Angelo Roncalli,* Patriarch of Venice, seemingly absorbed the feel for openness and adventure that looking out onto the sea can instill into the heart, and when he sailed to his last port-of-call he carried with him that thalassic spirit. Alas, history is witness to the fact that whenever Rome opens her gates, barbarians and vandals flood in. This time they came not from the plains of Europe, but from her monasteries and academies bearing the fardels of reconsideration and reformation. With them came also the hordes of the maladroit and gauche who deracinated all semblance of reverence and ran riot in exaltation of ataxia renamed modernity. In their wake, there is always a wake in a catastrophe, came liturgists of every denomination and, tasting freedom and power for the first time in centuries, they threw themselves like lemmings over the cliffs of relevance. What iatric have we for so great an ill?
We need awaken to the fact that our ritual enactments—in word and sacrament—are rituals. We seem to be at loss for doing anything with a sense of grace or dignity. We fail miserably to differentiate sacred time and place and action from the ordinary. We seem to dwell at the lowest common denominator of everything we do. We need now to be schooled in knowledge that once was simply gained by osmosis in the process of socialization. In a day when “corporate people” are being taken away to learn how to use knife and fork, to properly open and close a door, I ought not to be shocked that “church people” have no idea how to genuflect or carry a candle. There exist many comprehensive works detailing accepted frameworks and actions for the various services. Every officer of liturgy ought to make every effort to read from and consider these analyses. Every sacristy and vestry ought to have a well-rounded selection of such texts for reference and study. I am here, however, going to set out some basic attitudes and rules which properly utilized ought to provide a firm groundwork in sacred choreography.
Rule One. There are qualifications and requirements for liturgical office.
There are required qualifications for every office in the worship of the community. This is true for every office from verger to bishop. No one would assign a bass to sing treble, and no one ought to presume to enroll into the office of reader, acolyte, etc., a person lacking the physical and mental abilities to properly fulfill the demands of the office. A person unable to walk without assistance of cane cannot serve as an acolyte. A person who cannot speak cannot be given to read. Yet, too often are people given liturgical tasks simply because someone thinks the pastorally sensitive thing to do is allow them the task as a means to “making them feel good”. The prayer of the community is about a spiritual discipline, and that means discernment concerning gifts and talents, about setting bounds. The qualifications and requirements for every office need to be spelled out, published, and enforced. Every function must have a training program that enfolds all the aspects of the office, physical and spiritual. Every liturgical officer deserves to know and understand the how, why and wherefore of the function they are enlisted to undertake. Every officer deserves the time and place to practice, to experience what it is like to be on the receiving end of an action, on the giving end of an action. A great deal of skill in handing someone a cup, a cruet, a book can be had if one is given to practice receiving a cup, a cruet, a book. A great deal of education can be had by being able to see a video of oneself performing a given task. There would be fewer clergy with nose buried in book or popping up and down behind the Holy Table were they given the opportunity to see these acts from the chancel or nave point of view. The simplicity of ritual the westward position can afford is too often lost in the devotional reverences of well-meaning but misinformed clerics. Too often have I seen Eucharist look like a game of hide and seek, clergy playing “pop-up”. Lastly, on this rule allow me to note that we do not mismatch candles or florals, and there is no rule against pairing for height acolytes carrying candle or torch. Indeed, doing so eliminates an unwarranted distraction and visual awkwardness.
Rule Two. A liturgical officer is a ritual person.
Any human who enters chancel or sanctuary to perform a liturgical act is there not as self but as one deputized to carry out a sacred function in the worship of the community, as a person transfigured by the ritual to be accomplished, as a person rendered a sacramental for the sake of the community’s prayer.
This transformation is often underscored by the use of distinctive ritual dress, and in our tradition that is cassock and surplice or amice, alb and cincture—the uniform of a servant of the congregation. This ritual dress is a “sacred mask” meant to obscure all other dress, all secular dress. Therefore, attention-grabbing shoes, noticeable hair clips, all earrings, watches and bracelets, rings (except for such as denote an office in or by the church, ex: wedding bands, the episcopal signet), fancy and coloured collars, shirt cuffs, etc. are all improper, and rightly forbidden. When one puts on any vestment, any “mask”, one surrenders oneself and becomes the sacred function the robes are meant to convey. There are no exceptions. If one cannot sacrifice accustomed secular attire, one belongs not beyond the chancel steps.
