The quest for experience in worship

Contents

CHAPTER ; PAGE

INTRODUCTIONS -THE, QUEST 7) 0 2s- vil

Tue LirurcicaL QuEstT

Introduction

THE QUEST

AN INTERESTING addition has appeared recently in the “table talk” of ministers at their professional gatherings—those informal conversations that reveal their immediate interests more accurately than do formal addresses. A generation ago the outstanding question was, ‘What have you been preaching recently?” Later another question forged to the front, “What are you doing with your young people now?” In these days a third is heard with increasing frequency, ‘“What changes are you making in your order of worship?” a question ordinarily asked to open the way for the questioner to tell what he is doing. ,

The older men remember when the minister’s one concern for his Sunday morning service was his sermon. As for the worship, he expected to follow the traditional type of his denomination, whatever it might be—hymns, Scripture, “the long prayer” that travelled the beaten path; or an authorized ritual. In these days, however, an ever-increasing number are especially interested in the non-sermonic portions and are seeking ways to improve them. A new pastor used to signalize his advent by forming a new society of some sort. To-day he is more apt to mark it with a new order of worship. In the good old vil

Vill INTRODUCTION times the order of service gave no concern to the minister exchanging pulpits with another. He knew what to expect: a duplicate of his own. Now he arrives early, asks for the Order of Service, scans it eagerly for innovations, calls for a deacon or the chorister to “‘coach”’ him, and heaves a sigh of relief at the close if he has come through without “‘fumbling” more than once.

The inclination to modify ways of worship is by no means limited to ministers. Laymen show it and dare to take more liberties than the preachers. How the old-fashioned “Introductory Exercises” of the Sunday school have been changed, with a different style for each department! Young people’s societies reveal varieties in worship, all the way from the most stately ritual to something so informal as to seem irreverent. In boys’ and girls’ organizations devotions often are conducted in a manner that bewilders their elders; while the ‘‘quiet hour” of a women’s convention makes a minister say under his breath, “I would not dare attempt that.” Discussions on ways of worship are the order of the day, everywhere from the British Parliament, stirred by Prayer Book debates, to the New England country church divided over the choice of a hymn book.

All this is due not to a spirit of restlessness or a craving for novelties but to a very deep and widespread feeling that our worship could be and should be made more genuinely expressive and more uplifting. That so many ministers and even more laymen are eager to make their leadership of public worship more inspiring is one of the encouraging signs of the times.

INTRODUCTION ix

What of these experiments, some foolish and futile though well intentioned; others fortunately wise and rewarding? Will they prove on the whole satisfactory? If they are altogether the creation of individual inward impulse, not much of permanent value can be expected. Subjectivity goes astray so easily. No inventor or laboratory research worker ignores the efforts of others in his line. He considers their attempts carefully lest he duplicate their failures and that he may begin where they left off. In the realm of worship, however, many are working in the dark. Their experiments are made without much knowledge of the ways of worship that others follow. If the range of their observations could be wider, the results of their independent and original experiments would have greater value.

My aim in this book is to enable such to see ‘‘how the other half” worships. If the thought had been to supply forms which could be adopted bodily, its scope would have been limited, for little such material is available. Moreover, the book’s value would be questionable. Imitating forms is dangerous. They are apt to become “whited sepulchres full of dead men’s bones.”’ Instead of this, to discover the spirit that created these forms and vitalized them has been my constant effort. Instead of stamping the worship of the Eastern churches as cold and lifeless formalism, I have tried to find and feel and reveal that spirit of worship that kept alive their Christian faith and hope during the thousand years under the iron heel of Moslem rule, and which now sustains the Russian church, facing a more dangerous hostility.

x INTRODUCTION

Instead of flouting the Roman ritual as the embodiment of superstition, I have asked myself, ‘‘What in it aroused devotion and loyalty unsurpassed during the centuries when the preacher’s voice was seldom heard?” Instead of casting on to the junk heap forms forged in the fires of the Reformation, I have endeavoured by analysis to discover the composition which prevented their destruction and left them highly tempered and enduring.

Such knowledge alone, however, will not enable the experimenter of to-day to discover the best ways of worship for those whom he is leading. Worship must be an experience; but of all expressions it most readily lends itself to mechanical repetition, easily remaining that and nothing more. To become real experience it must recognize the spirit of its day and generation; it must meet in some way the convictions and aspirations of its own age, and supply its needs. So, with my ear to the ground, I have endeavoured to detect the trend of the times and report whither men are marching, what this age seems to be seeking and what will satisfy, in the realm of worship, its desires and needs.

