Experiencing the Eucharist in some settings outside my home parish recently has caused me to ponder ways to get the bread and cup to everyone. I’m pretty comfortable with the familiar model in which people in robes (clergy, LEMs) carry the bread and cup around to the laity, who are kneeling or standing along an altar rail or in a line or arc. But I’m aware that this practice reinforces the message that there are people who are privileged to dispense holy things, and others who are not – even more so if there’s an altar rail separating the hoi polloi from the holy folk. Most days this doesn’t bother me much, but I’m not terribly satisfied with it, either. How else can we do this?

Often churches go to a “stations” model, where the congregation files up to a station where bread and wine are dispensed. This approach seems to get used especially when there are bigger-than-usual crowds – perhaps leaders are concerned that having everyone come to the altar rail will take too long.

I can see the rationale, but I don’t care for stations. This model further dilutes the little sense we have of being fed from a common table, which is pretty important in my understanding of the Eucharist. The folk kneeling at the altar rail, or standing shoulder to shoulder in a row, are momentarily embodying the oneness of the larger community as they gather around the altar. There’s a beauty in the casual closeness of kneeling elbow-to-elbow, even though we go back to our pews to sit a comfortable arm’s length apart. In contrast, walking up to a station is a solitary act – this is your little moment with the bread and cup, just like walking up to the counter when it’s your turn is your little moment with the bank teller.

Then there’s the everybody-pass-the-plate model, wherein the clergy and LEMs cede control and the plate and cup are passed among the community. The symbolism appeals to me. We are all God’s holy people, and we can all handle this holy food and share it with one another. I doubt Jesus handed a little individual bit of bread to each disciple at the Last Supper; he probably handed a chunk to the person on his left and another to the person on his right, and they took some and handed it on. The community is united around the table, AND empowered to feed one another.

So I want to like this model, I really do. But I have yet to see it work. I love the theology, but I’m not convinced it can be translated into good liturgical practice. Here’s the basic problem: People who aren’t used to serving others bread and wine are distracted by having to do so. They have to think about the words, and worry about getting them right. They aren’t sure whether to eat their bread (which means a pause in the action) and then serve the next person, or palm their bread and serve the next person, and then eat the bread surreptitiously once that anxiety-producing plate has moved along. They don’t know whether they should wipe the cup after themselves, or after the next person, or both – and how do you hold that little napkin, exactly? The upshot of this is not an embodied experience of the oneness of the Body of Christ, but a liturgical procedure carried out with a certain amount of fumbling and many uncertain glances.

Maybe these issues would be eased in a community that followed this practice all the time. But I recently attended Eucharist with a community where I believe this is their usual practice, and the awkwardnesses I’ve outlined above still seemed to be present. Has anyone seen differently? I would love to be convinced it can be done.

And what other models are out there that I have yet to encounter?

Recently, while in Boston for the Music that Makes Community conference (see my post about that wonderful experience here on my church blog), I took the opportunity to attend the Crossing – an emergent community based at St. Paul’s Cathedral, and led by the Rev. Stephanie Spellers and an able team of lay associates. This community shares distinctive, well-crafted liturgy – clearly within the Episcopal tradition, but with its own flavor. Having worshipped with them, I offer here my thoughts on a few of the key elements that give their worship its particular feel. 

1. Deep and broad lay participation. Every service at the Crossing includes many lay voices. A layperson gives a short homily most weeks.  After the sermon, other members of the congregation were invited to share brief reflections and responses. There’s also short segment called “Spiritual Practice,” in which, I gather, a member shares about something they’ve done recently to live out their faith – the evening I was there, a young woman told us a little about a recent mission trip. In addition, many of the short liturgical directions (the introduction to the Prayers, for example) are offered by laypeople. They’re clearly scripted (as they should be – scripting is good!), but still contribute to a sense of a community in which leadership is shared broadly. After attending the Crossing, I talked with a friend who is involved with that community and she assured me that this is no liturgical Astroturfing; that the liturgy and life of the Crossing really is shaped by a core group of involved laypeople collaborating with Rev Steph. (I noted that Rev Steph gets her chance to offer a little commentary and exhortation in the course of the improvised Eucharistic prayer and blessing – opportunities she uses gracefully and effectively.)