I am most serious about the use of the term “sacred mask”. We forget we are in the world of ritual, and our garb and instruments of worship are essentially not different form the ritual garb and instruments of any other group involved in religious action, be they from some distant time or from some distant culture.
Rule Three. You are that which you are given to wear.
The robes of office are given to you, not created by you, not to be styled by you. Stoles are not worn atop dalmatics or chasubles. Miters, Canterbury caps, birettas, and the like are worn straight down upon the head and not leaning back and off the forehead. Clergy worried about how their liturgical headdress looks with their coif should consider another career. I once attended a Mass wherein the celebrant wore a chasuble obviously made in a day when eastward was the accepted position. On the back of the chasuble was an embroidery of the Virgin in orans position (standing with hands slightly extended). The cleric, apparently not wanting to hide this work of art from public view, wore the chasuble backwards so the Marian icon faced the congregants as it would have in the age in which it was made. Unfortunately, because the icon was no longer draped upon a back but folded between two arms, every time the cleric reached out or moved his arms up or out, so, it appeared, did Mary. I, happily, did not notice this until the gentleman beside me began to snicker and whispered to me “Look, Mary’s saying Mass”. I saw, I gasped, I giggled; the woman next to me soon followed, and soon it seemed the whole of the assembly. Good intentions turned an icon into a muppet. In matters of liturgy, obedience to accepted form can usually be relied upon to be more effective than individual “creativity”. Be true to where you are. Do gothic vestments work in a modern building? Does polyester befit baroque splendours? Stop trying to be all things to all people. I beheld once in a great gothic cathedral a macedoine of robes. There was a prelate seemingly trying to channel a North American Indian shaman, another in some concocted assemblage of eastern liturgical garb and yurt hangings, there was a thurible hung with bells, music from every conceivable genre, banners and waving streamers, and on and on. Was this Eucharist or a half-time show from a gathering on the plains? I am not saying we cannot open ritual dress to new things. Every culture needs robes reflective of the social heritage, and there are times when we ought to reverence and reveal the multitude of cultures that make the church, but let us show discernment and dignity. We are about celebrating at the Lord’s Table, not about making-up a swirling smorgasbord of fabrics.
We do well to consider that how we celebrate our faith is within the parameters of a culture, its customs, its language—literal and subliminal. If a culture does not use a raised table for meals, ought a raised table to be used for holy communion? If a culture does not use wheat bread and grape wine, are these elements essential to the eucharist? If a culture does not share our heritage of ancient roman and medieval European robes (dalmatics, chasubles, academic attire), ought we to be trying to re-style, re-invent, “theme” these? Does a doe skin chasuble make any sense? Missionaries bring their faith and their culture; the two are intrinsically intertwined. When faith is adopted, does the culture need to be? If faith is adopted, its enunciation and its celebration must be adapted or it will be a foreign fancy without authenticity in its new culture. What then is the essence of Christianity? Is it not to “put on Christ Jesus” with gratitude and joy? We must humbly allow that all else is about us, and we must be willing, having put on Christ Jesus, to remove all else.
We forget that Paul, the Jew, de-Judaized Christianity and opened the door to its Romanization with the basilica floor plan, and reinterpreted calendar of feasts that has provided us everything from saints’ days to Christmas. Likewise, the early European missionaries re-valued and baptized all sorts of native practices and feasts, and by that an agrarian society’s markings of the changing seasons has provided us rogation days, May celebrations, All Hallows’ eve, and virtually all of our Christmastide traditions. I am not, thus, about to discount the fact that new forms and formats of worship evolve out of dialogue between them that bring Christianity to a culture and them of the culture that receive it. But, we must tread with caution not to confine Christ to whom and whence we are, and allow his sovereign spirit to express itself as it will. It may cause our pride and prejudice pain and sorrow, but there is a time to step back and let go. Christ does not belong to us, we belong to Christ.
Rule Four. You are that which you carry, and that which you carry ought to be so carried as best to obscure you.
Cross, candle, torch, banner, gospel book, lectionary, thurible, chalice, flagon, etc. are our sacred instruments, our holy icons. When a liturgical officer carries one, the sacred instrument or icon becomes a sacred mask and ritually transfigures the officer–completely. The person vanishes into the existence of the sacred object.
