Error, truth, and the fellowship of Christ's religion (or, Collects then and now)

Three years ago, I made these observations about the sheer ugliness of inclusive language:

The surest way to dumb down a church's theology is to tamper with its liturgy, and there is no more reprehensible way to wreak havoc on the liturgy than to pepper it throughout with "non-offensive" or "inclusive" language. Mainline churches today are dead in large part because their liturgies are lifeless expressions of rancid sterility laced with the deadly poison of idolatrous gender neutrality. The "God" who is "worshiped" in these liturgies is not a loving Father of infinite goodness and mercy, but a faceless functionary who is apparently so distant as to be beyond personal pronouns. If "God loves all God's children," why can't this loving "God" be addressed as Father or referred to as he, him, or his?

A "God" who is not personal is neither capable of loving nor of being loved. The prophets of inclusiveness will insist that "love" is all that matters. But "love," to them, is not unconditional self-sacrifice, but narcissistic self-exaltation. Thus, it is no longer "right to give him thanks and praise," but "right to give our thanks and praise." That subtle alteration, now standard in many eucharistic liturgies, illustrates profoundly the shift which inevitably takes place when "inclusive language" is the main concern. The focus is not on God, but on ourselves. God is no longer the object of worship; we are the object of our own self-congratulation.

It should go without saying that inclusive language liturgies are but the culmination of a process of dumbing down the liturgy which began over half a century ago. It is a long and winding road littered with ironic twists and contradictory turns, one of the clearest illustrations of which will take place the Sunday after next when Anglicans of varied theological persuasions across America will pray this collect from the 1979 BCP:

O God, whose Son Jesus is the good shepherd of your people; Grant that when we hear his voice we may know him who calls us each by name, and follow where he leads; who, with you and the Holy Spirit, lives and reigns, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

There is nothing objectionable about the language, theology, or content of this prayer. It was composed to correspond with the Gospel reading for Year A of the lectionary, Jesus's well known discourse on the Good Shepherd (John 10:1-10). In that regard, it is biblical and most appropriate for the occasion.

It is also, however, a radical departure from the collect Thomas Cranmer originally appointed for the Third Sunday after Easter and included in every American Prayer Book before 1979.

Almighty God, who shewest to them that be in error the light of thy truth, to the intent that they may return into the way of righteousness: Grant unto all them that are admitted into the fellowship of Christ's religion, that they may eschew those things that are contrary to their profession, and follow all such things as are agreeable to the same; through our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Cranmer borrowed this prayer, one of the oldest in his original compilation, from the Sacramentary of Leo I. It emphasizes one of the principle themes of the Easter season, namely, the incorporation into the body of Christ of new members via baptism and profession of faith. Barbee and Zahl, in their commentary on Cranmer's collects, offer these observations:

The Collect for the Third Sunday after Easter draws its power from the relation it represents between "the light of thy truth" and "the way of righteousness." We might have expected the Collect to posit God's showing forth His light to all "that be in error," to the intent that we would return to His truth. But no! The intent of our receiving His light is, in Prayer Book logic, that we return to "the way of righteousness." Truth creates right doing!

How can this be so? Truth here must be something potent in practice. It must be more than an abstraction. It must be more than principles or correct thinking. It is in fact right relationship. It is fellowship with God, to use the Collect's phrase. Truth enables relationship. The link between truth and relationship is the truth about ourselves in the light of the truth about God. When we are truly known, particularly in the darkness and shadows of our lives, by a Love which does not reject, we are cemented to God. To be known in truth and at the same time loved is the coup de grace to our retreat from relationship.

If what you believe is God's truth (grace) and your truth (the way you really are), the fruit of your belief will be works of righteousness and "all such things as be agreeable to the same." The relation between what you believe and what you do will be of cement, or better, of steel.

The ancient Collect posits the formula for true and lasting inclusion in "the fellowship of Christ's religion," namely a turning away from the darkness of error and a joyful embrace of the light of God's eternal truth.

Cranmer's Curate: Is less humble access leading to more arrogance?

A needed corrective to increasing arrogance in local congregations, according to Julian Mann, is the restoration of what was once and essential element of the Anglican liturgy.

