Category Archives: Liturgy

Articles expounding upon the Christian year, the sacraments, or other aspects of the life of worship.

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“Dude, You’ve Got a Smudge on Your Forehead.”

Today is Ash Wednesday. It marks the beginning of the season of Lent in the Christian calendar; it marks a technical end to all the rousing debauchery of Carnival, Mardi Gras, and, here in Germany, Fastnacht. It marks the beginning of a day in which people wonder if I’m a Catholic; it marks a temporary end to sound, reflective understanding when it comes to Christian tradition and history. It marks the beginning of nervous eyes creeping up to my forehead and considering what kind of wayward, unbiblical act is being represented; it marks an unbeknownst end to the appreciation of symbolism in worship. It marks the beginning of a sacramental forty-day period of spiritual ascetism and followship of Christ; it marks the hopeful end of selfish indulgence and a life stunted by fear.

Carnival is over. Now what?

I began observing Ash Wednesday in 2005, when it was organized in the chapel of the small Baptist seminary where I went to school. I attended, but with certain reservations – mainly, I just wanted to see what this whole thing was about. What I discovered was a day of observance steeped in deep, powerful symbolism and authentic devotion, and I haven’t been absent from an Ash Wednesday service since. For a few years, I’ve even organized services myself when I’ve discovered there wouldn’t be one nearby.

In defense of what I feel to be a very important day in the Christian year, here are the top three questions I get asked most often about this day, and as comprehensive an answer as I can write without rambling too long on each:

#3 – “Aren’t you a Baptist? Isn’t Ash Wednesday a Catholic thing?”

First of all, it is important to remember that even if you cherish your particular denomination and its doctrines and preferences, Christians should never allow their denomination to define them or dictate the way in which they may express their devotion to God. If your denomination (or, more likely, your specific church community) is doing that, I suggest you make a break for it. Second of all, while the Catholic church does indeed observe Ash Wednesday, this feast day (as it is known in the Christian calendar) is in no way exclusive to Catholicism. There are many Protestant denominations that observe the day, including Anglicans, Lutherans, Methodists, Presbyterians, not to mention many “non-denominational” congregations; it was in a Baptist seminary where I first attended a service. There is a pervasive misunderstanding in the Church that if something is steeped in tradition or was first practiced centuries ago, then it must be Catholic. We are even more misguided when we assume that these things must be unfounded or extra-biblical, as if anything that is ancient in practice is corrupt, or as if Catholicism has nothing worthwhile to offer “real” Christians. This is illogical, unreasonable folkism. A Christian who maintains an open mind and carefully examines historical tradition will find that there is much that all denominations still hold in common, and that, from each other, we can learn wonderful truths about diversity.

#2 – “So, what’s with the ashes smudged on your forehead? Is it supposed to mean something?”

Yes, it absolutely is supposed to mean something. It’s called symbolism, and it is far more powerful than we often give it credit. I spend my days teaching my students how to recognize the deep significance of Gatsby’s green light, or what the rock wall really stands for in Frost’s poem, or what Laura’s collection of glass animals reveals about her character – in other words, how symbolism underscores the human experience. But the same device that infuses works of literature with power can do the same for our worship of God. Think about it – what are sacraments, really? Let’s take a specific one we’re all familiar with – the Lord’s Supper. Now, if you’re a Catholic, you may very well hold to transubstantiation, the belief that the bread and wine actually become Christ’s flesh and blood. However, if you are a Protestant that embraces this ritual (yes, it’s okay to use that word), then you are embracing symbolism – the bread and wine stand for Christ’s flesh and blood, and, if observed with reverence and humility, this symbol is extraordinarily powerful. The same is true for the ashes imposed on the forehead of the believer participating in an Ash Wednesday service. Specifically, they are meant to remind the believer that he or she is earthly (“Remember you are dust…”); eventually, the physical body returns to this substance (“and to dust you shall return.”) However, the ashes are imposed in the sign of the cross, reminding us each time we look in the mirror that while we are earthly, the cross of Christ, along with the Resurrection, has reconciled us to God, and we shall also be resurrected “on the last day.” There are realists littering the world – many of them are faithful churchgoers – who would spurn symbolism because it seems like a lot of mysticism and hocus pocus. The truth is, worship is dependent upon the power of symbolism. The next time you sit in a church service, consider how many symbols are incorporated into the service, or even to the room in which you’re sitting.