Being sacred, the object must move with dignity and grace, with selflessness. Being sacred, the object does not bow, does not sway, tilt, or wobble about. The sacred object is held high and visible, and where ever possible held in such manner to obscure the face of him that carries it.
Too often have I seen torches and candles carried as if they were lances leading some sort of charge. Too often have I seen processional cross carried as if it were a flag pole, grasped with palms facing out. Acolytes and torch bearers are not cavalry. Candle holders have nodes and basins, devices to guide holding pairs at equal height. A crucifer is not a marine on parade! A processional cross has a node, and that node is placed in such manner that the hand can comfortably be wrapped around it, making it an effective shield for the face. The same idea governs the carrying of Gospel book, Chalice, etc.
There are exceptions—the staffs of authority: the warden’s, the verger’s, the bishop’s.
Rule Five. Every movement has meaning.
Standing, sitting, kneeling, looking, keeping still all form part of a complex system of movements meant to ritually allow the community to enter into its exercise of prayer. These movements, no less than the music and the architecture, are elements of communal prayer. I shall enunciate some basic choreographic positions.
Standing The liturgical stand derives from classical prayer postures, bodily positions that are considered to supply the brain with a maximum flow of blood and simultaneously to relax the nervous system. The correct stand is with back straight, shoulders slightly back, feet together (or slightly apart if balance requires), arms at the sides and bent at the elbow, hands joined in front of and slightly away from the chest, with palm pressed to palm, fingertips pressed to fingertips. Some allow the hands may be held with and right thumb crossed over left. Some allow the fingers may be bent and interlocking; I think this form is not to be recommended. Hands ought not to be folded into a gnarled clump unless one has the benefit of great age or is posing for a romantic painting. There is no variation on where the hands may be held. Hands are always placed in front of the chest, not the stomach, not the waist, not the groin. Prayer properly flows unencumbered from the heart. Think about what is being subliminally said with the position of hands.
Sitting The proper manner of sitting is with back straight, shoulders slightly back, legs together, feet together and on the floor. The hands may be joined and rested on the lap, or placed palms down on the thighs. If a seat is provided with arms, these may be used for resting the elbows and forearms. Robes should be allowed to flow; they should not be bunched up or crushed. If the palms of the hands are placed down, vestments of costly cloth or ornamentation ought to be turned back so body oils make contact with the lining rather than the principal fabric. The above directions do not allow the crossing of legs, the innovative use of cushions for footstools, the swinging of cinctures, etc. Neither is this a time to flip through sermon notes, books, etc. Such actions denote boredom not prayer.
Keeping still The sanctuary and chancel are not the place for unscheduled, unnecessary, un-choreographed movement. In sacred dance as in sacred music, pause is essential to rhythm. If one cannot keep the body still, how will one inspire another to keep the soul still?
Walking The correct posture for walking is the standing posture. Movement ought to be dignified, natural, and at a ceremonious pace. If a mental image is required, one would be better served by looking to our Sovereign at an occasion of state than to a film star at an awards event.
Kneeling The correct posture is the standing posture. The legs and feet are to be kept together (or slightly apart if balance requires). To kneel, simply move the right foot back (about 1.5 times the length of one’s shoe), bend the right knee and move downward on it, allow the left knee to simultaneously bend forward, when the right knee is securely on the ground, discretely move the left knee down to the ground. The left foot may be moved with a slight kick back; the kick should nicely drape the robes over the feet. Kneeling ought to be a simple and graceful descent from balancing on the feet to balancing on the knees; it ought not to appear as if an explosion has caused one to topple over.
Genuflecting This is simply a variation on the kneeling position. Move the right foot back (about 1.5 times the length of one’s shoe), bend both knees and begin the descent allowing the left knee to move forward, the right knee to move down until it reaches the ground, pause, and return to the standing position. There are some places (usually Roman) that over indulge in genuflecting. The entry procession, the communion, and the recession become a jumble of people popping up and down, first to ambry, tabernacle or chapel of reservation, then to high altar, en masse and then individually. Welcome to the land of meaningless minutia. If one holds the reserved sacrament so highly, one ought not to be schizophrenic about one’s belief or about its ritualization; place the sacrament back in the central position on the high table or directly behind it. If one deems the reserved sacrament of primary importance, it, not the chair of the presiding minister, belongs at the centre of the ritual space. Nevertheless, when one is proceeding to the Lord’s Table, to divine service in chancel or sanctuary, no place else–even if it is situated in chancel or sanctuary–is ever to be acknowledged. The Lord’s Table and cross are central; they are our principal icons, the locus and ritual focus of all public prayer. When one bows or genuflects with a group, one does not repeat the action individually. This is not merely a sight ugly to behold, it is a bad body language denoting, at best, a farraginous spirituality.
