The following is written by the Rev'd Allan Bevier Warren, Rector of Church of the Advent, Boston and a beloved friend of Fr Ellsworth, our Rector. Worship is a dance. However baroque (a Solemn High Mass at the Advent) or plain (a simple Quaker Meeting House liturgy), it’s choreographed. Used with permission.

We should begin by thinking about ritual and ceremonial themselves. We have to do this because both these things have become strange to many people in today’s secular world. Often they are regarded only as ornament, things not important in themselves. What is important, it is thought, is the reality or truth or feeling to which they point or which they seek to express. The ritual is only the outward trapping in which that reality has become clothed: do away with it; the reality remains. This idea, enticing as it may be to many people, is a mistake. The fact of the matter is, rather, that the more significant a reality, the more necessary are the rituals and ceremonials needed to express it. Words are inadequate to us when we’re involved in the really important things in human life. At those points we must join ritual, ceremonial, symbol to the words. One obvious example of this is human love. When we are deeply in love with someone we discover that that short phrase, “I love you,” – precious as it is – is not enough. Words cannot capture what we feel, and we are forced to do something more to express ourselves: an embrace, a kiss, a gift, a nickname. These are part of the ceremonial of romantic love. Viewed from the outside they may appear trivial, inconsequential, but from the standpoint of one in love they are deeply important, for the reality of love is beyond expressing by words alone.

Nowadays we call this “body language,” and, fortunately, we are beginning to rediscover and appreciate its power in our lives. Often it does more than simply express various human realities. Indeed, in many instances it is able to enhance them and heighten our awareness of their presence. Through a kiss, for example, we not only demonstrate our feeling of love but also make very real and tangible that love between ourselves and our beloved. Ritual and ceremonial, then, in varying decrees have a two­fold function: to express and to enhance.

A liturgical example would be the practice of kneeling. How expressive is this posture of man’s place before the Almighty God in prayer. How greatly it enhances a prayerful attitude. Perhaps this is why many people feel uncomfortable when they are asked to pray in another posture, for kneeling just “feels right”. And yet the practice of kneeling is a rather new thing in the Church’s ritual. For the first thousand years – and still the case in the Orthodox Churches – standing with hands raised was the normal posture for prayer. Kneeling caught on in the Western Church as it was influenced by the ceremonial of European feudal society; one knelt before one’s superior. It has remained with us in the West because it does well what ceremonial is supposed to do: express and enhance the reality to which it points.

There is one other function of ritual which we ought to think about before we go on to consider some of the things that are done in Churches. This function is to enable us to participate more fully in what is going on. The worship of the Church is not a spectator sport. The Hebrew and Greek words which mean worship originally indicated actions: the Hebrew means literally “to prostrate oneself,” the Greek means “to bow down.” A later word which is uniquely Christian, liturgy, points to the same thing. It means a common work, something which we do together. As the Bible and tradition understand it, then, worship is an action and requires participation. To participate is to enter into the worship; to sit back and watch, as if going to Church were like going to a lecture or to the theatre, is to miss the point, and, by the way, is bound to disappoint us. (Let’s face it: even the best of preachers have their bad days; even the best of choirs sometimes fall flat.) To worship is to enter into an activity, and it is precisely the Church’s ritual and ceremonial which enable us to enter. At times it thrills us. Other times it makes a point, dramatically, about our Faith. Often it demands that we do certain appointed actions in order that we become a part of what’s going on.

It is an error to identify ritual or ceremonial with any particular church or denomination. Each one has its own and the variety is enormous. The silence and austerity of a Quaker meeting, for instance, is just as much a ritual act as the most elaborate catholic liturgy. The practices that we shall consider now are chosen because they are traditional and are most often part of the worship of parishioners at the Church of the Advent [and at St Stephen’s, Belvedere].

BOWING. The significance of bowing is obvious, as it is part of the ritual of common courtesy even in today’s world. We bow slightly when we meet someone and shake their hand. We bow as we pass an acquaintance in the street. It is a gesture of acknowledgement and respect. In Church people bow toward the Altar when they enter or leave their pews, acknowledging it to be the focal point of the Church’s worship and the symbol of Christ’s sacrificial life. A bow is made to the Cross as it passes in procession and at the name of Jesus or of the Persons of the Holy Trinity. Some bow toward the Bishop as a sign of respect and a recognition of his authority in the Church, just as they bow toward the Celebrant in procession to acknowledge his role as presider at the Holy Table.

