both groups criticized by Luther: those who clung to the superstition of tradition as essence and those who clung to the opposite superstition of iconoclasm as essence.  The Word and the Sacraments are the substance, and beautiful reverence is a confession - whether the reverence manifests itself in the chirp of a meadowlark or the chant of a choir.  And yet, the Word endures, whether in a Romanesque cathedral or a Romanian torture chamber, whether amid the smells of living tree sap in the forest, or surrounded by the aroma of tree sap that has been collected and placed into a thurible to be burned in a church edifice.  All of these beautiful things serve to confess the Triune God, the Atoning Christ, and His Word and Sacraments among his holy people.  All of these things aid our worship in the very real world in which our Lord took human flesh and dwelt among us.

Note that Wurmbrand does consider beauty - however limited by circumstance - to be part and parcel of Christian worship.

By necessity, the liturgy in these extreme circumstances was conducted in simplicity - but always with reverence.  And the implication is that if Communists were not forcing Christians to worship in "basements, attics, flats" and "country homes" (p. 203), then the beauty of the sky, the birds, the flowers, the stars, and even the suit of the martyr would certainly manifest themselves as a cathedral, music, incense, candles, acolytes, acolytes, and priestly garb.

And how sad that so many among us are willing to surrender that which is beautiful and reverent not because of the force of Communism, but rather by surrender to freedom.

Let us continue to pray for our persecuted brethren and beseech the Lord that they may one day return to their peaceful cathedrals amid the beauty and bounty of reverent worship hindered neither by the sirens of the People's Police nor the siren song of popular culture.  And let us pray that we may likewise benefit by the example, courage, and prayers of all the saints who have been formed by the cross through Word and Sacrament.

How A New Pastor Should Add Ceremonies

Some ceremonies should be added by the new pastor without asking. He should just do them. If the people fuss he then says, "Oh, I thought that was the way it was done everywhere. That is what I grew up with/had on vicarage/saw at the seminary, etc. What is wrong with it?" Depending on the ceremony there is a very good chance the parishoner who raises the concern will say, "Oh, nothing. I just hadn't seen it before." Then you can go on with it. The other advantage is that it often takes a couple of months or more before they point out that you are doing things differently. By then it is fairly established.

Two words of caution: you have to be prepared to back down on adiaphora and you can't take the people's word for what their practice was. The first, I hope, is obvious. If genuflection or some other ceremony is a scandal, the pastor bends to the weaker brother. He does not leave the brother in his weakness. He starts teaching. But he backs off the ceremony to a ceremony that the weaker brother is more comfortable with. Remember - non-action is also a ceremony. If you stand at the altar before the Body and Blood of the Lord and act like it is merely bread and wine, with your hands in your pocket, etc, that is a ceremony. In any case, you might have to back off and should be prepared to do so. But the second caution is also important. The people are often confused about what their practice has been. They all remember it differently. If you are new, they've just come through a vacancy. Vacancies are a ceremonial mess. The vacancy pastor does things differently and often has subs in to help who also do things differently. So the people get mixed up about what they've always done, etc. They also remember things differently than one another. So you can't exactly believe what somebody says. It could easily be wrong. They do this also with the hymns. They will tell you they have never sung hymns that they have.

They will also tell you they sang hymns they haven't. In the former case they simply don't like the hymn and never learned it. So it feels brand new every time. In the latter case, they sing the same hymns (all of which are now in LSB) at every funeral they go to and get confused about where they sang them. The best way to compensate for their imperfect memory is to physically go through the last 5 years or more of bulletins and collate all the hymns they have sung. That is a bit of work but well worth it. Then you should also keep track of what you're now singing and how often. Then when they complain about not singing their favorite hymn you can tell them when you last sang it.

Anyway, you should add certain ceremonies and see what happens without asking. But you should be smart about it. You have very little choice when it comes to consecration because few of the people really know how that goes or what the pastor does except that he speaks (or chants) the Verba.

The problem here, with the Consecration, is that they will know how they set up and how they set up. There is a good chance you'll want them to do it differently. I don't think you make an error in hitting this head on prior to your installation. The altar guild is usually the pastor's closest ally in the congregation. Of course, there are exceptions. But that is usually the case. There is no glory in the altar guild. It is basically dishes. They do it because they love the same things the pastor loves. They tend to be eager to do what the pastor wants and enjoy learning about things. The one possible hairy point here is if they are using plastic individual cups. That is an abomination. Very few, if any, congregations that are using plastic cups don't have a set of glass cups hidden away somewhere. Tell them your installation is special. You want to break out the china. You'd like the glass cups. Then deal with how special the Lord's Supper is and that you want glass cups all the time later. The rest of the set-up should be pretty easy, with one other exception, the thing you'll really want to add if they don't have it is a credence table. You should not try that prior to installation. Adding furniture in the Sanctuary is huge. This is usually pretty easy. It is practical and they get that. But do not do it prior to installation. You're going to need to ask permission for that. The main thing with the altar guild is to get them to set out an reasonable amount of bread and wine with some contingency plan for adding more or removing some as needed. It is common for altar guilds to simply fill the Flagon and the Ciborium with no thought at all as to how much is actually needed. They don't want to run out. You'll want to fix that so that you have the right amount for the Supper and aren't consecrating hundreds more than you need. Again, if you explain this to them, they will get it.