2. Use of space. The Crossing community gathers in the generous chancel of St. Paul’s nave. The space is arranged to create a sense of intimacy and familiarity. No actual sofas are involved, but there is a rug and cushions on the floor, and floor lamps provide the lighting. Light at a human level goes a long way towards making a big space like that feel cozy. The chairs are arranged choir-style, in two facing arcs, three rows each. Above, the altar, decorated with an icon and many candles; below, the steps down into the unlighted nave. During the service, there were two occasions when we were invited to wander out into the nave – to look at materials set out as part of the “Spiritual Practice” presentation, and to meditate, pray, or make art at a small art station during a 5-minute “Open Space” time following the sermon. So the nave was included as available space, but the focal point was the lighted circle of chairs in the chancel.

3. The music. The Crossing is gifted with some great musicians, who contribute tremendously to the feel of the worship. This evening they had a pianist, bass guitar, and someone playing a hand drum; this may well be the standard core group. The sound was low-key funk/jazz/gospel, and they did it well. The sung music was in keeping with this sound, which was fun, but the fact that the music ran under the rest of the liturgy too is what really gave the worship its feel. During almost the whole service, from the gathering time to the closing, one or more of these musicians was playing – sometimes just a drum beat, sometimes just quiet piano, sometimes drum and bass or piano and drum, sometimes all three. The music made many of the transitions – for example, shifting gradually into the tune for the opening chant, which was then picked up quietly by a couple of singers, which then gently called the community from chatting into singing and preparing for worship. Likewise, the end of the “Open Space” time was marked by the music moving into the key, and then the tune, of the song used to punctuate the Prayers, the next part of the liturgy. If it sounds like this much music would be intrusive, it wasn’t, mainly because the pianist in particular is very good at what he does. In any event, the musical “grooves” are clearly an integral part of Crossing worship. (The music paused for some reason while Rev Steph was gearing up for the blessing, and she called out, “Keep playing! I need a groove to bless by!” So they played, and she blessed.) 

Emergent is such a tricky movement to get a bead on. I’m glad to have had a chance to check out one Episcopal-rooted example. We welcome other accounts (or invitations to observe) Emergent worship, especially well-developed and intentional emergent worship like that of the Crossing. 

My basic parameters: It has to include as many people as possible, while still giving those who really really don’t want to do it a comfortable “out”; and it has to fulfill Jesus’ commandment on the subject: “You also ought to wash one another’s feet” – not, “your clergy…” or “your vestry should wash your feet,” which tends to reinforce hierarchy (through inversion, but still unmistakably) instead of mutuality. Oh, and it can’t be too elaborate or messy… 

What have you seen, or done, that worked well?

From the always peculiar webcomic, Sunday Morning Breakfast Cereal.

A tremendous piece of public work began on this bus.

Three seats up from the back door, on the right, near the window. December 1st, 1955.

A woman sat down. She was a seamstress, the elected secretary in the local NAACP, and recently returned from a course in Race Relations at the Highlander Folk School in Tennessee.

And when Rosa Parks stood up again, under arrest for not moving out of her seat when asked to by the driver, a plan of public action was put into motion; years of planning, preparation, and organizing become public, and the Montgomery Bus Boycott began.

“I did not want to be mistreated, I did not want to be deprived of a seat that I had paid for. It was just time… there was opportunity for me to take a stand to express the way I felt about being treated in that manner. I had not planned to get arrested. I had plenty to do without having to end up in jail. But when I had to face that decision, I didn’t hesitate to do so because I felt that we had endured that too long. The more we gave in, the more we complied with that kind of treatment, the more oppressive it became.”

Stir up, we beseech thee, O Lord, the wills of thy faithful people; that they, plenteously bringing forth the fruit of good works, may of thee be plenteously rewarded; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

The public work started on that day still continues.

Bus Photo from Wikimedia Commons, by Derek W. under a CC-BY-SA-3.0 license.
Rosa Parks photo from Wikimedia Commons, public domain.

There’s been a few other things going on as well, a few with relevance to this blog:

• I had the opportunity to attend a one-day workshop with Edward Tufte on information design and presentation. Quite a lot came up in that that I think has relevance in thinking about liturgy–more soon!
• I attended the “Music that Makes Community” workshop at St. Paul’s Chapel in New York City, where we spent several days working on ways of doing group singing without using printed music. The setting was amazing, we sang some great music, and I have a lot of interesting ideas to work on from that as well.

Blogging may continue to be a little on the light side for the next month or so, while we work through this move, but should start picking up again after that.