GENUFLECTING. A genuflection is made by keeping the body erect and touching the right knee to the ground. Originally it was a gesture of deference towards a superior in the court ceremonial of the Roman Empire and was adopted by the Church in the West. It is commonly made by people on leaving or entering their pews when the consecrated bread and wine of the Eucharist is present on the altar or is reserved nearby. It is an affirmation of Christ’s real presence in the Sacrament. [At St Stephen’s, the Rector genuflects at the Altar to acknowledge the mystery of the Incarnation of God the Son in Jesus Christ who lays down his life for the life of the world. He does the same at the words “and the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us,” when the Prologue (1. 1 – 18) of St. John’s Gospel is read. Some parishioners, you’ll notice, will genuflect in the center aisle as they leave their pew to approach the Altar.]

THE SIGN OF THE CROSS. The Cross, of course, is Christianity’s fundamental symbol. From the earliest time it has been used by people as a mark of their devotion to the One who died upon it. Together with the Altar, the Cross above it serves as a focal point in most churches, and it is worn as a pendant over the heart by many people. Our lives as Christians begin with this symbol, for it is part of the rite of baptism for a priest to mark us with the Cross.

As early as the second century tracing a cross upon themselves is mentioned as a gesture Christians made in worship and during prayer, when they awoke in the morning or went to bed at night. It is usually done by touching the right hand first to the forehead, then to the breast, then to the left shoulder and to the right (or in the Orthodox Churches, the right should and then the left). This practice is very, very ancient, but it is hard to say what its significance is in any precise way. Perhaps this gesture is just another one of those things that “feels right” – to mark oneself with the Cross, the symbol of Christ’s death and self-giving love for us, an action reminding us of what the Faith is all about. When this gesture should occur is also hard to specify, for the practice varies from church to church and individual to individual. It may be made at the beginning or at the end of prayer, at the end of the Gloria in excelsis and the end of the Creed, whenever the Trinity is mentioned, at the words, ‘but deliver us from evil’ in the Lord’s Prayer, and in threefold form over the forehead, the lips, and the heart before the solemn proclamation of the Gospel in the Eucharist. (In this case it is often accompanied by the silent prayer: “May my mind, my lips, and my heart give praise to the Lord” or “May my mind ponder, my lips proclaim, and my heart receive the Gospel of Christ”.) Sometimes it echoes, so to speak, the sign of the Cross made by a bishop or a priest when blessing or pronouncing Absolution to remind ourselves that blessing and forgiveness have their origin in the Cross.

What should you do? The old rule of thumb in the Episcopal Church used to be: kneel for prayer, stand for praise, sit for instruction. And though this was not followed in all instances, it is not a bad rule to remember if you are puzzled. But what about those other things I’ve just mentioned? Well, the best criterion is to do what “feels right”. Perhaps you might want to try some of these things for a time and see if they work for you. As the old farmer said, “Can’t hurt. Might help.” If they do, fine. If they don’t, discard them. The point is to do something which is natural for you, and personally expressive, and which, again, “feels right”, and thereby to enter as fully as possible into worship. That is our chief duty as believers, and as Scripture teaches, it is from worship “in spirit and in truth,” with heart and soul and mind that all other Christian virtues and blessings proceed.

An Instructed Eucharist

I. Introduction

Every service of Christian worship is a drama – a drama in which we enact, proclaim, and, as well, participate in the mighty acts of God. That’s what we are doing this morning; that’s what we do each time the Holy Communion – the Eucharist – is celebrated. Our drama today will be a little different, for we shall stop the action at certain points to explain its significance. We are doing this so that all of us may come to a deeper understanding of our worship and its meaning and, thereby, may participate with more enthusiasm, understanding, and joy – and ultimately with greater spiritual benefit.

Right now the stage is empty. The principal actors have not yet entered – though you and I are here and we are also actors in the drama. (Remember that. Never forget it. We too, are actors in the drama. We stand. We sit. We kneel. We speak and sing. We make various gestures which allow us to participate, enter into, and be involved in the drama of the Service.) Soon, however, the principal players will arrive. They will make their entrance in procession as we sing a hymn.

