Greetings from Our Lady of Walsingham

Many years ago, I visited an Episcopal church in suburban Chicago and was greeted by a rusting and rickety sign that said, "The Episcopal Church Welcomes You."  This sign was regrettably the first thing I saw, for it conveyed the impression--no doubt unintentionally--that the parish put little effort into creating an atmosphere of hospitality.  It was kind of like inviting people to your home for dinner and neglecting to tidy up the house, take out the garbage, and mow the lawn.  The people inside the church, it turned out, were very warm and hospitable, and yet I had to wonder how many other visitors had been put off by that sign.  It may seem like a trivial detail, but welcoming signage can be a critical factor in determining whether people will visit a church. 

  

This is why I was so pleased this past week to see the large statue of Our Lady of Walsingham displayed prominently inside the main entrance to the church on Appletree Street. Stored for a long time in the sacristy of St. John's Chapel, the statue was reverently washed of the dust that had accumulated upon her and placed on the plinth on which she had formerly rested in the chapel.  It is not only formal signage that allows us to make a good first impression on visitors, but also other symbols of welcome and congregational identity like this statue.  The rather awkward placement of the entrances to the church at the sides of the building makes grand signs of hospitality difficult in the small spaces available, but I think this statue works very well as a statement of who we are.  I am glad that the first thing people see when they walk in the main entrance is a beautiful, gleaming statue of Our Lady.  Instead of an empty entrance--save for a bulletin board, rack of devotional pamphlets, and the door to the bathroom--the space has been transformed into a shrine to Our Lady.  As an Anglo-Catholic shrine church, I can think of no more suitable first impression.

Today, I was privileged to see the certificate from 1960 that formally attached the Shrine of Our Lady of Clemency to the Shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham in England, which is why we join our shrine prayers at daily evensong to the prayers offered at the shrine in Walsingham.  The display of Our Lady of Walsingham inside the entrance therefore reminds us that our prayers at St. Clement's form part of a larger praying community devoted to the Blessed Virgin Mary.  We now welcome visitors into this shared devotional life beginning at the front door.  St. Clement's has long been admired for its magnificent building, which provides a fitting setting for our equally magnificent liturgy and music.  We now have a fitting welcome that tells visitors and newcomers how happy we are that they have come to pray with us.

A Time Less Ordinary: Exploring the Holy Trinity in Trinitytide

This week we enter the longest season of the Church year, known most commonly as Ordinary Time, but I prefer the traditional name of Trinity-tide, because it identifies the central theological truth on which we should be focusing: that God is three Persons, and yet One.  Now that Jesus has been born, lived, died on the cross, resurrected, and ascended--and the Holy Spirit has descended--we can leisurely enjoy the experience of God as One. And yet the Trinity remains a perplexing concept to many people, including me.  It is especially perplexing, because the images of the Trinity we usually encounter are of an old man (God the Father), a youngish man (Jesus), and a bird (the Holy Spirit).  It is not an intuitive image if one is not pretty biblically literate.  But the image at left is far more instructive in communicating the essential point of it all:  these three persons are equal and part of a group or community.  After all, to be seated at table with others for a meal is a clear statement in most, if not all, cultures that these people are in some kind of caring relationship with each other.

I think the problem is that we get bogged down in trying to intellectualize a phenomenon that is fundamentally relational.  Seminary may have trained me to be a theologian, but as much as I love wading through abstruse theological propositions, these explanations are somehow inadequate and unsatisfying.  The accompanying video of a prayer and a litany to the Holy Trinity is not meant to solve these theological quandaries, but simply to commend personal engagement with God in God's fullness, as equally Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.  The video is also meant to encourage us to think more expansively beyond the notions of God with which we are comfortable and to honor folks who are imagining a Jesus who not only looks European, but also African or Native American or Asian; and a Holy Ghost that is not only a dove, but breathing, wind, and spirit.  This is not New Age or postmodern pandering, but an acknowledgement that the Church's tradition and scripture have always included imagery that is diverse and evolving.  So, let's go deeper into our tradition.