#1 – “Why do you observe Ash Wednesday? Is there even any biblical basis for it?”

"Remember who you are - remember Whose you are."

I do this because, before that service in 2005, my cup of Christianity had seemingly run dry. I was tired of all the artificial devotion I viewed in people, and was burnt out on the same old worship styles. I felt that if I sang one more repetitive verse of “I Could Sing of Your Love Forever,” I might never want to sing of His love ever again. I was fed up with what felt like a forced devotion and a stale faith. However, over the course of that year, I had several opportunities to experience different faith traditions – I attended liturgical services, was introduced to the Christian calander and Lectionary, participated in contemplative prayer at a local church, and even spent a week at a Benedictine monastery. In addition to experiencing the depth of symbolism in these things, I was intrigued by the connection some of these practices and viewpoints maintained with the Church throughout history; some traditions harked all the way back to the early Church of the first and second centuries. Ironically, I found incorporating many of these disciplines rejuvenated my faith and desire to worship God. While some people find ancient tradition old fashioned, I found it revitalizing. Of course, my first reservation was whether some of these things were even biblical. It is important that we always make a conscious effort to examine if something is true; what I learned, however, is that not everything the Church does or says comes straight from the Scriptures. Many of the ideas and practices woven into our denominational creeds do come by way of specific interpretations of the biblical text, but there are others that exist because the worshippers and leaders of the early Church continually sought to clarify just what exactly they believed. Thus, even something as fundamental as the Trinity (God the Father, God the Son, God the Spirit = One God) is never specifically outlined in Scripture. Rather, it was the ascertainment of the early Church fathers who posited this idea and then backed it up with specific biblical passages that seemed to point to this concept.

When it comes to Ash Wednesday, the most likely explanation of its purpose comes from a particular amount of time determined by early Church leaders in which new converts would first learn about the fundamental doctrines, disciplines and Church observances, culminating in mass new-member baptisms on Easter Sunday, which was originally the only day baptisms were held. Over time, this period was adapted to correspond to the traditional, numerological forty-day period of preparation (Moses on Mt. Sinai, forty years of desert wandering, Jesus’ temptation in the desert, or even the belief that the Savior lay in the tomb for forty hours). Since new members were expected to understand the extremely weighty truth that is Christ’s sacrifice, this time of preparation was marked by ascetic fasting and disciplined study of theological realities, very much like the disciplines that mark our modern day observance of Lent. And the ashes? Come on, you can’t throw a dart at a page of the Old Testament describing repentance that doesn’t include the use of ashes. As for the sackcloth, well, that’s harder to come by these days, I suppose.

Final Thoughts

So, I suppose the last thing to consider is whether or not I think all Christians should observe Ash Wednesday. While I believe it is a day of deep significance, and it resonates with me on a very personal level, I don’t think observing this particular feast day is for everyone. What I do beleive, though, is that, as Christians, we must – we absolutely must – be about the discipline of examining why we believe what we believe, and why we worship the way we worship, and why we do the things we do as Christians. Whether we like it or not, the world is watching us – our failures are public while our triumphs are private. All the more reason to live lives that are marked by open-minded examination, compassionate understanding, and a willingness to embrace the profound, exhaustive history of our Savior’s legacy.

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Will You Be My Obscure Martyred Saint?

There is an old episode of The Simpsons in which the town of Springfield is caught up in the celebration of “Love Day,” a holiday similar to our modern Valentine’s Day and one that Lisa reminds everyone is just a made-up occasion allowing greeting card and candy companies another day in which their unnecessary products are suddenly in high demand for no other reason than to observe the standard festivities.

