On liturgy as life.

A little more than a year ago I was sitting in my very first seminary course. The title of the course was "Foundations of Worship Arts." The professor, G, a born-and-raised Englishman-now-Stateside, did little to follow what I had imagined would be the course syllabus.

At first, lecture seemed anything but linear. We began with a three week discussion on aesthetic. G did his very best (which was incredibly effective) to break down our preconceived notions of what aesthetic is, what beauty is, what art is, what worship is, what liturgy is. This final piece - G's redefinition of what liturgy is - has been a life-giving source of challenge to me.

The simple fact of the matter is that the word liturgy does not entail anything specific, concrete, or perfect. Indeed, liturgy plainly refers to acts of worship.

And so, allow me to address my short list of things that liturgy is not:

1. Specific. When one speaks of liturgy, it is true that she may qualify the word with specifics, such as, "Western Protestant liturgy," or, "UCC liturgies." However, the stand-alone word does not imply any certain type of worship, or even worship inside a church. Rather, it merely says acts of worship. While liturgy may be thought of by most laypeople, and even by many of those ordained, as confining, it is actually the opposite. Without precursors or qualifiers, liturgy is about as broad as one can get when describing worship.
2. Concrete. Especially in the context of examining art in worship, worship is in no nature concrete. Therefore, neither is liturgy. But do not be mistaken; there are concrete liturgies that exist, some of which you have probably taken part in. Like lighting a candle after Mass. Or playing piano during songs of faith and praise. Or receiving the bread and cup of grace. Or smiling at the man who just sat in the seat next to you on the El. Or giving bus fare to the woman who asks. However, there is liturgy in the abstract as well. Like the prayer upon your lips as you light the candle after Mass. Or the realization that the song from Sunday morning is still playing through your head on Thursday afternoon. Or the emotional aftertaste of worthiness that is left by grace. ... Liturgy can be concrete, but is not limited to the concrete.
3. Perfect. Humans are messy. At times, we are down-in-the-dirt grimy. It is to be expected, for we are made from the earth (Gen. 2:7). Necessarily, human worship is messy. Our God is one who listens to the cries of her people from where they stand in their particular circumstance, celebration, anguish. The Divine does not expect clean-shaven, Sunday-shined, combed-back worship, for this is not true to the human condition. And if liturgy is simply the acts of human worship, then liturgy is inherently grimy too.

In his book Embracing Grace, Scot McKnight writes of Romans 12:1, that "worship ... is offering our bodies - that is, all we are - as a living and holy and acceptable sacrifice." This liturgy - this act of worship - of offering our whole selves to God boils down to us humans truly doing one thing: life.

The word liturgy means acts of worship. It is not specific, it is not concrete, it is not perfect. And yet, having had my worldview shifted in this discovery, I cannot help but hear the call to a specific, concrete, perfect liturgy, that is, living.

I seek a redeemed liturgy as life. Will you come along?

On tapestry.

Below I am sharing the prayer of confession that was used in this morning's communion liturgy at my church. I am sharing this prayer for a few reasons:

1. The prayer puts words into my heart that I personally need to be praying, but have yet been unable to articulate. (For reference, see On bus fares.)
2. Along those lines, it is necessary (in my opinion) to use the words of others when we cannot find our own words. God Almighty, the Most Holy, is a tapestry god. He is so diverse, both in and by nature; I believe it is important to communicate with this God via the tapestry of his image: his people. We celebrate this tapestry of faith and creation by acknowledging the lives - and in this case, words - of our sisters and brothers who, as divine image-bearers, are woven in beside us.

God of transfiguration, you meet us in the ordinary as well as in the extraordinary moments of life. We seek you in the valleys and on the mountaintops. Yet we admit that too often our eyes are blind to your presence, too often our ears are deaf to your call. When you reach out to us through the cries of the hungry, homeless, the least and lonely, too often our hearts shrink from responding. Forgive us, we pray, and set us free to love and to serve. Amen.