I don't like liturgical worship. It's stiff and formal, not to mention confusing. It doesn't leave enough room for the Holy Spirit. Prayer should be sponataneous; reciting set prayers is just meaningless repetition. And what's with the "smells and bells," anyway?
That's what I hear from the many people who look with suspicion on Anglican, Catholic, and Orthodox forms of worship.
Those who know how much I love the heart-piercing beauties of traditional, "high church" worship can be excused for thinking I must have been born and raised in one of those denominations. That I'm just an elderly lady clinging to the good old days of her roots.
Not at all.
In my childhood I went to a Dutch Reformed church in a small village in Upstate New York. Since then I've experienced worship in a great variety of church denominations and non-denominations, including an atheist period in no church at all. And I've noticed something.
All churches have liturgy.
Liturgy, literally "the work of the people," is what happens in the worship service of any church. No matter how informal, every church service has a flow, a pattern, a set way of doing things that is comfortably familiar to regulars and confusing to visitors. Even the church I know that proudly proclaimed, "we have no liturgy," only meant that theirs was different from what you would experience at the Catholic church down the street. All churches have liturgy, and arguing over which brings you closer to God is like debating whether Johann Sebastian Bach or Louis Armstrong was the better musician.
In fact, I think music is a good analogy here. If you make music in an orchestra, or a jazz band, or a choir, you're going to feel uncomfortable at first if you're sightreading the music, or even the musical style. You'll play some wrong notes and miss the rhythm and maybe feel awkward and embarrassed. But after a while, with experience, the music begins to soar through you, and there is very little more glorious.
That's how I feel about Anglican worship. The set prayers, the gestures, the standing and kneeling, the chanting, and even the bells and the incense—these are all notes in a complex and beautiful symphony. I'm still learning; I don't hit all the right notes and my rhythm isn't perfect. But the music soars through me.
And when I visit other churches, I need to remember that my awkward, uncomfortable feeling is not because they are all wrong, but because I'm still sightreading their liturgy.
(Unless the music is too loud, as it so often is these days. In that case what I'm experiencing is plain, naked pain, which can't be overcome by time and practice. But that's another issue.)
Mom always said her KJV instructions were to make a "joyful noise." Being on-key was a bonus. A bonus for my Episcopal friends would be if we could learn to clap on the 2 and 4, not the 1 and 3.
It seems to me that our Episcopal Church has the same liturgical problem that Major League Baseball has: too slow, too long, too opaque, too difficult to access. They start you off in right field until you learn the rules. And while you're standing there confused and idle, wondering why everyone is chanting "batter batter batter," you're looking over at the soccer field where EVERYONE is running around and having fun.
We haven't even gotten yet to the infield fly rule, which is roughly akin to explaining "begotten, not made" in the Nicene Creed... :)
I knew there was a reason why baseball is one of the few sports I can endure watching. :) It moves slowly enough that I can mostly figure out what's going on. Golf isn't too bad. But most other games simply move too fast for me. (I'll admit, however, that when actually playing the game of baseball as a child I had plenty of falling-asleep-in-right-field moments.)
So much depends on the particular church, as well. Anglican churches tend to win big for me because of (1) short sermons, (2) lots of motion and participation on the part of the congregation instead of sitting still in the pews for most of the service, (3) the importance of the Eucharist, and (4) the importance of music. In our particular church, not only do we have lots of congregational singing, but much of the service is sung as well—and our priest is a good musician with a pleasant voice.