Is the increasing disuse of the Prayer of Humble Access in modern Anglican services of Holy Communion both a symptom and a cause of growing arrogance, presumption and unteachableness in local congregations of all churchmanships?

A cause because if an effective liturgical antidote to a bloated ego is not applied, then surely the disuse can fuel the problem?

Frontline clergy inclined to cut the Prayer of Humble Access may argue that prayerfully preaching the gospel, not clinging to particular pieces to liturgy, is what leads to true Christian humility in God's church. That by God's grace is true - it is the gospel that is the power of God for the salvation of all who believe. People do not need to use the particular form of words in the Prayer of Humble Access in order to be saved.

But the great benefit about liturgy in applying the gospel is that it allows congregational ownership. There is a live response by the congregation to the gospel that is being proclaimed.

Certainly, the proclamation of the gospel in the Holy Communion liturgy of the Book of Common Prayer is intentional about instilling gospel-motivated humility. In an article about Cranmer's Prayer of Humble Access in the Church Society's theological journal, Churchman, Katie Badie wrote:

We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy Table...The source is clearly the narrative of the Syro-Phoenician woman. The wording is closer to Mark’s version (Mark 7:24-30). This text does not seem to have been employed in a liturgical context before. The link is the repetition of ‘thy Table’, which marks a significant point in the historical context. In the gospel narrative, this sentence is not referring to the bread of the Lord’s Supper but is an image of the priority of the Jews in salvation history. It is not a question of worthiness, but of God’s plan. Jesus even praises the woman for her faith in perceiving that she can, as a Gentile, like a dog under the table, ‘eat of the children’s crumbs’, something that the Prayer suggests we are not worthy to do. This is, of course, true — we are not worthy. As often in the New Testament, this sentence is leading us to the ‘But’ of the following one: we are sinners, but God is rich in mercy (e.g. Rom. 3:23, Eph. 2:4).

Of course, a person can go through the motions of praying the Prayer of Humble Access without being humbled, but they must do so in defiance of the power of the gospel expressed in the wonderful words:

We do not presume to come to this thy Table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy Table. But thou art the same Lord, whose property is always to have mercy: Grant us therefore, gracious Lord, so to eat the flesh of thy dear Son Jesus Christ, and to drink his blood, that our sinful bodies may be made clean by his body, and our souls washed through his most precious blood, and that we may evermore dwell in him, and he in us. Amen.

On the meaning and purpose of the Collects, Advent Edition (1)

First-time worshipers, unfamiliar with Anglican tradition, are often confused by the term, "collect." Seeing it in the order of worship, they might tend to think of it in terms of "collection," as in the taking up of the weekly offering. To better understand the meaning of the Collect, and appreciate its place and purpose in worship, here is some helpful background information from C. Frederick Barbee and Paul F.M. Zahl (Forward to The Collects of Thomas Cranmer, Eerdmans Publishing 1999).

What is a Collect? The origin of the term collecta, while rather obscure, refers to the "gathering of the people together" as well as to the "collecting up" of the petitions of individual members of the congregation into one prayer. This at first extemporaneous prayer would later also be connected to the Epistle and Gospel appointed for the day. A Collect is a short prayer that asks "for one thing only" (Fortescue) and is peculiar to the liturgies of the Western Churches, being unknown in the Churches of the East. It is also a literary form (an art comparable to the sonnet) usually, but not always, consisting of five parts. 

I. The Address 

The invocation is to the Father. "And in that day ye shall ask me nothing . . . whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, he will give it to you" (St. John 16:23). The exceptions to this rule are Advent III, Lent I, and St. Stephen's Day, when the Son is addressed directly. Trinity Sunday also stands outside this maxim, since in that case there is no distinction of Persons. 

II. The Acknowledgment 

This gives "the foundation of doctrine upon which our request is made" (Dean Goulburn). It reflects some quality of God related to that which we shall be asking Him in the Petition: His power, His grace, His transcendence, His mercy. In a few cases, however, what is acknowledged is our weakness or frailty or sinfulness. 

III. The Petition 

Here is the actual prayer concerning basic needs: cleansing, forgiveness, protection, guidance, comfort, holiness, love. 