All this I do, not as ‘‘an authority,” nor as one wiser than his fellows, but as a comrade with them in this quest for experience in worship. .

My quest has led me not only to examine liturgies and read books, but also to attend services and confer with leaders. For example, to write the first chapter on ‘The Way of the Eastern Churches,” besides studying the Eastern liturgies, I attended the services of the Russian, the Greek, the Albanian, the

INTRODUCTION Xi

Syrian, and the Ukrainian churches of the Orthodox group; the Gregorian and the Assyrian (Monophysite) of the Schismatic group; and of the Uniat group, the Maronite, the Syro-Melchite, and the Ruthenian. I talked with their priests, in their homes as well ‘as at their churches, and sought information from others, all the way from an Assyrian Metropolitan bishop and a Ukrainian archbishop to the Albanian waiters at the restaurant I frequent.

Equally have I attempted to familiarize myself with the forms and spirit of the other Christian bodies considered. In endeavouring to discover the desires of the age, my main guide has not been religious books, papers, and addresses, but a composite in my mind of uncounted conversations and comments by people not particularly concerned with the subject of worship.

My interest in this theme is not recent but lifelong. The son of an American missionary in Bulgaria and Constantinople,‘from my childhood the Eastern church was a familiar object and other Continental] churches were not altogether strange.

On entering the ministry in this country, I began at once experiments in ways of worship. My fist was making a ‘‘Pilgrim’s Progress” responsive or antiphonal service. As I read the story in the pulpit, the choir, trained by many rehearsals, would break in with gospel hymns, echoing the sentiment just read. Later, in other pastorates, where there was strong musical leadership, “The Elijah,” large parts of ‘The Messiah,” and numerous sacred cantatas from time to time were interwoven into the services xii INTRODUCTION of public worship. I wrote the words of a cantata, “The Pilgrims,’ based on Jesus’ visit to Jerusalem when he was twelve years of age, for which Harry Rowe Shelley composed the music. Years ago a series of articles on “The Thoughtful Use of Hymns” appeared from my pen in religious weeklies, including a correspondence course on this subject in The Congregationalist, where also for some time I edited a monthly department on Church Music. For the past ten years I have conducted courses in Liturgics at Gordon College of Theology and Missions.

Historically considered the divisions of Christianity are grouped as the Eastern churches, the Roman church, and the Protestant churches, with some scholars making of the Anglican church a fourth.

When it comes to worship, however, they naturally divide themselves into two groups: The Liturgical, including the Eastern, the Roman, the Lutheran, and the Anglican; and the Non-liturgical, such as the Presbyterian, the Methodist, the Baptist, and the Congregational. This book recognizes such a classification as approximately correct and moves along these lines.

Others have ably discussed the history, the art, the psychology, the philosophy of worship. This book treats of worship as an experience of the leading bodies of Christians; as an experience possible for all, to be sought by all—the soul’s true quest.

Epwin H. ByiIncTon.

February, 1929.

THE LITURGICAL QUEST

Chapter I The Way Of The Eastern Churches

The Eastern churches constitute about one fifth of Christendom, roughly estimated as one hundred and twenty-five millions. The Orthodox churches are commonly counted as sixteen, including the churches of Russia, Greece, Bulgaria, and Roumania, the divisions being mainly along national or linguistic lines. Besides these are the Schismatic churches such as the Nestorian, the Coptic (Egyptian), the Gregorian (Armenian), the Abyssinian, the Jacobites in Syria and the Malabars of India. With these should be included the numerous Uniat churches which retain their Eastern liturgies, even though they accept the primacy of the Roman pope.

While each division has its own independent organization and its own language, and while they have sharp disagreements on some theological questions, their ways of worship are so similar that it is fair to treat them as a distinct type.

HE casual visitor entering an Eastern church on Sunday morning for the first time would be impressed by the dégree to which the physical is employed in worship, both for religious impression and expression. Protestants rely mainly on words and if the worshipper can hear and understand them, he can enter fully inte the service; but if he does not 3 hear and understand, he cannot participate. Not so in an Eastern church, where all five physical senses are brought into play. The worshipper listens, of course. Then the sense of sight is appealed to constantly by the many pictures, the robes and motions of the priest, and the expressive acts of his fellow worshippers. The sense of smell is used again and again as the smoke of incense is wafted toward him. The sense of touch responds as on his forehead is felt the marking of the cross with holy oil. The sense of taste brings to him a message not only in the sacrament but as he partakes often of the memorial cake. So also by physical motions does he express the emotions of his heart: he crosses himself; he bows; he prostrates himself to the floor; he kneels or stands to express his reverence; he kisses the holy books and the pictures of his Saviour and others. He lights candles to express the aspirations of his heart. As we say of sympathetic feelings toward our fellow men, “Actions speak louder than words,” so with this worshipper in expressing his devotion before his God.