What I did not have the space to say in the video is that both the prayer and the litany reveal a human striving for a healthier relationship with God and others.  We ask the Trinity to help us to overcome all of our vices and foibles, so that we may resemble in our own relationships the intimacy between the three persons of the Trinity.  As God is One, so we must strive to be one also.  The Trinity is above all a model of relationship, even when we cannot work out the finer detail of how it works.  The Church teaches us that each person of the Trinity is made of the same substance, and is equal in relationship to the others.  How can we not perceive that God is urging humanity to adopt this same model?  In a world rent by violence, war, murder, abuse, exploitation, and other sins, the importance of a personal and communal engagement with the Trinity is all the more urgent.  Tomorrow, we celebrate the Feast of Corpus Christi, which in my mind, emphasizes that the kind of relationships the Trinity commends are embodied ones.  When we receive the Body and Blood of Christ, may we think of not only our relationship to Jesus in all his fullness, but of our relationship to everybody else in their fullness.

The Spirit of the Liturgy

In 1945, Dom Gregory Dix published The Shape of the Liturgy, which applied the discoveries of the so-called Liturgical Movement of the early part of the century to modern considerations of how worship is practiced in the Western Church.  Dix concluded, based on his study of early Christian liturgies and writers, such as Justin Martyr and Hippolytus of Rome, that the Eucharist has always consisted of four components:  offertory (offering), consecration (blessing), fraction (breaking), and communion (sharing).  Dix and other liturgists have undoubtedly made invaluable contributions to the worship life of the Church, but I often think that "high" churches like mine have a tendency to become overly obsessed with the navel-gazing minutiae of the liturgy's shape.  Therefore, on this eve of the feast of Pentecost, it might be appropriate for us to give a bit more attention to the Spirit, rather than the shape, of the liturgy.

I remember once standing in the sacristy of my former parish as two teenage servers were agonizing over their roles in the upcoming mass.  They were quite naturally afraid of making a mistake and looking foolish in front of the congregation.  I reminded them that even I, glamorous and learned seminarian though I was, made liturgical mistakes all the time, and that what God required of us was faithfulness, not perfection.  God would show up in the liturgy and bless the assembly, even if we completely messed up.  Our job was simply to do our best.  That seemed to assuage their fears a little, and for the record, both of them did just great.  In fact, I always appreciated it when the rector would say that "there was a great spirit" in the liturgy, or among the servers, or in the congregation. He never cared if the liturgy was rubrically perfect or aesthetically flawless.  What he cared about, quite rightly, was the spirit with which the people worshiped God.

It might seem odd that I, as the Curate of St. Clement's--one of the highest churches in the country, if not the world--should privilege the liturgy's spirit over its shape.  But that's not what I'm doing.  One of the major reasons that I came to St. Clement's was to learn to do beautiful liturgy according to all the rubrics of the Old Rite.  As one of my priest friends has commented, "St. Clement's is like a priest finishing school. You're so lucky."  It certainly is, and I certainly am.  And the experience I'm accumulating now will help me to ensure that liturgy is reverent, orderly, and transcendent wherever I go after this.  But what I've come to love most about liturgy at St. Clement's is the camaraderie, devotion, and humor with which we all perform our liturgical duties.  The intricacies of the Old Rite were unfamiliar to me, as they were to many of our servers, who are also new, but it's wonderful to see how kind we are with each others' mistakes and how we look out for each other.  There is a good deal of laughter, humility, and love in our individual offerings to God in the liturgy, however imperfect they may be.

I have been in a couple Anglo-Catholic parishes where the liturgy is so affected that it seems a little silly.  On this point, it is suitable to quote Fortescue's The Ceremonies of the Roman Rite Described, that peerless authority on matters related to Western liturgy.  He quotes Martinucci who says about servers that "they should avoid too much precision or affectation, or such a bearing as befits soldiers on parade rather than churchmen.  They must certainly do all regularly and gravely; but if they behave with too punctilious a uniformity the sacred functions look theatrical."  Truer words were never spoken.  I may still be a liturgical mess to some "purists," but I can see that I and the whole altar party are getting better and better with every passing week.  More importantly, I feel joyful in the liturgy, when I see the smiles on the faces of the servers whenever there's a mistake or when we finally manage to nail some liturgical detail that has heretofore eluded us.  The liturgy we perform may be formal, but it is also warm and sincere.  What is developing is not only a liturgy that is a more polished oblation to God, but also a growing spirit of love that pervades all that we do.  So, "come, Holy Ghost, our souls inspire, and lighten with celestial fire."  Give us a spirit of wisdom, knowledge, understanding, counsel, piety, fortitude, and the fear of God.  We are ready. Come, Holy Spirit, come.