Statue of St. Valentine

It does seem odd – all the pink and red and hearts and candy and cherubs armed with bow and heart-tipped arrows. How on earth did this particular saint’s feast day become a day that makes half the Western population stomach-sick while making the other googly-eyed half lovesick? Well, I did some research and would like to briefly impart what I discovered. If you are one of the second half people mentioned above, I suggest you leave off reading this and go eat another piece of mediocre chocolate, or inhale another whiff of the roses purchased at four-times the normal price.

St. Valentine is actually not a single person at all. Most scholars confess there is not a lot known about the guy, and that he may be a composite saint – that is, representing several obscure Christian martyrs grouped together with Valentinus the Presbyter, of whom all historians really know is a name and where he was buried in Rome. He is so undistinguished that in 1969 the Catholic Church chose to discontinue the specific liturgical commemoration, though he/they still remain(s) on the standard list of martyred saints recognized by the Church.

What most people would be interested to know, however, is how a martyred saint (who, according to our best guesses, could have been a Roman priest, a bishop, or some guy from a Christian community in Africa) somehow became the poster boy for all this lovey-dovey loviness. There are some who would like to martyr him all over again if only to take out some rage on the guy who annually causes crowded restaurants, increased chocolate consumption, a rash of embarrassing rom-coms on television and in theaters, and, of course, those ridiculously-priced roses (as a side note, I feel for you if you’re planning a funeral on February 14, especially if it’s for someone who loved roses or was named after one). Let me seek to redirect the blame for this ooey-gooey madness where it more likely belongs, off of the martyred saint (hasn’t he suffered enough?) and onto the guy most people who suffered through twelfth-grade English would like to kick in the junk anyway – Geoffrey Chaucer.

Middle English never sounded so ... um ... modern.

That’s right, the writer of everyone’s favorite The Canterbury Tales is most likely the culprit for popularizing the emphasis on love during the Feast of St. Valentine. Why? Well, c’mon, the guy’s livelihood concerned taking Christian tradition (pilgrimages, feast days, etc.) and making them fashionable, especially to a medieval culture that was all about the whole courtly love thing.

As opposed to the less esteemed Courtney Love thing...

In one of his lesser known works, Chaucer fictionalized the meaning of the holiday to play up the noble beauty of chivalrous romance between a man and a woman? Apparently, we didn’t already have an official day to celebrate that stuff. Hey, Geoff, which one should we pick? How about the feast day for which no one really remembers the point? Not only this, but because Chaucer was such a respected literary/historical figure (despite works of dubious accuracy), his new definition of Valentine’s Day caught on with later writers who were compiling detailed explanations of saints and their specific feast practices in order to make a case for liturgical veneration in a time of internal debate and reform with the Church. Thus, the fib found support that gave it some real weight.

So, there you have it. The little bumblebee card Wendy Peters dropped in your paper plate mailbox in second-grade – the one you made with macaroni and glitter and hoped to God would be as full as everyone else’s lest you be labeled a lovelorn loser and stigmatized for the rest of your adolescence – and the rush you felt from receiving that cheap little piece of paper pocked with bad spelling (Wendy had yet to master the “i before e” rule, but, man, was she smokin’ hot)… It’s all because libel wasn’t an issue back in the Dark Ages, which meant a writer that was unwilling (or unable) to fact-check just made some stuff up that he knew would play well to an audience equally uninformed in the particulars of early Church history.

Ten years later, she would choose the quarterback over you...

Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone!

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Merry Feast of Christ!

This morning, Katy Jo began crying at 6:20 AM – a wakeup time that is a sign of Christmas mornings to come, I’m sure. Weary from only six hours sleep (not from waiting on Santa, but rather a late Christmas Eve viewing of True Grit), I groaned and rolled out of bed. Starbucks coffee in the maker, eggnog for creamer, fire in the fireplace (even in Houston, I believe it is cold enough outside). My parents came to Houston and joined Leigh’s family for the festivities. We watched my two nieces squeal with delight at the candy and crayons in their stocking and the assortment of new dolls – “It’s waterpoof!” – that soon lay scattered on the living room floor. Nice shirts, a Pierce Pettis c.d., a DVD, a Greg Garrett book and a brand new hiking backpack (with a place for Katy Jo). Good gift-giving-and-receiving had by all.