To enter into the spirit of his worship we need to remember certain facts. The Eastern and Western churches began to drift apart in the first centuries, thoughthe final break did not come until the Eleventh. The liturgies of the East took definite form about the Fourth Century and soon after crystallized, while the West continued to develop new features. Repeatedly priests of the Eastern churches have said to me with pride: “Our forms have come to us from the Third and Fourth centuries.”

Two factors influenced the shaping of the Eastern rites at that time. One was the Oriental temper which made itself felt very definitely, and the other was widespread illiteracy. The visitor, therefore, is about to worship through a liturgy created more than twelve hundred years ago for a people neither Western nor well educated. The illustrative, the symbolic, appear everywhere. Protesting against the accusation of idolatry in the use of ikons and their value even to-day a Russian priest of culture and intelligence said to me: “Eighty per cent. of the Russian peasants cannot read and these ikons and the symbols in our worship take the place for them of the printed page.” So has it been through the centuries.

Join a group of Russians at Epiphany on the night when they celebrate the baptism of Jesus. Watch each one as he enters reverently, gives expression to his devotion, and quietly takes his place. The church is cold, without any fire even though it is midwinter. There are no seats. The church is filled with men, women, and children, standing for nearly two hours in a reverent attitude, at times kneeling or prostrating themselves as their priest leads them in prayer or holds before them some object reminding them of the ground for their gratitude, love, and devotion. Many Protestants, after the feeling of strangeness had worn off, would feel the contagion of their reverence and enter into a consciousness of the divine presence. There is a soul quickening that does not always come when a company of Protestants, at ease on cushioned seats, in a comfortably warmed room, drowsily or restlessly wait for the close of a much shorter service. Naturally as the Russian worshippers press forward to drink of the water blessed by the priest or to obtain a bottleful to take home, the visitor exclaims, “This is superstition!” So it is. So are other features of the service; but it is superstition mingled with real worship. It is not mere formalism. In fact how little of any worship is unadulterated. Human beings seldom present at the throne of grace nuggets of pure gold. At best it is quartz flecked with the gold of worship. There are two types of worship, the most unlike that to which I myself am accustomed, and which are the farthest removed from each other, where I ever detect the flakes of gold, sometimes in abundance—the worship of the Eastern churches and the worship of the Quakers, the opposite poles in the realm of ritual; and yet these sometimes seem the most worshipful of all Christians.

Not only the actions of the worshippers are symbolic of spiritual attitudes, but every motion of the priest has its meaning. At that Epiphany service the priest stood before a large vessel containing the water to be blessed. He breathed upon it to indicate the moving presence of the Holy Spirit. In his hand he held a cross and near by were some burning candles. While chanting he took one of the candles and dipped it in the water until the flame was extinguished. This represented the baptism of Jesus, the light of the world. He did this with a second candle and then with a third, for the Eastern church practises trine immersion. This also typifies the trinity. Afterward he took the cross and dipped that in the water three times.

Their symbolism, however, is not fixed and arbitrary, but responsive to situations. A Russian divinity student told me that in some portions of their country this service is observed out of doors, at some river or lake. The ice is cut so as to leave the open water in the shape of a cross and out of the cakes of ice is built an altar. Frequently doves are released and as they circle in the air the descent of the Holy Spirit like a dove at the baptism of Jesus is vividly symbolized.