Bowing The bow has always been a sign of respect and submission. There are two types of bows: the simple and the profound (deep, or solemn) bow. In the simple bow the head and shoulders are slowly inclined slightly forward. In the profound bow the body is slowly bent forward from the waist while the head and shoulders are inclined forward as well. The bow is always preceded by a slight pause. In sacred time and place there is never need to rush. We are at the threshold of the eternal.
In accord with above rule, when one is carrying or presenting a ritual item (a book, a chalice, a censer, etc.) one is the sacred item, and may not bow. If the sacred item is to be passed on to another, the recipient is approached, the recipient bows, the recipient takes the item, the recipient steps back, and then the recipient receives a bow from the donor.
Some may protest that there is an exception concerning the thurifer. The traditional practice has the thurifer bowing before and after censing. But the bow is properly performed with the censor held at rest in the right hand.
Looking Eye contact with others ought to be established only in so far as the work of worship requires. The adept liturgical officer knows to keep a servant’s watch, being discrete in all, the image of worshipfulness, not curiosity. Biddings, absolutions, and other words addressed to the congregation require one to look at the congregation, words addressed to God require one to keep the eyes lifted up or cast down. In neither case ought one to bury face in book. A glance at the text is permissible, but one ought to be comfortable to carry out the given task without seeming to be seeing the text for the first time.
In this regard, there is much to be said for the eastward position with the presiding minister at communion standing at the head of the assembly and facing the Holy Table with the rest of the congregants, leading them in the prayer of thanksgiving. The westward position can have merit as long as the presiding minister deeply understands self to be presiding over the celebration and not over the congregation. I would that that attitude be writ on many hearts. In practice, however, facing the congregants at this point of the service creates an awkward situation. The assembly is given to look upon its presiding minister and the minister the assembly at a time not proper to a dialogue or a dialogical position. The minister must here, absolutely must, hone the ability to become invisible behind the sacred elements, behind the holy table. There are some who stand not behind the cup and plate, but to the side, in front of the book. This allows cross and elements to be seen as directly connected. Wherever behind the table the minister stands, the gaze must be slightly up or amorphously down, decidedly not upon the assembly or the book. It is a matter of professionalism that one knows the text. One may need to make reference, but one’s face cannot be turned into the book in such manner as to make it seem God is residing therein. Likewise, as reverent as it may seem to do, no one ought to ever genuflect while facing the assembly, even if the Lord’s table stands between them. A bow is ritually correct and visibly more appropriate.
I think we need to revisit the entire either/or status of eastward versus westward. It would make liturgical sense to have the deacons prepare the table facing the congregation, the presiding minister to face the table with and at the head of the congregants for the great prayer of thanksgiving, and then move around the table for the presentation of the gifts and call to communion. I once frequented a church wherein this was the practice, and I believe it to be the superior form. The communion vessels ought never to be returned to the holy table after distribution. “Doing the dishes” is not a liturgical action, even if one subscribes to a very high sacramental theology. It is a priestly ritual that underscores a separation of priest from the rest of church, an unfortunate remnant of a hierarchical age having never had a proper place in Christianity’s equalitarianism. The same may be, and ought to be, said regarding the Lavabo.
Using the hands There are prescribed prayer positions. Hands are either folded or extended. The basic extended form is the orans position, with arms out, elbows kept close to the body, the hands outstretched and the palms facing up. The positions are simple and need no embellishments, no added flourish. I am always befuddled by clergy, whose ordination rites did not include a consecration of hands and fingers, holding fingers as if they had been. To some it is a delicate and reverent looking gesture, but if it is not in accord with the prescribed theology of eucharist or vision of ministry, it is a deception, an impropriety, and a sin. If one cannot be obedient and faithful to the tradition one has been ordered to transmit, how will one inspire and guide the congregants to adhere to that tradition?