Holding to the tradition in Leigh’s family, we enjoyed a breakfast of crepes, bacon and sausage. And now, as I sit and type this short post, there is more kitchen creativity afoot. A feast is in the works. It is fitting, of course, for today is a feast day in the Christian year. The most important of feast days, some might argue, or one of the two most important.

Whatever you eat today, be it a turkey dinner, barbecue, leftovers, or quick pickup from Whataburger, treat it like the feast that it most definitely is. I’m not sure why food consumption has always corresponded to celebration, but since I’m such a fan of eating, I’m certainly not complaining. I suppose it’s not so much what you’re eating, but the fact that to eat is to be filled. We are lucky to have such opportunity to be filled. Let us not let the wonder of it pass us by.

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A Makeshift Eucharist

While reading a small theological book a few weeks ago, I realized to my embarrassment that my brain had obviously sprung a leak. A great deal of the information I soaked up in seminary regarding Church history and the foundation of various theological and biblical interpretations had inadvertently trickled out through the crack. I have plans to swing by the local German equivalent of Home Depot and purchase some Spackle to repair the breach, but how to replace that knowledge? Fortunately, I noticed that, for whatever reason, I had toted Justo Gonzalez’s two-volume work, The Story of Christianity, with me to Germany. I’ve been refreshing my memory on the exploits of the Church for the last two weeks. Tragic stuff, really – the Roman Empire just fell to Alaric and his Goths; I wonder what’s going to happen next…

Reading again through a blow-by-blow of the Church’s triumphant and tragic, sordid and sanctifying history has done what I hoped it would do. It has brought the foundational reasons for so many misunderstood or outright ignored traditions back to the scope of my eyes and the examination of my mind. For several years, I have pursued a more traditional (one might go so far as to call it symbolic, or *gasp* ritualistic) method of personal and corporate worship. In many ways, I see much of the early Church’s activities to be the origin of this odd desire in me to connect more deeply to grace of God, the reality of Christ and the strangely beautiful gusting of the Spirit.

Last night, I was afforded just such an opportunity to see how, even after roughly two thousand years, these symbols have not lost their power. And if this is not an encouragement that the word of God – and the truth of salvation in Christ – as expressed in the action of the Church is not alive and well in our ironic, postmodern, chaotic world, I don’t know what is.

Friends and fellow missionaries, Mark and Susan Powell (of St. Bartholomew’s Episcopal in Nashville, TN) invited myself (of the Anglican Church of Basel, Switzerland by way of River Oaks Baptist Church in Houston, TX), as well as a few others (hailing from other established communities of faith) into their living room to participate in the Lord’s Supper. Friends from their church in Tennessee were visiting, and they had brought consecrated elements along with them in order to observe this deeply sacramental command of the Savior.

I came in to the evening extremely stressed. The day before, Leigh and I were informed that the personnel office at Black Forest Academy was terminating the contract on our apartment, which, despite our plans to move to a new place in Kandern in mid-June, would make us responsible for full rent on our current place through at least the end of July. With all the worry and frazzled preparation for the new baby, not to mention the completion of school year responsibilities, this was not welcome news. Financial support is low, and as soon as I was informed of this, I immediately knew that finding the money to cover the problem was going to be next to impossible.

And so, I walked up the steep hill to the Powell’s house weighed down more by the frustration and stress of the current situation than the rain that lightly splattered my hooded raincoat. I put on a cheerful face, but, truthfully, even as I stepped into the house, I had no idea why I had chosen to keep my commitment to come. If anyone had a valid excuse to pass on the evening, it would have been me. However, the thought of sitting down with friends and partaking of the Eucharist seemed more than important – it seemed imperative. If I could not remember and honor the sacrifice of my Savior, then I might as well step back into the personnel office the next day and tell them I was closing up the whole darn show and moving back home.