There’s more to this entrance than just getting them in where they ought to be. It’s rather like the rising of a curtain as a play begins. The curtain begins to rise and we know that suddenly we shall be carried into another world, the world created by the play. The Hymn at the Procession is just like that. It’s a sign. It signals to us that here in Church we are about to be swept into another reality — another world — not the ordinary world we live in day to day — but the extraordinary world of God, our world as He created and intended it to be.

II. After Entrance Hymn Prayer Book: Rite I, pp. 323 – 325; Rite II, pp. 355-357

Ever since the Resurrection of our Lord, Christians have gathered together week by week, sometimes day by day, to perform one particular action – remembering His death and receiving His life with bread and wine and prayer. Many things in the Church have changed, but this one act has remained basically the same. It has been thought so essential that Christians have often risked their lives and sometimes lost their lives just to do this thing. It has been performed in innumerable different ways from the simplest gathering with bread and wine to the most complex and ornate ceremonial. It has been known by many names: the Holy Eucharist, the Lord’s Supper, the Holy Communion, the Divine Liturgy, the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. Essentially, however, the action is the same, and it’s not at all forcing a point to say that the observance of this act is one thing that has formed a bond of continuity over the many centuries of the Church’s existence and across the painful divisions that separate Christians. The various Churches may think differently about the Eucharist and many perform it in different ways, but most agree that it is necessary and fundamental and commanded by our Lord.

A priest cannot celebrate the Eucharist alone. The Church forbids this, for the Liturgy is not a private thing. The Eucharist is the Church’s Act, and it can only take place in a community, performed communally by a part of the whole Church. Again, it is a drama: many people participating together in one action. From earliest times it has been called the Liturgy, from leitourgia, a Greek word which roughly translated means “work,” specifically, public work, a work of the people. The Eucharist is the Church’s work par excellence. In it the Church does all those things which make the Church what it is: it hears the word of God in the Scriptures, praises God for His majesty and love, offers prayer for the necessities of life, and partakes of the Sacrament of bread and wine which the Lord has ordained. The Liturgy is the Church’s work, and in this work the Church becomes in a very real and obvious sense what it is: God’s people, the Body of Christ gathered to acknowledge His real and living presence in Word and Sacrament and to feed upon the grace and power which Christ gives us through Word and Sacrament.

If a priest occupies a prominent place in the celebration of the Liturgy, this is because the Church has singled out particular persons to be her instruments and preside in the carrying out of this particular action. This morning Father Wood is our presider, the celebrant, of the Liturgy. He performs this function in the name of our Bishop who is the normal presider at every act within his jurisdiction. We have symbolized this already by the Processional Cross which brings the principal ministers into the Church. The Cross here is said to be a sign of the Bishop. The Bishop leads his people into the Church and to the Altar where they will meet Christ.

The celebrant, then, is the Bishop’s deputy in the Liturgy and, as such, has a specific function, a particular role, in the liturgical drama. The ancient vestment which he wears, called a chasuble, indicates this role. Supporting parts in the drama are played by the Deacon and Sub-deacon, who also wear vestments which indicate their function as assisting ministers. They and others at the Altar may be conspicuous by their dress, but they are no more important than you and me in the congregation. Because . . . again . . . the Eucharist is the action of the whole Church. It is always together that the Eucharist is celebrated – by a body, by a community. The congregation’s participation in hymn, in response, in prayer is absolutely essential.

The procession has entered now. The stage, so to speak, is set and full. And we begin our work by blessing God. The ordinary world around us does not bless God. The every-day world largely ignores God. But in this other world, this extra-ordinary and essential world of the Liturgy, God is indeed blessed. This sets the tone. “Blessed be God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit” we say, “And blessed be His Kingdom, now and forever.” We then pray to God to prepare us for what is to come. We ask Him to send His Holy Spirit into our hearts – to make our intentions pure and to enable us to praise and love Him with all our being. Afterwards we acclaim and praise Him – merciful and glorious, glorious in His mercy and love for humankind. Depending on the season, one or the other or sometimes both of two very ancient hymns – dating from the fourth century – follow immediately. The Kyrie eleison (from the Greek for “Lord have mercy”) or the Gloria in excelsis (from the Latin for “Glory to God in the Highest”). Both of these come from the East and have been a part of the Church’s worship from earliest times. The Kyrie has a double emphasis. It was originally a shout of praise directed towards God or even an earthly ruler. It is like the Biblical words “Alleluia” or “Hosanna”. It can be understood as the joyful cry “The Lord is merciful!” In another context it can be understood as a plea for mercy from God. The Gloria which often comes next is a wonderful and ecstatic hymn of praise to God acclaiming His splendor and His majesty in Christ. Its tone is one of jubilant celebration, so much so that during the more somber seasons of Advent and Lent we leave it out of the Liturgy – to return on the great feasts of Christmas and Easter.