Making the sign of the cross Making the sign of the cross is probably the most ancient and universal Christian ritual gesture. At first the sign was made on the forehead using the thumb of the right hand. By the sixth century the several forms extant today had developed. According to the form used in the west, the right hand is raised to the forehead, drawn down to the breastbone, moved to the left shoulder, and then to the right shoulder. The sign may be made with the first two fingers held together and with the thumb crossed over the fourth and fifth fingers. The symbolism refers to the Triune God and the two natures of Christ. In some places the sign is made with the hand open and flat. The five fingers represent and honour the five wounds of the Crucified Lord. Some elongate the cross form; they bypass the breastbone and touch instead the stomach or the waist. This practice undoubtedly copies the elongated cross often made by the individual pronouncing the blessing, but the practice is done in obvious ignorance of the body parts properly touched: the head that one might know Christ, the breastbone (the shield of the heart) that one might love Christ, the shoulders that one might bear the yoke and cross of Christ. Some add a kiss to the fingers used after the signing as an act of reverence; this, at best, is a private devotion kept private. Whatsoever form one uses in private, in the acts of public worship it is proper that one form be decided upon and used by all. Uniformity of action is required of those whose actions are to lead the assembly in solemn prayer. Further, the signing of the cross, as with all sacred gestures, must be done deliberately, reverently and without haste. It ought to never appear one is swatting away flies, as, unfortunately, it often does.
The Tri-signation, wherein the right hand is moved to the forehead in the name of God the Head of all, then to the lips in the name of the Son who is the Word of God, and then to the heart in the name of the Spirit who is the bond of love, has a very defined and limited liturgical usage. It originates in the old Roman rite in the silent preparatory prayer of the deacon before the gospel reading: “Cleanse my heart and lips …”. Despite its use by many congregations, it remains liturgically proper only to certain churches and only to the minister proclaiming the gospel.
The continuous signing of the eucharistic elements is an unsightly thaumaturgy. The eucharistic prayer is a prayer, not a magic formula involving the making of a mystical numbers of crosses. The power of the prayer rests in its simplicity, a forthrightness that is diminished by anything but the most modest use of gesture. Both God and the congregants know the elements being discussed. Neither need them pointed out. We need also reconsider the covering of the cup. Is it always necessary? When it is not necessary, ought it to be maintained?
Giving the kiss of peace This action was once set before the reception of the sacrament. Today it is to be found in any number of places reflecting different interpretations. Is it a ritual reinforcement of the Lord’s injunction to make peace with others before offering gifts? Then it is well placed at the beginning. Is it a ritual reinforcement of the idea that the gift of God’s forgiveness leads to peace among all? Then it is well placed after the confession of sin. Is it a ritual reinforcement of the idea that peace arises from the act of being thankful to God, and that peace in turn opens the way to true community, to holy communion? Then it is well paced between the eucharistic prayer and the distribution of communion. We need keep in mind that in every form and formulary, it is the peace of the Lord, Christ’s peace, which is bequeathed, given, shared; it is a peace the world cannot give, it is a peace the world cannot understand. This is a holy action.
The exchange of peace, the kiss of peace, the pax (Latin for peace) has been celebrated in many forms. The traditional western form is a ritualized embrace or kiss. The donor of the kiss approaches the recipient, the recipient alone bows, the donor rests his/her hands on the shoulders of the recipient, the recipient places his/her hands under the elbows of the donor, both the donor and the recipient incline their heads forward and over the left shoulder of the other, the donor says “Peace be with you” and the recipient replies “And with thy spirit”, both let go, move back a step, and bow to each other. It is simple. It is elegant.
Today this is usually replaced with a handshake, a secular greeting which even in the secular forum is often awkwardly executed. I have never seen it done with dignity in a sacred context. Indeed, the holy kiss now often descends into a do-si-do of some square dance from Pandemonium. At the greatest moment of solemnity entire congregations either fall under the pall of dread and apathy, or at their most enthusiastic, turn into the like of a pen of chickens clucking about over a toss of feed. Is there some deficiency with the simple dialogue of “The peace of the Lord be always with you; and with thy spirit”? Do we need some action if no one seems willing or able to perform an action that does not scream ineptitude? In a day when the masses have lost the elementals of etiquette and must be scolded into offering a bus seat to the aged or infirm, when dinner comes in styro boxes, and blue jeans are considered dress attire, who, having compos mentis, would pass off to the hoi poloi the establishment and execution of a new ritual? Who would consecrate the handshake? Do we now up-date this with a “high-five” for Jesus? Do we need to pass on the “peace of Christ” to every person within reach or running distance? Can we not better adapt the traditional ritualized kiss? Is the traditional form so un-performable? Is yahooism an incurable ill?