I myself, when a lad living in Constantinople, every year used to attend this service, where it took on a very different form. From the Greek church, whose doors I passed every day in going to school, would start the processional, the ecclesiastics fully robed and chanting, the cross uplifted and banners floating, while clouds of incense were wafted on the air. When the bank of the Bosphorus was reached the officiating priest stood at the edge of the water swinging a large wooden cross. Beside him, as close to the water as they could get, were half a dozen men wearing heavy coats. As the chanting priest came to the critical point of the service the men removed their coats, slipped off their sandals, and shivering in their bathing suits waited for him to throw the cross into the water. One year they mis- ~ took his motion and sprang into the water too soon. Discovering their mistake, they returned and resumed their places, now chilled to their very bones by the biting January north wind. The priest would throw the cross as far as he could and then the swimmers raced to see who could save it and bring it back to him. It was however a real struggle, for the man who first reached it was seized by his unsuccessful competitors and held under water until herelinquished it. As it rose to the surface, another would grasp it and seek to escape his rivals who in like manner sought to make him give it up. Thus it continued until at last one secured it who was able to escape the others and bring it to the shore and present it to the priest. Locally it was designated as “the saving of the cross” and I have wondered since whether it had not taken this form to symbolize the saving of the cross by the Christians of that country during the thousand years of oppressive Moslem rule. Whatever you see in any religious service of an Eastern church, look for the fact or experience which it symbolizes. In making the sign of the cross the thumb and first two fingers are joined at the tips, as a symbol of the trinity, and the brow, the breast, the right shoulder and the left shoulder are touched to indicate the consecration of mind, heart, soul, and strength. Incense is used almost constantly. The officiating priest or one of his assistants holds the censer, from which the smoke of the incense is rising, and swings it now toward the altar, now toward the Holy Doors. He passes down into the church and going around the room censes, that is swings the censer so that the smoke reaches the object he faces, every picture and sacred article in the room. Similarly does he cense the worshippers. Sometimes they passed me by, or from some distance swung the censer toward me. Once, however, when I was in an Albanian church, at the back, some distance from the main congregation, the priest advanced to where

I stood with a quizzical expression on his face, as though saying, ‘My friend, I know that you are not of us but I must do my duty,” and gave me the full measure of the fragrance of his benediction, which I respectfully, may I not say reverently, accepted with a bow.

Much use is made in all these services of the holy kiss. The pictures are kissed, as well as other sacred objects. When I was present at the ordination of a priest by the archbishop, I noticed that when his robes were put on him by the archbishop, every garment was kissed by each one who touched it including the recipient. There was much kissing also of the hand of the archbishop. The most frequent, however, is the kissing of the Bible. In some cases this salutation of honouring affection was impressed as the Gospels lay on a table, but sometimes the book was carried about the congregation for each one to kiss, and apparently all kissed the same spot. Having some Western ideas about hygiene, I confess that I was relieved to have the priests pass me by as they did in this act of devotion. Once, however, I was compelled to share in the kiss of peace. Naturally I always kept in the back of the church, so that I could follow those in front of me without betraying too markedly _my ignorance of the order of service. Once in a Gregorian church I saw the priests kissing each other and then it seemed as though the kiss was being passed through the congregation without any distinction of sex. As the ceremony moved back toward me I perceived that it was an attenuated form of the “Holy Kiss.’ There was no physical contact. The one who had received it made as though he would kiss the next person first on one cheek and then on the other but in no case did his lips come within an inch of the place where he was supposed to imprint the kiss. The man in front of me did not falter, but as he turned around to me, I thought that there was an amused look in his eyes as he gave me this symbol of brotherly love. As I was the last in that row I did not have to decide what to do further.

The structure of the building also has symbolic significance. If there is one dome, the unity of God is declared thereby; if three, the Trinity; if five, Christ and the four evangelists are honoured; if one large one and twelve smaller ones, the Master and his twelve apostles are brought to mind.

The most striking feature of the church auditorium is the Image-screen, which is a partition running across the entire width of the church about where the chancel rail runs in other churches. Behind it is the Sanctuary, where stands the altar. In front of it is a narrow platform from which steps lead down to the floor of the church, where, on either side, are the places for the choir, the deacon, the reader, and all who join in the responses of the services. In the Image-screen are three doors, the middle one being designated as the Royal Gate. This and the curtains which hang before it are closed most of the time, so that the officiating priest at the altar is invisible much of the time. A large part of the service he reads “secretly,” that is inaudibly. Other portions he chants aloud, the responses coming from his assist~ ants who are without the screen and visible to all

EASTERN CHURCHES II although he cannot be seen. While he is reading “secretly,” the deacon and choir, or two readers, continue reading the elaborate responsive services, while the congregation stands in reverent silence. In fact in most services I have attended these readers, who are laymen, seem to recite the major part of the service.

The Image-screen, so called because it is covered with ikons, is a very interesting study. These pictures vary in their subjects, including some of Christ, of Mary, the apostles, saints, and martyrs, as each church may have chosen. Some were crude. The strangest one I ever saw represented a man holding the head of John the Baptist on a platter. I asked an attendant who the man was that was holding the platter. He said that it was John the Baptist. “But,” I said, “I thought that the head on the platter was John the Baptist’s and this man has a head of his own. He cannot be John the Baptist.’ “Oh, yes,” he replied, “the artist thought it would not look well to have him stand without any head so he gave John the Baptist two heads, one on the platter and one on his shoulders.” In the same church the Image-screen had over the Royal Gate a great wooden eye, symbol of God’s omnipresence and omniscience. On the other hand some of these Image-screens were beautiful. In an Albanian church, the screen was made of choice oak. Running the width of the church above the three doors were two rows, of twenty-four pictures each, reproductions of the choicest works of the old masters and some of the best of the modern paintings, all bearing on the life and work of Christ.