IV. The Aspiration 

Not appearing in all Collects, this is introduced by the conjunction "that." An example is found in Trinity XXI: pardon and peace are desired so that we may be better fitted for God's service. The petition ("pardon and peace") is not an end in itself but claims a higher purpose in the aspiration. 

V. The Pleading 

". . . through Jesus Christ our Lord." Christ is our only mediator and advocate. Through Jesus alone can we draw near to the Father. The pleading historically contained the doxological words, "who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Ghost, ever one God, world without end." This ending was so well-known that Archbishop Cranmer either omitted it or placed "&c" in lieu of it. But this omission led to forgetting, and the full wording was restored to some Collects in 1662 and, finally, to all of them in the 1979 American edition. 

Here is the pattern for the familiar and much-loved Collect for Purity from the service of Holy Communion: 

I. Almighty God,
II. unto whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid,
III. cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of thy Holy Spirit,
IV. that we may perfectly love thee, and worthily magnify thy holy name,
V. through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen. 

Another example is that of Trinity XIX: 

I. O God,
II. forasmuch as without thee we are not able to please thee
III. mercifully grant that thy Holy Spirit may in all things direct and rule our hearts,
IV.
V. through Jesus Christ our Lord. 

The Collects are not only necessary to the liturgy, but also are part of the pastoral tradition of the Church. The Prayer Book Collects are a priceless part of English-speaking Christianity. They are also for the present use of everyday Christians in the trials and testings of life. . . .

The Collect for the First Sunday of Advent is also traditionally prayed each day during the Advent season.

Almighty God, give us grace to cast away the works of darkness, and put on the armor of light, now in the time of this mortal life in which your Son Jesus Christ came to visit us in great humility; that in the last day, when he shall come again in his glorious majesty to judge both the living and the dead, we may rise to the life immortal; through him who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

This Collect, according to Barbee and Zahl, "achieves an astonishing feat. It ties together not only the first coming and the final coming of God -- the two advents of Jesus Christ -- but it binds together our human present with the future, which is even now rushing towards us." Cranmer's purpose in devising this prayer was to emphasize "that our present life is the incubator for our future and enduring life. And every moment of this life is accompanied by Him who visited this planet in great humility." Praying this Collect daily throughout Advent keeps our hearts and minds focused on that promised future which gives meaning and purpose to our life in the present. Christ came first in humility, as one of us. He will come again in glorious majesty and we will share in his ultimate victory, as John assures us in his first epistle, "Beloved, we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears, we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is" (1 John 3:2).

As the Second Sunday of Advent approaches, the Collect reminds us that repentance, turning away from our sins and turning toward God, is part and parcel to our preparation for the coming of Christ.

Merciful God, who sent your messengers the prophets to preach repentance and prepare the way for our salvation: Give us grace to heed their warnings and forsake our sins, that we may greet with joy the coming of Jesus Christ our Redeemer, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Older editions of the Prayer Book have a different Collect for this week. In later editions, this prayer was moved to the next to last Sunday of the Christian Year, designated "Scripture Sunday."

Blessed Lord, who caused all holy Scriptures to be written for our learning: Grant us so to hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that we may embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life, which you have given us in our Savior Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Liturgy, confession, and language that is full of life

The ACNA Prayer Book Liturgy Committee (PBCL) is meeting this week at Church of the Apostles in Columbia. This morning's opening Eucharist offered, perhaps, a taste of North American Anglicanism's liturgical future, although the committee's chairman, Bishop Bill Thompson, said it was by no means the finished product. I will be interviewing the bishop for Anglican Ink on Wednesday after the committee has wrapped up its work for the week.

In any event, the service this morning was a moving experience, quiet and reverent yet deeply uplifting with a definite 1662 feel. Although the language was in modern English, it was unburdened by the cumbersome grotesqueness of sterile "inclusive language" which has plagued so many contemporary liturgies. The restoration of traditional elements which have been missing in the dumbed down liturgies of the age was quite refreshing. Most notable, perhaps because this is the season of Lent, was the prayer of confession and its accompanying invitation. For older generations, the words, though slightly updated, would be quite familiar. For even the most ostensibly orthodox among the younger and emerging generations, however, the language of repentance and reconciliation, of acknowledging and confessing our many sins and offenses, of provoking God's wrath and righteous anger may sound quite foreign.