The Kyrie and Gloria ended, the celebrant calls us to prayer and prays on our behalf the collect for the day. This is a short prayer which refers to the feastday we may be observing or to the lessons which will next be read. It collects together or summarizes the themes which will be the focus of the liturgy.

III. After The Epistle Prayer Book: Rite I, pp. 325 – 326; Rite II, pp. 357-358

The action of the Eucharist consists of Word and Sacrament. Both are fundamental parts of the life and faith of every Christian. At this point we are engaged in the Service of the Word. We have just heard a reading from the Old Testament – those books which record the history and yearning of the Hebrew people and which look forward to Christ – and from the Epistles – letters of instruction written to members of the early Church. This first part of the Service, together with the sermon, has its origin in the worship of the ancient Jewish Synagogue. Like that it is primarily a service of teaching and instruction.

In most Churches lay people who are members of the congregation read the first two lessons. One particular reading, however, has by an early tradition always been reserved to the clergy: the solemn reading of the Gospel. Doubtless you’ve noticed that we read the Gospel lesson at Mass in a manner very different from the lessons. For instance, the singing of a hymn or a chant and a procession precede this reading. Much more solemnity, more ceremony is involved in the proclamation of the Gospel. Why is this? Again, because the structure of our Christian faith is twofold, Word and Sacrament. This doesn’t simply describe what Christianity is from the outside, but from the inside: how it works as a religion. It means something important and profound: that we seek and find Christ’s presence in the Word and in the Sacrament. At the reading of the Gospel Christ makes Himself present to us in his Word just as surely as he was present with his disciples two thousand years ago. For this reason before and after the proclamation of the Gospel we hail and acknowledge not the reading, but Christ himself, the Word of God, who is mystically present in these words of Scripture. We stand at the reading of the Gospel and face the Book in order to be addressed and encountered by the One who comes to us in His Word. “Glory to You, Lord Christ,” we say. Because the reading or singing of the Gospel is such a special act, it is reserved for members of the ordained ministry — a priest, a bishop, or a deacon. The Gospel Book, itself a symbol of Christ, is brought in the procession to the midst of the Church to symbolize the coming of the good news of Christ to His people.

At a Solemn Eucharist, the book may be censed. The use of incense is deeply rooted in the Scriptures and in the traditional practice of the Church. At this point in the service it is derived from the practice of the ancient Roman Empire in which incense was carried before important personages as a mark of their rank. And so, before the reading of the Gospel we greet our Lord, our King, with incense — a mark of the respect and homage which He deserves.

IV. After the Gospel Prayer Book: Rite I, pp. 358-359; Rite II, pp. 358 – 359

The lessons have been read; the Gospel proclaimed. At this point in a normal service the sermon would be preached. Afterwards we respond to God’s Word to us in Scripture and sermon by declaring our common faith in the words of the Nicene Creed. This is an outline of belief which the Church adopted some 1600 years ago in a council at Nicaea, a town in present-day Turkey. It was chosen then to be and probably still is the best statement of what Christians believe — a summary of the meaning and hope of the Faith. In the Creed we affirm our belief in the mighty acts of God for our salvation – acts of power and love – the reason we are here today.

V. After the Creed Prayer Book: Rite I, pp. 359-360,; Rite II, pp. 383-395

The Liturgy continues with prayer. Prayer, for the Church and for every Christian, is like the bloodstream and the blood. It joins everything together and it brings life. Without blood the body dies. Without prayer our faith becomes boring, sterile, and dead.