The Exsultet for the Great Vigil of Easter at St. Clement's, 2012

My first effort as deacon to chant the Exsultet during the Great Vigil of Easter at St. Clement's Episcopal Church in Philadelphia. The Exsultet is a song of praise thanking God for his forgiveness of human sinfulness and leading us to salvation, most potently in the person of Jesus Christ. The Paschal (Easter) candle symbolizes the light of Christ that banishes darkness from the world.

My apologies for the faintness of the volume on the recording, but you can hear it fine with headphones or if you turn up your speakers.

A Simple Message for Holy Week 2012

A Total-Immersion Course in Priestcraft

Many people have asked me what I have been doing since I moved to Philadelphia to become curate at S. Clement's.  Fr. Reid and I have often joked that people must think we only work about three hours a week (all on Sunday morning), but the truth is that daily life at S. Clement's is busy and eventful, especially liturgically.  Even after serving as seminarian for two years in an Anglo-Catholic parish, getting up the liturgical learning curve at S. Clement's has been a substantial undertaking that has required intensive study, instruction, and practice.  Because S. Clement's had been without a curate for nearly two years, it has been necessary for me to hit the ground running and get up to speed as quickly as possible. The results of my General Ordination Exams seemed to affirm that my priestly formation had been more than adequate, and yet I realized in the daily exercise of parish ministry that there were lacunae in my liturgical training, gaps that would not be an issue in many Episcopal parishes.  But, of course, this is S. Clement's, and I came here precisely because I wanted to be challenged and immersed in the rich traditions of the Church Catholic.

The opening lines of the Exsultet from the English Missal.

This immersion has entailed numerous rehearsals with Fr. Reid during weekday afternoons to learn to serve as deacon at Solemn High Mass, which is an elegant, but intricate, performance requiring much concentration and repetition, not to mention frequent consultation of liturgical manuals, such as Fortescue, to get the details, nuances, and coordination of the liturgical ministers right.  It is one thing to commit these minutiae to memory; it is quite another to apply them gracefully and confidently within the liturgy.  I am continually trying to remember on which step Fortescue tells me I am supposed to be standing, in which direction I am supposed to be facing, and when and where I should be genuflecting!  It has been a wonderfully stretching experience, and though it has at times been stressful and even discouraging, I have come to enjoy it and am proud of the progress I have made in my first month here.  There is no doubt that I am getting better from week to week, and I am grateful to Fr. Reid, the subdeacons, MC, thurifer, and others in the altar party for all of their support, guidance, and patience.  The intensity of my immersion has forced me to abandon my comfort zone and to take on challenges that I might have considered too advanced for me a couple of years ago.  But that is the wonderful thing about growth, and I am now faced with the formidable task of learning the Exsultet for the Great Vigil of Easter, which in the English Missal is a much longer version than the one in the 1979 Prayer Book.  At S. Clement's, there is always more to learn and to improve and to perfect.

It would be misleading, though, to portray my formation at S. Clement's as purely technical, since much of my adjustment to my first cure of souls has been spiritual.  There is something deeply grounding in the structuring of one's life around the liturgical life of the Church, which few clergy get once they leave seminary.  The clergy attend daily mass and evening prayer in S. John's Chapel, followed by novena prayers at the Shrine of Our Lady of Clemency.  We also have a monthly Vespers of the Dead and Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament, and during Lent, weekly Stations of the Cross and Benediction.  As a result of this liturgical rhythm, there have been ample opportunities for informal consultation and instruction that have taught me a lot about being a priest.  This is certainly a serious process, but teaching and learning are always accompanied by a lot of laughter and a great deal of joy in being able to share in the transmission of the Church's heritage from one generation to another.  I have heard numerous priests mention what a shame it is that there is less clergy collegiality nowadays than there used to be, but it is still strong in places like S. Clement's and my former parish in Chicago, The Church of the Atonement.

The high altar.

In addition to the liturgical and prayer life of the parish, my day is naturally filled with the typical features of a cleric's life:  pastoral visits, study for Sunday-morning adult education classes, preaching preparation, deanery clericus gatherings, staff meetings, and administrative work.  All of this work during my first month has impressed upon me what a valuable formation opportunity it is to learn the art of priestcraft in an era when seminaries do not emphasize this dimension of ordained ministry.  I wonder, then, if parishes like S. Clement's could serve as a kind of Center of Excellence or Academy to train new (or even seasoned) clergy in priestcraft.  If one wanted to learn how to do Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament or Solemn High Mass, where would one go to do so?  Would clergy be attracted by such an intensive learning opportunity, and would they be willing to pay to attend a series of workshops or engage in a short-term residential fellowship?  If seminaries are less able in the future to teach priestcraft, might a total immersion experience fill the gap?  For those of us who would love to see another Catholic revival or Oxford Movement within Anglicanism, we may need to seek alternative models for training and formation that can transmit the essentials of the priesthood.