Below these and between the doors were some large paintings of the apostles. To look at these, as the worshippers did every Sunday, was an education and an inspiration.

Repeatedly during the service the Royal Gate would swing open, the curtains would be drawn back, and the priest in his richly coloured vestments would step out, usually chanting. It was really very impressive, and must have been doubly so to those who realized the symbolic meaning of each separate appearance. ‘“‘When I come forth holding the Gospels before me,”’ said one of the priests to me, “‘I represent Jesus going forth to preach. When I come forth holding the cup before me, I represent Jesus going to Gethsemane.”

In Translations of the Primitive Liturgies, by Neale and Litterdale, occurs the following from the Liturgy of Malabar:

Then the priest poureth wine into the chalice and saith, “Let the precious Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ be mingled in the chalice.”

He poureth in water and saith,

“One of the soldiers came and with a spear pierced the side of our Lord Jesus Christ and forthwith came thereout Blood and Water, and he that saw it bare record and his record is true.”

Again pouring in wine, he saith, aay be mingled with wi d wine with et water be mingled with wine and wine wit water, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”

Not only is the life of Christ brought before them but also much else in the Bible. Isabel Hapgood in her Service Book of the Russian Church thus explains the symbolism of the Great Vespers:

“By these acts of devotion the thoughts of the Christians are carried back to the epoch of the creation of the world, to the blissful state of our first parents. The censing typifies the saying of Genesis, that at the creation the Spirit of God, the true light and incense unto the elect, moved over the face of the waters. The opening of the Holy Doors signifies that, from the creation of the world, man was appointed to dwell in Paradise. The blissful condition of mankind was of brief duration. As a token of the fact that men were banished from Paradise after the Fall, the Holy Doors are closed after the temple has been censed. The priest stands before the Holy Doors, which are closed, and reads secretly the Prayers of Light, thereby typifying Adam sorrowing in repentance before the gates of Paradise. The priest reads these prayers with uncovered head, in token of penitence and humility. . . . The Holy Doors are opened, in token that with the coming of the Lord, the Paradise of God was opened to men. The priest comes forth from the Sanctuary, standing erect, with his chasuble hanging straight, to signify humility and majesty. The deacon precedes the priest, as if he were the Forerunner, holding the censer in his hand. The censer with its incense signifies that through the mediation of the Lord, our prayers are borne upward to God like incense, and that the Holy Spirit is present in the temple.”

During the entire service the people ordinarily take no part in the service, except by occasional ejaculatory responses. In the Russian church sometimes they utter not a word, the participation of the people being entirely by bodily posture or action. On the other hand I attended one Ukrainian service where the whole congregation, led by a choir of mixed voices, joined in the chants. It was soul stirring. Ordinarily, however, the people participate little.

This is not surprising. The liturgy of any Eastern church is so extensive and varies so on different occasions that no ordinary congregation could be sufficiently familiar with it to participate to any degree. Think of the length of the services! The first few times I attended them I found them always under way. I was late. Having either been so well trained, or being urged to consistency by recalling how for years I had urged my people to be on time, I determined to be late no more. I asked one of the men when the service commenced. He avoided a direct answer and said, “You had better come at half-past ten or eleven.” I pressed for an answer and was told that it began at nine. “‘How long does it last?” “Oh, three hours and a half.”’ I confess that I did not always go on time and stay through the entire service. Neither did the congregation. I have been where there were three or four conducting the service, but where for half an hour I constituted the entire congregation. At other times I have shared the first part of the service with two or three earnest souls.

The explanation is this. What they call the Liturgy and the Roman church calls the Mass occupies an hour or two. Most people plan to come in for that.

But there are the “hours.” These are very long devotional services. The liturgy is preceded by one of these devotional services that occupies ordinarily even in an abbreviated form between one and two hours. For this the presence of the officiants is sufficient. In fact a Syrian priest told me that in his country, where there were monasteries, these services of “the hours” are observed in the monasteries and only the liturgy is read in the church for the people. And the Assyrian archbishop said that in his church they were often said by the priest at home. There is one form of service, called the All Night Vigil, which is so long that, if unabbreviated, it would occupy the entire night; and in some monasteries it is thus read.