Handling things sacred Whenever one is required to move a book, a cup, a candle, a cope, or any other item set aside for divine worship, the nature of the things handled must be kept in mind and the task carried out with reverence, gracefulness, and simplicity of motion. It cannot be over stated: the actions of a liturgical officer are critical to the prayerful attitude of the assembly. Scripture tells that the Levites and priests were struck dead for ritual errors. Such forceful and immediate censure is deprived us today.
Using incense This ancient act of respect is beautiful if used properly. One must know the meaning of offering incense to the table, the gifts, a person. If the theology teaches the whole of the prayer of thanksgiving and consecration is a singular act, then offering up incense at the words of institution makes a contradictory statement. If the ministers at the table are honoured but not the assembly, one makes a rather bold statement about status. There are variations on when and how to use incense. There are many texts on ritual detailing these things, and I do not wish to expend pages rehearsing or debating them. Every church ought to have a prescribed usage in conformity with its theology. I will make a few simple notes. One ought to practice well before using a thurible. One carries the thurible in the right hand, holding it just below the disc, allowing it to hang straight down. In passing, opening or censing, one holds the thurible below the disc with the left hand and by the chains just comfortably above the heated bowl with the right hand. When one incenses, the right arm is bent slightly out and forward; one does not extend the arm straight out as if recreating the profile of a construction crane. In incensing the fragrant smoke is the sign, not the clinking and clanking of chains. The rattling of chains harkens a very different idiom than the one being summoned here. And lastly, all movement here must be purposeful, reverent and unhurried. This is an act of honour and deepest respect. Make it appear so.
It would serve us well to reconsider the traditional practice of single and double swings, priest censing, then deacon, then subdeacon, then thurifer, etc. All this hierarchy of swings is from a very different time and not really in accord with the singular priestly nature of all the church. I suggest that one person ought to do all the incensing—the thurifer. Just as deacon is ritually deputized to read gospel, so too the thurifer ought to have the thurible filled and blessed, and then be handed it to incense the holy table, the cross, and all the body of them gathered. I realize this takes away from some a coveted duty, but the present practice of passing censer down the line of levels of ministry is simply a statement of status at a moment when we all ought to be considered of equal dignity. The process ought to also be simplified. It is sufficient and well done to circle the holy table once at the preparation of the gifts, honour the cross with three swings, proceed to the pavement and give three swings to them in the sanctuary, proceed to the sanctuary step and give three to the chancel, and proceed to chancel steps and give three to the nave. Such a practice would bespeak honour and equality in honour. At funerals, we do well to honour the life of the departed by censing once around the coffin at the commendation, the body having, in its Christian existence, served as altar of sacrifice and praise.
Using bells There are some who are wont to ring bells doing the eucharistic prayer and other places during the liturgy. Such usage harkens back to an age when the liturgy was an incomprehensible entity, and the bells acted as a general summons to a moment or movement. To use bells during our liturgy is theologically inconsistent. Bells are best left to a bell tower or to musicians.
Using water The act of sprinkling with water as a reminder of the waters of baptism has some liturgical merit if used in a manner consistent with the surrounding liturgical actions. It ought to be used sparingly. It ought to be carried out with dignity and gravitas. There ought to be no running up and down aisles splashing side to side. An aspergill and aspersory are recommended. If one decides to use hyssop or other branches, one ought to first experiment and practice least one end up with the equivalent of a soggy bouquet. In some places a basin of water is placed at the entry to the church as a reminder that one enters the church through baptism. Where this is the practice, the basin ought to be in some way made clearly connected to the baptisrty and its font. I recall a church that reduced the rear nave seating by a few pews to create a distinct baptisrty area. On three sides of the font were raised basins of water. The symbolic elements were all held together in a very coherent, functional, and beautiful manner.
Keeping silent The sanctuary and chancel are not the place for unscheduled, unnecessary dialogue. The sacred assembly is gathered to hear God’s Word and respond to It. If mortal flesh cannot keep silent, its vocation is not in the chancel or sanctuary.