Ashes Addendum

AP Photo / Matt Rourke

Much ink has been spilled in the last week over the pros and cons of "Ashes-to-Go," an event in which churches venture out into their communities to administer ashes to the public, so I won't duplicate those comments here.  Instead, I'd like to share just a few snapshots of people I met during the day to illustrate why I think this effort is worth undertaking.  More than any clever theological or missiological rationale I may have articulated, friends and colleagues have been captivated by the stories of my encounters with specific people, which they have encouraged me to share here on the Web.

I have always said that theology begins at the front door, because it is how we greet people that sets their expectations for how they are going to be treated once they have come inside the church building.  It says, "this is how we treat each other in this Christian community."  However, being out in the world without the protection of standing in the narthex of one's home turf alters the balance of power considerably.  People feel much braver to ask questions and challenge you if you're simply standing on the sidewalk as they scuttle by on their way to work, to lunch, or to run errands.  People surprise you, sometimes pleasantly and sometimes not so pleasantly, but it is always instructive.

Here are some of the highlights:

AP Photo / Matt Rourke

• An African American woman abruptly pulled up to the curb in her huge SUV, slammed on the brakes, and jumped out to ask me if I would come to administer ashes to her very elderly mother, who was quite feeble.  So, I climbed into the driver's seat of the SUV, introduced myself, shook the mother's hand, and imposed ashes on her forehead.  Visibly grateful, the elderly woman said, "Bless you, you have answered all my prayers today!"
• Even though we were clearly identified as an Episcopal Church, most people didn't hesitate at all and came right up to receive.  However, like many Roman Catholics that day, one middle-aged woman asked if she was allowed to receive ashes from me.  I explained that I knew that she was not allowed to receive communion, but since the imposition of ashes was an act of piety signifying repentance, rather than a sacrament, I said that I didn't see any reason why she shouldn't receive if she wanted to.  She was clearly conflicted, but after studying the people's faces as they received ashes, she finally got in line, smiled, and said, "well, I guess I'm in too!" 
• During the morning rush hour, I asked a young woman if she wanted ashes, and she told me she was Muslim, at which point I noticed she was wearing a hijab on her head.  About an hour later, when I was talking to a man from a neighboring parish who had stopped by St. Clement's to pray, she approached us smiling and handed each of us a Qur'an.  I thanked her for her kind gift.  It was an incredible moment of mutual respect and generosity.
• I can recall only one hurtful moment--a hit-and-run event--when a passerby, assuming we were Roman Catholics, quipped without stopping, "So, you took a break from molesting kids in the sacristy?" to which I responded without skipping a beat, "we're Anglicans; we don't do that."  My tone wasn't snarky or bitter; I was just setting the record straight.
• A homeless man came up to me grinning, and after I had given him ashes, he said, "Bless you, my brother! Praise Jesus!" which was a tremendous joy.
• Several people who did not speak English, including an elderly man from eastern Europe and an elderly Italian woman came up to me, and even though I could not utter anything in their languages, they knew exactly what this ritual was all about and reacted as if they understood the words I was saying.  It just goes to show you that sometimes the Holy Spirit takes over to fill in the gaps.
• As we were making our way back to the church at the end, a man shouted to me from the cab of a very large delivery truck that was stopped at the stop light.  He couldn't get out of his truck, but he wondered if I'd give him ashes.  It was a bit tricky, but I clambered up the side of the vast truck in my ecclesiastical finery and administered ashes through the driver's side window.  Then, the light changed to green, and he moved on. 
• And finally, among my favorite moments were those when Jewish ladies passed by us at various points and said, "I'm Jewish, but I think what you're doing is wonderful!"

These vignettes remind us that we often have to live our way into the mystery of the Christian faith.  It is very easy to intellectualize it and lose sight of its affective and experiential dimensions, which can teach us much about what it means to follow Jesus.  It is in the encounter with other people that we are invited into a deeper experience of the transformative power of the Gospel message of good news for the poor, the wounded, the captive, and the dejected of this world, who are sometimes we ourselves.