In the intercessions we present to God in prayer our own needs and necessities, and the particular needs of those close to us, family or friends, who may be sick or troubled, and the needs of the Church and the world. Then in prayer we confess our sins – those acts in our lives which have denied and stifled Christ’s working in us and have taken us away from Him.

Christ promised to the Church the power to bind and to lose, that is, the power to forgive sins in his name. The celebrant, then, on behalf of the Church pronounces over us the Absolution, a formal declaration of the forgiveness of our sins which Christ promises and gives to every Christian. And then, assured of Christ’s forgiveness, we greet one another in His name. It is sin that separates us one from another. It is sin that destroys the peace between us. In Christ our peace is restored.

VI. Before the Offertory

In the early years of the Church’s life, if you had not yet been baptized, at this point in the Mass you would be made to leave the building. The Liturgy of the Sacrament, the second part of the Eucharist, was considered too sacred for the eyes of those who had not been initiated into the mystery of Christ’s Redemption. The unbaptized were expelled and in some places the doors to the Church were locked. It was with great seriousness and even awe that the early Christians regarded the miracle of the Mass.

The action of the Liturgy now moves from the pulpit and the lectern — the place of the Word — to the Altar — the locus of Christ’s sacramental presence, as bread and wine are brought forward in the Offertory and prepared.

We are accustomed to think of the Offertory as the Collection – the collection of our offerings of money which we return to God as stewards, in thanksgiving, for the support of His Church. There is absolutely nothing wrong with this and the practice is to be encouraged! In the beginning, this was not the case. In the ancient Church money played no part in the Offertory. Rather the Offertory consisted of the gathering together and bringing to the Altar of bread and wine — bread and wine which often each person brought individually to the Church.

Bread and wine and the Offertory itself are powerful symbols. In the first place, bread and wine represent in microcosm the whole life of humanity – the life and work of men and women in the Creation, which God has entrusted to man’s care. The bread is not merely grain; the wine is not merely the juice of the grape. They are more than that. They go beyond simple nature. Rather, they are grain and grapes which have been transformed by human life and work. In the second place, we may see the Offertory as a symbol of the Christian life itself – these elements of bread and wine, like the life of the Christians, are given to up God to be received back infused and alive with the presence, and life, and grace of Christ. Members of the congregation – representatives of— all – bring forward the gifts which we shall receive back changed and transformed and which by the grace and power of Christ will transform us.

After the Offertory Prayer Book: Rite I, pp. 333 – 338: Rite II, pp. 361-376

This last part of the Liturgy – its climax and conclusion – stems from the last supper of Jesus with his disciples. Strangely enough, we don’t know a great deal about the particulars of this meal, which has so often been repeated. The Gospels don’t tell us much. What we can say for certain is that Jesus commanded the Church to “Do this in remembrance of Me” and that Christians have remembered his command and repeated this meal over and over throughout the centuries. Their experience has always been this: that He was present with them when they obeyed His command.

This part of the Eucharist – the Liturgy of the Sacrament – begins with the celebrant’s exhortation to “Lift up your hearts.” “Be joyful,” the priest tells us, “Sursum corda!” “Lift up your hearts.” The key to the meaning of the Prayers to follow lies in what the celebrant says next: “Let us give thanks to the Lord our God,” for the Eucharistic Prayer is primarily a giving thanks to God for His acts of power in creation and redemption. This is, after all, just what Jesus did at that Last Supper: “He took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it . . . he took the cup of wine; and when he had given thanks, he gave it to them.” This same action – the giving of thanks – is the celebrant’s and also our action in the consecration of the gifts of bread and wine. For this reason we call the consecratory prayer “The Great Thanksgiving.” In fact, this strange Greek word “Eucharist” which we’ve been using means exactly that – to give thanks.