When one is given to speak, one ought to follow the prescribed text and not deviate from it. If any announcement needs to be made, consider its urgency. Do not feel there is any need to explain one’s actions. I attended a wedding wherein the cleric kept interrupting the service to discuss bits and pieces of the ritual, referring to the congregants as “folks”, and bidding us with such phrases as “sit down folks”. Good ritual ought to not require such pausing for commentary. Any explanation of rites considered necessary ought to be confined to a printed order of service or be skillfully woven into the sermon. The cleric inclined to address the assembly as “folks” needs to reflect upon the reality that the assembly here is the sacred assembly, that it is at prayer not a picnic, that no matter how accustomed one may “feel” to be before God, God is always the Sovereign Father and his Christ, our Lord, our teacher and master. Perhaps there is in this something that speaks to the decline of interest in religion. We live in an age of exaggerated individuality, an age wherein children want to be adults without the travails of responsibility, adults want to be children without the travails of obedience, and both are indulged their falsehoods. We live in a society that wants no Master, no Lord, and by extension, no church. Except, that is, for them that will not think for themselves and require some answer from on high for every crevice of life, but such, in reality, want not religion, but rules, not faith, but fundamental facts.
Singing Song is prayer sung. It must be theologically coherent, liturgically relevant. Does it keep with the teaching of the church? Does it fit the occasion? It must be worship, not performance.
Provision ought to be made for a good choir, it being an essential ministry. It must be kept in mind that the precentor and choir are the proper and sole singers of all meditative songs. The choir ought also to provide support for the congregation in its song. Music directors should keep in mind that most congregants are not as adept at singing as choristers. A brief musical interlude to break up a number of verses is not forbidden. Likewise, a brief pause between verses gives the untrained voice a moment to find breath. Musical preludes and recessionals ought to be used wisely to conduct the congregation in appropriate attitudes required for gathering, prayer, and fellowship.
Unfortunately, it seems that some vocal training and some ability in plain chant are no longer part of seminary curriculum. The ability to sing may come naturally, but nature is wild; it requires education and boundaries to become art. It would be better to read the text or deputize another to sing the part if one is unable to do so. One might also acknowledge the deficiency in one’s education and undertake to learn. Some dedication and practice under a capable teacher can provide admirable results. One need not become a recording artist. The straightforward rendering of a chant—a slow and sustained enunciation following a simple melody line—can be quite effective.
Lighting and extinguishing candles This is a liturgical action. It is to be done dignity and decorum, without haste and in proper attire (cassock and surplice or rochet, or amice, alb and cincture). A proper taper is to be used. Matches are never proper.
Candles ought to lit ten to fifteen minutes before the service begins.
Before approaching and leaving the holy table, a profound or deep bow (a bow from the waist) is to be made. At crossing the table, a slight or simple bow (a slow nod of the head and shoulders) is to be made. One stands directly in front of the candle being lighted or extinguished.
Candles are always lit right to left. If there are more than two candles, one starts on the right with the nearest to centre or cross, and continues to the right, then to the left beginning with the nearest to centre or cross. If more than the high table is to be lit, it is lit last. For example: upon approaching the holy table in an ancillary chapel, make a deep bow at centre pavement, move at a forty-five degree angle up the step toward the candle on the right, light it, move in a straight line across the footpace making a slight bow at the centre, light the left candle, turn and move at a forty-five degree angle back down the step to the centre of the pavement, make a deep bow, exit, proceed to the next station. Upon approaching the high table, make a deep bow at centre pavement, move to the right and approach the table from the side steps, light the candle, move in a straight line across the footpace making a slight bow at the centre, light the left or so-called gospel candle, extinguish the taper, descend via the side steps, return to pavement centre, make a deep bow and exit.
To extinguish, reverse the process and use a proper snuffer. Going around blowing out candles is simply rude and irreverent.
The paschal candle is the chief ceremonial light in the church. On Easter Eve it is blessed and inscribed with the insignia of the Risen Christ to represent Christ as the light of the world. Whenever the paschal candle is lit, it ought to be lit several minutes before any other candle as a separate and distinct liturgical action. When the time comes to light the other candles, the light is to be taken from the paschal candle to symbolize that all light is from Christ.