The other thing you will have to face immediately is assistance at distribution. You will probably inherit an elder helping. He should know what he has done in the past. He might or might not be willing to modify it. Here is my first warning: ff he normally distributes the host and the pastor distributes the Chalice - leave it alone. I know. It is not historic. It is not ideal. I don't care. Because the elder is nervous about handling the Blood of Christ and should be. It is harder to distribute the Chalice than it is the Body. You don't know anybody anyway. But when you do you can actually fence the altar from the Chalice. It is not as though we are serving in Cathedrals with thousands in attendance. You also might be able to get it changed in the future. Anyway, if that is what they've been doing, accept it for the time being. That one is going to take work. The other thing is self-communion. I think you should go for it. You have to tell him though. Tell him that it is really, really terrible for the pastor to receive last. Because it implies that he is the host, waiting to make sure everyone else is served first. The pastor is not the host. He receives the Supper as a lamb, a guest, like everyone else. If you make a big ceremony of the pastor's reception, by having him commune the elder and then the elder commune him, so that it is utterly distinct from how everyone else receives you blow it. You make the pastor special. So you want to do it the way Luther and LSB say to do it: first, during the Agnus Dei, from the pastor's hand, with the same words as everyone else. He will probably go for it. If not, then at least make it so that the pastor and the elder receive first - even if it is from each other, before they distribute to the others. And, obviously, don't bring your wife up there to commune by your side. Puke.

The rest at consecration you should just do. You should both elevate and genuflect. You might even chant the Verba. But I'll have more on that later. If they don't like what you did they will tell you. Then you can decide if you should back off or not. So also I think you can genuflect when you approach the altar at the Introit (or at the Preface or Prayers at installation) and after the Benediction without any trouble or permission. Our people are used to seeing the pastor give at least a bow at those points. and it really doesn't effect them. The sign of the cross and bowing at various points is also no problem at all. Holding your hands in the traditional prayer position might annoy them. You can do it. I think you should. But beware that you will spend some chips for it. Even if you don't, they will sense in you a seriousness and reverence, a deliberateness, in worship they are not used to. You will do this with body language and facial expressions. It is subtle and they will probably not be able to put their finger on it, but they will know. It is because you don't cross your legs, smile at them all the time, etc. You can choose to lessen this slightly, and make it harder for them to figure out what they don't like, by interlacing your fingers, but I doubt it will do much good. But be warned. If you hold your hands in the traditional way they will focus on it and tell you that is what you hate. You might then have to back off it. You have to make your own decisions, of course, and live with the consequences. If you choose to interlace your fingers, you will probably have to do that the rest of your time there.

That is about it for your installation. Later you can add some other things easily. The easiest ceremony to add is standing for doxological stanzas. People love that. I don't know why. It seems to me that is more of a change, since it requires them to do something, but they love it. They will latch right onto it. I know it is sort of counter intuitive, but I actually wish LSB didn't mark the stanzas. I think it was more "fun" for our people when they had to pay attention and figure it out.

A procession is also easy to add. I've never known of any ripples or complaints when this was added at Christmas and Easter, etc, to a congregation that had never seen it before. Gospel processions at high feasts are always pretty easy also, but will probably require some teaching and explanation. So also, while processions will probably not be resisted, the people will have to be taught to follow the cross with their bodies. That won't come naturally.

The sign of the cross is pretty easy. Not everyone will do it. Some people will simply never be comfortable with it. But I'd be very surprised if teaching about it, and the pastor doing it, along with his family, was fussed about. A few people will do it and love it.

It is a little harder to add the pastor genuflecting during the Creed. But bowing there, also by some in the congregation, is not hard. I don't think the pastor genuflecting is a huge deal here but some people are annoyed by it. Why? I don't know. Some of these things are had to explain. Somehow it is okay at the beginning and the end but they don't want too much of it. There is a certain fear that you're getting "showy."

As you may have already noticed, the easiest way and time to add new ceremonies is at "special services." The people want Easter, Reformation, Christmas, etc, to be fancy. You should take full advantage of that.

The hardest thing to add is chanting. I don't know why. It is easier now with 20+ years of LW and with LSB, but it is still hard. Here is my advice: don't try to add it unless you can do it well (that is, match pitch and stay in tune) and have the support of the organist. If you have those things start with the Verba. Chant only that. Then you don't even need a pitch. It makes sense to start with the Verba because it is the central thing. It is the best place to "dress" things up. Chant the Verba then speak the Pax and let them sing the response. If they don't hate it, work your way out from there. Add the Pax next, then the Proper Preface. I would actually add the Introit and Gradual then, not first. The problem with the Introit is that the tones are boring and its responsive character forces the people to participate with you. The advantage of the Verba and the Preface is that they are more melodic. Next the concluding liturgy and Benediction. The last thing I would add are the two Collects, again, because it is very un-musical. What about the Gospel? That is very, very last, probably never. I would only add it if you're a real musician and you've pulled off everything else. Again, do this, add these things, at special services.