I was reminded of a news report prior to the wedding of Prince Charles and Camilla Parker-Bowles in which secular-minded journalists reported the inclusion in the service of the traditional Anglican prayer of confession as some kind of major news event. A reporter with a deep British accent breathlessly declared, "The prayer being used in the service states, 'We acknowledge and bewail our manifold sins and wickedness.'" It was a sad commentary on a society in which human beings acknowledging and bewailing the fact that they are miserable sinners, even within the relatively safe context of an official church ritual, is an all too rare occurrence. Rite II in the 1979 Prayer Book deftly glosses over this uncomfortable fact, vaguely referencing things done and left undone and a failure to love God and neighbor wholeheartedly. Thankfully, it doesn't look like we're going to get off that light this time around.

The feel good liturgies which have come into vogue over the last 30-40 years may salve the consciences of comfortable, marginally religious church-goers, but they do not present the fullness of the Gospel which must puncture our hearts and pierce our souls in order to heal our wounds. While I will reiterate that this morning's liturgy may not be the finalized version that will appear in the ACNA Prayer Book, it certainly suggests a move in the right direction. Liturgy that is full of life must include language that acknowledges both our utter sinfulness and unworthiness and God's overwhelming grace and mercy.

CORRECTION: According to Bishop Thompson, the official name of the group is the Prayer Book and Common Liturgy Taskforce.

If you like "smells and bells," this is the church for you!

H/T to Timothy Scott Reeves.

Inclusive language redux: A hilariously unfunny joke

Inclusive language liturgies, as I have noted before, are loathsome exercises in human self-exaltation which render God an impersonal object barely worthy of mention, much less worship. In Scotland, the slide toward relativism, as reflected in the dumbing down of the liturgy, is facing resistance stiff enough to force church leaders to issue a "clarification," ostensibly to allay fears that the new language might reflect "a change in the church's view on the nature of God." Like most such statements, which attempt to defend the indefensible by creating a kind of ecclesiastical legal fiction, this attempt to "clarify" comes across as little more than the punch line to a hilariously unfunny joke.

The Scottish Episcopal Church this week released a statement clarifying its actions stating the permitted changes to the 1982 Eucharist had not “altered the Church’s understanding of God.”

It further stated that changes such as “God is love and we are his children” found in the Confession and Absolution to “God is love and we are God’s children” were drafted “in a way that reflects everyday speech and writing.”

Times have changed, the SEC said, and since the 1982 liturgy was drafted “conventions have changed concerning the use of words which express gender, and the Church is merely seeking to reflect these in its worship. No change in our understanding of God is taking place.”

In a word, this is hogwash. Even putting aside the obvious nonsense of the claim that the new liturgy merely "reflects everyday speech and writing," the logic of the statement simply cannot be sustained. One's language about God inherently reflects one's understanding of God. If "God is love and we are his children," then God is personal and relational; a Father who loves his children with genuine, familial intimacy. But if "God is love and we are God's children," then God is impersonal and coercive; a force from which some vague concept called "love" emanates and ostensibly enlightens "God's children."

Any claim that the use of "inclusive language" is not intended to reflect a change in the church's understanding of God is, at best, naive and, at worst, egregiously disingenuous.

Holy Communion: A bedside rite

From time to time, in my ministry to hospice patients, I am asked to administer the sacrament of Holy Communion. While both the 1928 and 1979 editions of The Book of Common Prayer provide resources for "Communion of the Sick," the prayers for physical healing are often inappropriate as hospice patients are looking not so much for deliverance from their ailments, but for comfort and peace as they prepare to pass from this life to the next. While the 1928 Prayer Book has an easily accessible rite, complete with collects and Scriptures, its archaic verbiage can be a hindrance to effective ministry even to older patients who may be familiar with such forms. Yet, the simpler rite in the 1979 Prayer Book comes at the expense of sound theology. All these considerations may make the issue more complicated than it should be, but I have had in mind for some time to pool the various resources at my disposal into an appropriate and accessible bedside rite which will fit, front and back, on a half sheet of paper and, thus, can easily be inserted into a standard-sized Bible. Here is the form I have developed at this point. Your comments and critiques are welcome.