Making preparations Preparations for service ought to be made before the congregation assembles. If anything needs be done while people are arriving and/or waiting, it must be accomplished with a minimum of movement. To this end whatsoever needs be done must be coordinated in advance and carried out in the most orderly, simple and unhurried manner possible. There ought to exist in every sacristy and vestry a list of everything that needs to be in place and the manner in which it is to be put in place. There must be no running back and forth, no discussions in chancel or sanctuary. These rules need to be kept in mind when preparing the table at the offertory and in taking vessels to the credence after communion. There ought to be the same control and discipline in putting things in order after the service.
Following custom No matter how one might do things in private, no matter how one might be inclined to do things, in the course of public worship, the officers charged with leading and assisting the public prayer are bound by the rule of prayer to execute their tasks according to the singular custom of the sacred assembly. If the practice is to sign oneself at a certain point, then one must sign oneself and do so in the prescribed manner. If the practice is to genuflect at a certain point, one must genuflect. If a place has no customs, they that are charged to lead have failed and need to repent. One does not bring order to souls who does not bring order to worship.
Sacred dance, sacred song, sacred acts–there is nothing here that invites slovenly behaviour, familiarity, or casualness. This is where everyday life stops to gaze out upon infinity, to bow down before the holy, to shudder before the majesty and power of God. If you are privileged to have been called to assist your fellows in faith in this most profound endeavour, tremble in prayer, for this is indeed the Throne of God you are called to wait upon, the Table of Christ at which you are given to serve. Do not presume, obey.
Rule Six. Liturgy is meaningless unless it creates missionaries.
I have been withholding the sending of this expatiation, because having begun with a recounting of the defenestration of dignity that Vatican II occasioned, I would not be accused of playing martinet on ritual as an entity that exists in and for itself. Thus, rule six is given as capstone for all the preceding. The liturgy is our communal meditation and prayer. Discipline is here as necessary as in private prayer. An orthodoxy, or I would venture say a henodoxy (a singularity of form) is essential to that discipline. Yet, that entire discipline and exercise of prayer exists for a reason: the creation of disciples. It exists to foster the living faith of the body of believers.
It must be kept in mind that in that discipline and its fostering we are in the depths of our cult—a corpus of acts and words reserved, sacred, and particular. We are in the realm of symbol not only in act but word. Those sacred words and acts are our private language. They are not, despite similarity or identity to words and acts in the world, a secular tongue, but a sacred tongue. The world does not understand that tongue, cannot understand it, and rightly ought not to be given it, only its intent. This is the reason catechumens in times past were excluded from the celebrations of sacrament, they were not yet prepared to understand the depths the ordinary has assumed in the sacred.
The discipleship we are called to is not merely obedience to a discipline of worship, but to a discipline of mission. The two are as inseparable as the natures of Christ. We cannot be turned to God without also being turned to the world; this is an essential aspect of being Christian. One without the other is a deception. Liturgy exists to make disciples for mission. We make only an empty vessel, an idol, if liturgy, even most excellently executed, is merely a performance to calm and refresh. We are charged to fill the world with the good news that God acts in Christ, Christ whose body we are. Does our liturgy empower us to do that? If it does not, then, no matter its resplendence, it is an entity empty, worthless, deplete of all value, except perhaps for compost. This, every liturgical officer and every member of the Body must consider boldly and well. We are not at play with all this ritualization, but at war, a war against ego, self-centeredness in self and in the world. The meaning of life in this tattered world is found in knowing self to be called to be a child of God, a delegate of God’s love. Do we confirm ourselves in this? Do we translate this into a world that largely does not want to hear worn out idioms? The world is not without its yearning for God; it can, however, no longer understand the cultic tongue that has for millennia informed and made it. Can we find the path to a new Pentecost? Can we find the path to a new Christianity? Can we revisit Emmaus to have again our eyes opened and our spirits stirred? The disciples seldom recognize the Risen Christ. He must always be discerned. Does our liturgy enable us to discern him in his world, the world he is ever turned toward, the world wherein he is ever, in panoply of form, the Present One? How do we celebrate that sacrament? Do we, like the disciples at Emmaus, run to Jerusalem to bring joyous tidings and comfort?
True worship is not about bedizening in grand robes and bearing vessels of frankincense, gold and myrrh; it is about making the long and dangerous journey to a foreign place. It is about being on a mission, and the destination is not heaven, but earth, an earth awaiting to awaken to its truth, the truth that it is the Kingdom of God.
- In 1958, Cardinal Roncalli became Pope John XXIII. He convened the Second Vatican Council to update, renew, and refresh the church, its understanding of itself and of its approach to the world.