The Powell’s friends read the collect. They read the Prayers of the People. Susan read from the Psalms. And then Mark offered the gospel reading. Matthew 6:25-34. Do not worry about your life … Consider the lilies of the field … Seek first the kingdom of God … Tomorrow will worry about itself … Each day has enough trouble of its own.

As I received the wafer – “The body of Christ broken for you” – and drank from the Cup of Salvation – “The blood of Christ shed for the sins of the world” – I realized that time and time again people in dire straits have received the elements. The broken, bleeding body of the Savior is to be remembered not merely for his triumph, but for his identification as one torn apart by the world. Yesterday, I was torn. Last night, I was torn. This morning, still torn. But in the living room of the Powells, before the Schwarzwaldkuchen and coffee was served, I acknowledged, in a very deep way, my relationship not only with Christ and the other worshippers in the room, but with the great history of the Church.

This Church which has ended wars and incited them. This Church which has written books and burned them. This Church which has venerated supposed martyrs and martyred supposed heretics. This Church which considers the lilies and then considers the measurements of the cathedrals erected on top of them. This Church which struggles to stay together in the face of great controversy only to splinter when faced with the most insignificant of differences.

I am essentially the same. I am saint and sinner. I am a member of a dysfunctional family. And the traditions are not symptoms of a sickness, but evidence of an ever-present salvation that I will never be able to fully express in words.

So I thank God for theology books and volumes of Church history and rainy days and wombs with kicking babies and warm living rooms and faithful friends and consecrated bread and wine and Schwarzwaldkucken and freshly ground coffee and … in some strange way I still don’t quite understand … for frustrations and stresses that come upon us. Being plunged into darkness is a great way to appreciate the Light that never leaves or forsakes us. 

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Ketchup

What did the Papa Tomato say to the little tomato that was lagging behind?

The hiatus between posts has not been because I felt my last blog dropped a bomb of truth upon cinema-goers everywhere and the proverbial dust needed time to settle. Rather, the hiatus is because I have had nothing worthwhile to blog about. Still don’t, really.

The funny thing is, life continues to flow, sometimes in smooth lands, sometimes chaotically over the rocks…

Ash Wednesday was two days ago, and the Church has, once again, moved into the solemn season of Lent. One of my students, upon seeing the ash cross on my forehead this week, said, “Today was Ash Wednesday, wasn’t it?” “Yes,” I answered. “Darn! I can’t have chocolate anymore,” quoth the student. Ah, Ash Wednesday, bane of Hershey, Nestle, Mars, Milka and Godiva all. I didn’t give up anything this year, determining instead to try to maintain a few resolutions that I’ve already begun to lapse in since the beginning of January.

11th grade research papers were due this week. It is remarkable how serious some students take these papers, and terribly disconcerting how carelessly others will treat them. The paper marks the biggest grade of these students’ academic careers thus far (double test grade), yet some of them were skipping Math class this morning so they could finish writing it. So they could finish WRITING it! I guess those four days I spent reiterating the drafting/revision process was not convincing enough. Maybe receiving the grade they truly deserve will line-drive them into maturity.

Most of the time that I could have spent blogging has been devoted to completing a short story. I am rewriting a story I wrote nine years ago in college. It was called “Road Signs” back then; I’m not sure what I want to title it now. It is about a man named Vic, out on parole, and his reluctant friendship with a senior citizen known as Hump. The story centers around an afternoon road trip to the home of the young man Vic killed in a drunken brawl outside of a club fifteen years ago. I’m nearing the end of the new draft, but Vic’s conversation with the victim’s father is certainly the hardest part to pen. We’ll see how successful I am, and soon, I hope.

I think my opening joke borders on the shockingly heartless. Maybe it’s because I find it hard to imagine a tomato without Bob the Tomato’s persona.