The Collect 

O Lord, holy Father, by whose loving-kindness our souls and bodies are renewed, mercifully look on this your servant, lying in great weakness, and comfort him with the promise of life everlasting, given in the resurrection of your Son Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

The Epistle (1 John 5.13-15)

I write these things to you who believe in the name of the Son of God that you may know that you have eternal life. And this is the confidence that we have toward him, that if we ask anything according to his will he hears us. And if we know that he hears us in whatever we ask, we know that we have the requests that we have asked of him.

The Gospel (John 6.47-51)

Truly, truly, I say to you, whoever believes has eternal life. I am the bread of life. Your fathers ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. If anyone eats of this bread, he will live forever. And the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.”

Prayer of Confession

Almighty Father, Lord of heaven and earth, we confess that we have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed. Out of your great goodness, O God, have mercy upon us; according to the multitude of your mercies, do away with our offenses and cleanse us from our sins; for Jesus Christ’s sake. Amen.

Absolution

The Almighty and merciful Lord grant you absolution and remission of all your sins, true repentance, amendment of life, and the grace and consolation of his Holy Spirit. Amen.

The Great Thanksgiving

Lift up your hearts and give thanks to the Lord our God; for it is meet and right so to do.

All glory to you, Almighty God, our heavenly Father, who of your tender mercy, gave your only Son Jesus Christ to suffer death upon the cross for our redemption; who made there (by his one oblation of himself once offered) a full, perfect, and sufficient sacrifice, oblation, and satisfaction, for the sins of the whole world; and did institute, and in his holy Gospel command us to continue, a perpetual memory of his precious death and sacrifice, until his coming again: For on the night in which he was betrayed, he took bread; and when he had given thanks, he broke it, and gave it to his disciples, saying, “Take, eat. This is my body which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” Likewise, after supper, he took the cup; and when he had given thanks, he gave it to them, saying, “Drink this, all of you. This is my blood of the New Covenant, which is shed for you, and for many, for the forgiveness of sins. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.”

Therefore, O Lord and heavenly Father, according to the institution of your dearly beloved Son our Savior Jesus Christ, we now celebrate this memorial of our redemption. Recalling Christ’s death and his descent among the dead, proclaiming his resurrection and ascension to your right hand, awaiting his coming in glory; and offering to you, from the gifts you have given us, this bread and this cup, we praise you and we bless you.

And we most humbly beseech you, O merciful Father, to hear us; and in your goodness and mercy, send your Holy Spirit to bless and sanctify these gifts and creatures of bread and wine; that we, receiving them according to your Son our Savior Jesus Christ’s holy institution, in remembrance of his death and passion, may be partakers of his most blessed body and blood. 

Grant that all who share this bread and this cup may become one body and one spirit, a living sacrifice in Christ, to the praise of your Name.

Through Christ, and with Christ, and in Christ, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, all honor and glory are yours, Almighty Father, forever and ever. Amen.

The Lord’s Prayer


The Communion

The body of Christ, the bread of heaven.
The blood of Christ, the cup of salvation.

The Blessing

The peace of God, which passes all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God, and of his Son Jesus Christ our Lord: And the blessing of God Almighty, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, be among you, and remain with you always. Amen.

Evangelicals and the "work of the people"

I'm not really sure what to make of Fred Sanders's latest post at Evangel. But it would appear he is expressing a sentiment, shared by a growing number of evangelicals of the "free church" persuasion, that something is missing on Sunday morning.

The big question for me is, how does a church send the signal to its Sunday morning congregation that it is serious about what it’s doing?

As a free church evangelical in suburban southern California, I participate in the general trend of casual service-openers. I think it’s a great, culturally appropriate way to start out a gathering. I suppose we could bang a gong, or plunge the sanctuary into darkness, or bring up the music to a dramatic opening. But it seems more normal and natural for somebody to go up front and say nice human things like “Hello” and “Welcome” and “Have a seat, let’s get started.” That’s how the indigenous peoples talk in my country, and that’s how church starts.