We give thanks to God first by repeating in the Sanctus the hymn which Isaiah the prophet heard sung around the throne of God – “Holy, Holy, Holy Lord, God of power and might.” Next, we praise the one who will soon come to us in the Sacrament of his body and blood, repeating the words of the crowd which greeted Jesus as he entered Jerusalem on Palm Sunday – “Blessed is He who comes in the Name of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest!” And in the prayer of consecration we give thanks to God for His mighty work in Jesus, the Christ. We pray that He will bless the gifts of bread and wine – that they may become the Body and Blood of Christ; that we, being made holy by the Spirit, may find our real food and real drink in His Body and Blood. This is the Christian sacrifice, the holy sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving in which we recall thankfully the sacrifice of God in Christ. Here at The Church of the Advent the tower bell is rung at certain points during this prayer, namely at the Words of Institution: “This is my body. This is my blood.” The bells have their origin in the medieval Church. Their function was then and is now to alert us and focus our attention on the central mystery and miracle of the Liturgy – the coming of Christ to His people. The bells are rung and the celebrant lifts high the host and chalice for all to see.

In the Episcopal Church we believe that something really occurs to the bread and wine when they are consecrated by the priest and the Church. In this we are joined by the great and historic tradition of Christianity – by the Orthodox Churches, the Roman Catholic Church, the Lutheran Churches, and several of the Reformed Churches. Some say that the Liturgy is only a kind of memorial: we eat bread and drink wine and remember Jesus when we do it. Certainly that’s true, but in the Anglican Communion we claim that there is more to it than that. We believe that when we gather together and give thanks over the bread and wine, Jesus Christ – as he promised – will make himself present to us, sacramentally, in the bread and wine. This is the faith of the Church. Moreover, and most important this has been the experience of the Church from the very beginning. The bread and wine become sacraments – instruments, signs effective in themselves – by which Christ Himself gives us his presence, and his power, and his life. God in Christ is always working to be near to us – to be close to us, and with us. He is, of course, continually present to us at every time and in every place, but in the Holy Communion He is as near to us as the food we eat and the wine we drink.

VIII. After the Communion Prayer Book; Rite I, pp. 339: Rite II, pp. 365-366

We have received Christ’s Body and Blood. What else is there now to do, but again give thanks? We do so in a concluding prayer and the Liturgy ends as the celebrant blesses us and we are dismissed. We have celebrated the drama of God’s mighty acts; we have partaken of the Body and Blood of his Son; we have been swept into the extraordinary world of the Liturgy. We are dismissed to go out into the everyday world and take with us what we have received here, to spread abroad the love and power and presence of Christ. And what is our response to this? Once again – and how appropriate that these are the very last words spoken in the Mass! – “Thanks be to God.”

A Note about the term Transubstantiation

Many people equate the doctrine of the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist with the theory of Transubstantiation. They are, in fact, not exactly the same thing. The doctrine of the Real Presence asserts what the Church has believed, taught, and experienced since earliest times, i.e. that Christ is really and truly present to his people in the Sacrament of the Altar. Transubstantiation is one theory among the many which seek to explain how Christ is present; to articulate the mechanics, so to speak, of His presence. It was developed in the thirteenth century by St. Thomas Aquinas in order to combat rather crude theories of the Eucharist that gave rise to superstition. St. Thomas’ explanation depended, as did his theology, on the philosophy and metaphysics of Aristotle.

By the time of the Reformation an intellectual reaction had taken place against St. Thomas’ thought, which had become the official teaching of the Roman Church, and also against the Aristotelianism upon which it is based. Luther and the English Reformers protested that Aquinas’ doctrine of transubstantiation per se can nowhere be found in Scripture or the early teaching of the Church.  They were right; it can’t. It was, in their view, an illegitimate development which was a departure.  They never, however, denied the doctrine of the Real Presence; indeed, they defended it. It was not until the second generation of the Reformation came along that this fundamental and scripturally-based doctrine was questioned and by some denied.

Even if we regard the doctrine of Transubstantiation as simply one way of explaining the gift of Christ’s Real Presence in the Eucharist, there is still some value in continuing to use the word.  All accounts of how Christ is present – even those which the Continental and English Reformers came up with – attempt to make it clear and undoubted that a miracle is taking place in the bread and the wine. For some in the Anglo-Catholic tradition, Transubstantiation – in a metaphorical rather than metaphysical sense – remains the best term to point to this miracle – the mystery of Jesus’ Real Presence with his people, veiled in bread and wine.

Be that as it may, a good way to end this discussion is to quote verses on the matter attributed to a very clever and crafty lady, Elizabeth I.

His was the word that spake it,
He took the bread and brake it;
And what that word doth make it,
That I believe and take it.