But here’s the key: At some point in the service, and it has to be a pretty early point, one of the ministers presiding over the worship service needs to get our attention and let us know that we’re doing a very serious thing. We’re going to worship God together. We’re going to hear his word proclaimed and applied. We’re going to place ourselves under the authority of that word and take the consequences of admitting we are not our own. We’re going to pray with one another, to try to say and hear the things we most need to say and hear. The prophet Isaiah is going to shout at us from across the centuries! The apostles are going to tell us what they saw and heard and touched! God himself will speak through his own holy word.

This is church! We’re not messing around.

Happily low churchy guy that I am, I am always straining my ears to hear the modern version of the ancient anaphora, the Sursum Corda, the pastor’s call to the congregation to “Lift up your hearts!” It doesn’t usually happen in the first sixty seconds in the kind of church I’m at home in. It usually waits. First we say some normal, hospitality-minded words of welcome; and then some normal, information-distributing words of announcements; and maybe even some normal, defenses-lowering words of casual friendliness. Maybe even a joke, maybe even a quick reference to current events.

But the Sursum Corda‘s coming. One of the pastors is going to do something to send the signal that we are approaching the holy. There will be some summons, some expression of an intentional elevation of our minds and hearts to consider the things above, where Christ sits at the right hand of the Father. And when that happens, we all know we’re officially having church.

There is a fine line between "low church" and "free church," and I'm afraid there are a good number of "happily low churchy" evangelicals who are, in reality, "miserably free churchy" but have no understanding of the historical meaning behind either term. Neither have they a proper understanding of the meaning of the word "liturgy," dismissing it as suggestive of dull ritual and priestly chatter.

"Liturgy" means, literally, "work of the people." A true liturgy involves the whole congregation's active participation in worship. It is dialogical, not monological. The traditional form of the Sursum Corda is a case in point.

The Lord be with you.
And also with you.
Lift up your hearts.
We lift them to the Lord.
Let us give thanks to the Lord our God.
It is right to give him thanks and praise.

It is encouraging that Sanders and other free church evangelicals are expressing such appreciation for this one particular "ancient anaphora" (although, actually, the "anaphora" is the Eucharistic Prayer, the Sursum Corda being the opening antiphon, but we'll cut him a little slack this time). It is, after all, the very portion of the liturgy which invites the worshipers to lift their hearts heavenward and, thus, be drawn into the very presence of God. Can the Sanctus, Anamnesis, and Epiclesis be far behind?

The sheer ugliness of inclusive language

The surest way to dumb down a church's theology is to tamper with its liturgy, and there is no more reprehensible way to wreak havoc on the liturgy than to pepper it throughout with "non-offensive" or "inclusive" language. Mainline churches today are dead in large part because their liturgies are lifeless expressions of rancid sterility laced with the deadly poison of idolatrous gender neutrality. The "God" who is "worshiped" in these liturgies is not a loving Father of infinite goodness and mercy, but a faceless functionary who is apparently so distant as to be beyond personal pronouns. If "God loves all God's children," why can't this loving "God" be addressed as Father or referred to as he, him, or his?

A "God" who is not personal is neither capable of loving nor of being loved. The prophets of inclusiveness will insist that "love" is all that matters. But "love," to them, is not unconditional self-sacrifice, but narcissistic self-exaltation. Thus, it is no longer "right to give him thanks and praise," but "right to give our thanks and praise." That subtle alteration, now standard in many eucharistic liturgies, illustrates profoundly the shift which inevitably takes place when "inclusive language" is the main concern. The focus is not on God, but on ourselves. God is no longer the object of worship; we are the object of our own self-congratulation.

American churches have been plagued with these loathsome liturgies for several decades, but the church in Scotland is only now beginning to deal with the sheer ugliness of inclusive language. Will wiser heads prevail there? I'm not holding my breath.

The Scottish Episcopal Church’s College of Bishops has approved inclusive language prayers, authorising optional changes that remove “Lord”, “He”, “his”, “him”, and “us men” from its 1982 Eucharistic Liturgy.

On Aug 2, the SEC published a list of seven permitted changes. Spokesman Lorna Finley said the changes were offered by the College of Bishops as an “interim measure” as the General Synod Liturgy Committee prepares new Eucharist rites.

The permitted changes include altering “God is love and we are his children” in the Confession and Absolution to “God is love and we are God’s children.”

In the Gloria the phrase “and peace to his people on earth” becomes “and peace to God’s people on earth;” the Nicene Creed is revised with the phrase “for us men and our salvation” making way “for us and for our salvation;” while the opening responses in the Eucharist Prayer change “it is right to give him thanks and praise” to “it is right to give God thanks and praise.”

The Christological Prayer in Eucharistic Prayer IV changes from “He renewed the promise of his presence” to “Your son, Jesus Christ, renewed the promise of his presence.” Eucharistic Prayer V allows revisions to the phrase “Give thanks to the Lord for he is gracious, And his mercy endures forever,” with “Give thanks to our gracious God, whose mercy endures forever;” and substitution of the phrase “which is your will for all mankind” with “which is your will for all the world.”

Ms. Finley said the revisions incorporate changes suggested by the clergy after a questionnaire was distributed in 2007. “The use of inclusive language was one of the key comments arising from this questionnaire,” she noted, adding the permitted changes prepared by the Liturgy Committee in consultation with the Faith & Order Board of General Synod and the College of Bishops “help bring our common texts in to line with the English Language Liturgical Consultation recommendations.”

However, the Rev. Stuart Hall of the Scottish Prayer Book Society on Aug 5 urged the Primus and College of Bishops to rethink the revisions as “some of the tinkering” to the liturgy “are going to do some incidental damage.”

Dr. Hall, Professor Emeritus of Ecclesiastical History at Kings’s College London and Honorary Professor of Divinity at the University of St. Andrews stated he believed there were problems of doctrine and aesthetics with the new liturgy.

The revisions “disturbed” the liturgy’s musical settings and upset the rhythm of the verses. The “compilers and revisers of the 1982 [Liturgy] have from the start been culpably indifferent to music,” he observed.

“The absurd thing is that the whole difficulty, if such there be, could be avoided with reference to all the ancient originals from which the Eucharistic dialogue was translated,” Dr. Hall said.

The Latin Dignum et iustum est or Greek axion kai dikaion is translated in the Book of Common Prayer as “It is meet and right so to do,” he said, asking “Why could our translators not have avoided the whole issue of God’s sex and stuck with ‘It is proper and right,’ or preserving the rhythms of the original Greek and Latin, ‘Proper it is, and right’.”

Changing the words of the Nicene Creed was problematic, he said. “On principle, liturgy-writers should not tamper with the text of ecumenical creeds,” and omitting ‘men’ has doctrinal consequences, he said.

The Greek words tous anthropous in the creed uses ‘men’ in the sense of all humanity. “If you leave it out, the reference might be taken to mean us Christians, or even us Episcopalians,” Dr. Hall said, adding that Hooker had to defend the phrase ‘that it may please thee to have mercy upon all men’ in the Litany “against dissenting critics who thought we should pray only for the Elect, not for everybody.”

In the original Creeds, the same word anthropos is applied to the incarnation of Jesus Christ, who is not just enfleshed, ‘incarnate of the Virgin Mary’, but puts on total thinking humanity, enenthropesen, ‘made man’, Dr. Hall explained. “So there is a balance: for us humans … he became human. And his fleshly humanity is entirely derived from the Virgin Mary: her manhood becomes his. If ‘men’ applied to ‘us’ excludes women, then Christ is said not to have become human, but to have become male.”

Prudence Dailey of the Church of England’s Prayer Book Society told CEN she was “sorry” the SEC “felt the need to be squeamish” about gender specific language in relation to God.

“I would hope that the authorised liturgies of the Church of England will never go that far down that particular path. The Prayer Book Society would not wish worshipers to be encouraged to feel uncomfortable with the traditional usage of masculine pronouns, as found in the Book of Common Prayer of 1662,” she said.

Torn Notebook: Liturgy and Memory

This brief reflection from Wei Hsien is well worth your time.

The liturgy, it seems to me, is a living organ of ecclesial memory holding within itself the legacy of the Fathers, those pioneers of the Way who shaped Christianity definitively by what Cardinal Ratzinger calls their “primordial response” to the Word of God. Not everyone has the ability, time or the means to read and study the writings of the Fathers, but every Christian who worships in and with the Church steps into and, in a very real way, lives in the spiritual home which they’ve built for us by their devotion to Living God.

Sunday after Sunday, season after season, year after year, one sings hymns and prays prayers broken in by use, stretched and worn to comfort by generations upon generations of holy men and women and not-so-holy men and women. In the liturgy one finds the familiar stories of Scripture, the broken heart of St. Ephrem, the textured (and verbose!) eloquence of St. Basil, the grandeur of the Jerusalem Temple, the songs carried on the lips of kings and peasants. The whole thing has the feel of a ragged prayer book, its tattered and dog-earred pages stained sometimes by sweat, sometimes by tears, sometimes by blood.

The liturgy, I think, is a house that is the way it is because it is “lived in”. If there are parts of the liturgy that seem outmoded, messy or awkward in their place, perhaps they reflect the outmodedness, messiness and awkwardness of a home that’s housed peoples of different times, shapes and sizes, who each in the course of discipleship thought to leave behind some furniture—or in some cases, entire rooms—for the heirs they knew would follow them. Any impulse toward its renovation and renewal, it seems to me, must always be nurtured with this in mind.

So I think.

And so do I.

Liturgy and the Eschatological Hope

Liturgy is the narrative of God's redemptive work, recalling his mighty acts of salvation from the beginning of creation to the consummation of history, with the atoning death and resurrection of Jesus Christ at the center of the drama. Liturgy is the enactment of God's truth and the realization of all his promises, up to and including the coming of his kingdom in its fullness. In the culmination of the liturgy, the eucharistic feast, is prefigured the culmination of history, the marriage supper of the Lamb (Revelation 19:9). Through the liturgy, God extends the invitation to all who worship from a pure heart, in spirit and in truth, to "Come up here, and I will show you what must take place after this" (Revelation 4:1).

These are thoughts which are ruminating in my mind as I observe what I hope is a period of positive transition in the American church. For several generations, American evangelicalism has been held captive by a shallow, escapist theology which elevates to confessional status the doctrinal innovations devised by nineteenth and early twentieth century dispensational theologians. British pastor Stephen Sizer has recently written two volumes critiquing, and pretty much discrediting, the predominantly American phenomenon of Christian Zionism. In Christian Zionism: Roadmap to Armageddon?, a largely academic tome, he traces the history of the movement back to the restorationist movement in England in the early nineteenth century to Edward Irving and the Albury Circle to John Nelson Darby and the Plymouth Brethren to C.I. Scofield and his Reference Bible. Zion's Christian Soldiers? is written for a more general audience and presents Sizer's case somewhat more succinctly.

While I have always been of the opinion that dispensationalism is wide of the mark of historic orthodoxy, reading Sizer has made me realize how boring it has become to refute all the "last days" goofiness of the aging "prophecy pundits" who continue to tell us that Armageddon is just around the corner. All but one or two of the major offenders Sizer takes to task are either dead or fast approaching their ninth decade. While the Left Behind craze of a few years ago demonstrated there is still a sizable market for authors who devote themselves to myths and endless genealogies, the emerging generation of evangelicals seems not at all interested in taking up the cause of rebuilding the temple which Jesus made obsolete.

So, what has all of this to do with my initial thoughts about the liturgy? I would suggest that speculations about the "last days" and "end times" are most prevalent in churches where liturgy is minimized and worship is predominantly monological. Such speculations would be kept in check, however, in churches which follow ancient liturgical patterns, making worship itself a profoundly eschatological experience. It is to these liturgical churches that many in the emerging generation are being drawn. Escapist theology and apocalyptic speculation are simply not resonating with them. They long for something deeper, more substantive. In the narrative of God's redemptive work, the enactment of his truth, and the realization of all his promises, they are finding that for which they long.

It's Green Season (Again)

The liturgical calendar has turned once again in the direction of the color green. That is, we have entered into that season of the Christian year known variously as the "Season after Pentecost," the "Season after Trinity," or "Ordinary Time." In days of yore when mainline Protestantism still had something of a pulse, several denominations adopted the term "Kingdomtide" for no apparent reason.

But whatever name you choose for the season, the color is the same, and since Easter came so historically early this year, we will all get to enjoy staring at those marvelous green paraments every Sunday from now until the end of November. It's not that I have anything against the color green. But it does seem to me that it is the most overused color of the liturgical year.