Holy Week Retrospective

On Monday of Holy Week I attended a small service of Holy Communion at noon in a side-chapel at Trinity. There were about a dozen or so in attendance.

It is typical in today's Episcopal churches for the celebrant to stand behind the altar during Holy Communion, facing the people in the pews. During the Middle Ages the priests stood between the people and an altar that was placed against the wall, facing the same direction as the people, so that the people could see only their backs. (Thus, the intricate design on the back of many older priestly vestments.) Since the 1960's the celebrants of Holy Communion have increasingly faced the people behind a free-standing altar that has been moved away from the wall of the church; this arrangement is thought to be more personal and more reflective of a view of the priesthood of all believers.

However, this small side-chapel at Trinity is set up according to the old design of space. And, therefore, the priest says prayers to God with her back to the people, facing the same way as the people. You might think that it would be difficult to hear the priest and seem impersonal. But services in the small chapel are quite intimate. And I find this arrangement meaningful in its own way. The priest who faces the same way as the people is seen as one among the people, offering prayers as a representative of the people. In this way she is not praying to us or offering bread and wine to us, but to God. While I prefer the newer arrangement of space, I also find this ancient way of doing things quite powerful.

On Tuesday of Holy Week I attended a service of Evening Prayer. It seems that the 5:30 time was bad for most career people, since I was the only other person present besides the priest. Nonetheless, wherever two or more are gathered in Christ's name....

Thursday of Holy Week is called Maundy Thursday and is a remembrance of the Lord's Supper. The service concludes with the church, and especially the altar, being stripped bare of all decoration. The decoration is already sparse during Lent, but everything is taken away at this point. The stripping was concluded in complete darkness and silence with a wooden door to the sanctuary being slammed loudly. This stripping functions as a transition to Good Friday.

Good Friday remembers Christ's crucifixion. A service called "The Seven Last Words of Christ" is somewhat self-explanatory. The service lasted three hours (12:00-3:00 p.m.) corresponding to the hours Jesus was on the cross; each "word" included prayers, silence, a short sermon, and a hymn.

On Saturday night at 7:30 after sundown was the first service of Easter--the Easter Vigil. We gathered outside and each of us carried a small candle lit from the large Paschal candle. The entire church processed into the dark building silently, the light growing greater as each person entered. With the space lit only by our candles we sat listening about God's mighty deeds in the Hebrew Bible, including God's creation of the earth, God's provision of a sacrificial ram in Isaac's place, God's deliverance of Israel from oppression in Egypt, and God's reviving of the valley of dry bones. Our own stories were grafted into God's own stories.

Historically, the climax of the Easter Vigil was the time of baptism. The Easter Vigil was thought to the be the most appropriate time of the year for baptisms. While this is being revived today in the church, there were actually no baptisms during the Easter Vigil at Trinity this year. However, we did have a renewal of our baptismal vows. The resurrection of Christ was proclaimed. There was a reading of Romans 6 and Matthew 28 followed by a sermon and Holy Communion. This was perhaps one of the most beautiful worship services I have ever attended.

On Sunday morning I served as an acolyte at the 11:15 service. The festivity of Easter was especially apparent in contrast to the somber tone of Lent. It is very meaningful for me to experience, not so much emotions, as diverse tones of worship. Repentance, festivity, and anticipation are among some of the different tones set in the liturgy of the ancient church.

Palm Sunday

Today is Palm Sunday, the celebration of Jesus' entrance into Jerusalem during the last week of his life. Today was also a day of "entry" for me. While I've been a member at Trinity since September (one need not be a confirmed Episcopalian to be a full member at Trinity), this was my first Sunday as an acolyte.

The word acolyte comes from the Greek word akoloutheo, which means "to follow" or "to accompany." Basically, an acolyte is one who is an attendant of the priest during religious services. The first mention of acolytes in church history comes from ca. 250. During the middle ages it became one of the minor orders leading to the priesthood. Today in the Episcopal Church an acolyte may serve various functions, such as bearing the processional cross, the torches that light the processional cross and gospel book, or processional banners. They may also help prepare the altar for holy communion or have other preparatory duties. This Sunday I functioned as a torchbearer during the procession, along with other duties.

The procession in the church's ancient form of liturgy marks the beginning of the service, a visible gathering of a people into a place, both of which become holy, because of who is present--Christ. Rather than beginning the service with the common language of our culture ("good morning"), this event is an entry into something different, a time and space of differing quality. All attention is given to the cross and gospel book in procession, both lit by fire to show the community's acknowledgement of their significance, the flames themselves proclaiming "I am the light of the world." These are the holy things of the liturgy, the people's symbols. Christ's presence in and among the people is reflected in the visual symbol of the cross and the community's book. These visual symbols are not holy in and of themselves--the bonded paper and the brass--but are holy because they signify the reality of Christ that is truly present. I have come to appreciate the power of the gospel in visual form.

Worshipping Above a Rummage Crypt

What do you worship on top of? Have you ever thought about what is beneath you when you are in church singing a hymn? What is the foundation of your church building?

I had never thought about this question until this past weekend after Trinity Church's annual rummage sale. Once a year the church puts on a sale to raise money for community outreach. They needed volunteers, and since I've had some experience with such sales thanks to my mom, I decide to pitch in. They put me in charge of the sports/pet supplies/medical table. I'm not the one to put in charge of a sports table. I thought a field hockey stick was a polo stick. And we didn't play lacrosse growing up in Texas. But I took it in stride and got rid of most of what was on my table. (But never did sell that package of Depends.) The sale ran all day Saturday and after church on Sunday.

The sale was great, but the most enlightening part was the cleanup. I boxed up what was left on my table and stuck around to help store unsold items for next year's rummage. The man in charge sent me with my boxes down the elevator ... to the church crypt. I've never worshipped in a church with a crypt before. At least we didn't call it that. A crypt. That should have cobwebs and bones and creepy stuff. Not at Trinity Church. The entire space underneath the chancel (where the choir and altar are located) and nave (where the pews and people are located) is filled with things for the rummage. Junk really. Not all of it, but a lot of it is junk. People's junk to become other people's junk. But ... all to raise money for community outreach, helping the poor and disadvantaged. Each Sunday I gather with my community whose foundation is literally an outreach project. I am uplifted going to a church where its value of ministry to the poor is so foundational.

Episcopal Peregrination

Peregrination n : a pilgrimage esp. by foot

This blog is intended to be a place for me to ruminate about my journey to the Episcopal Church. It is not only for my own reflection, but also for my family and friends who are interested in this journey. This is not the beginning. As some of you may know, I began attending Trinity Church, an Episcopal church in Princeton, New Jersey in September 2004. But long before then I felt out-of-place in my spiritual home.

My purpose for this blog is not to denigrate my religious past, because it means much to me, is an inseparable part of me; in fact, it is difficult in many ways to leave. Rather, I hope to reflect in a positive way over this next leg of my travels. I intend this to be a medium for questions, reflection, and constructive conversation on things liturgical and ecclesial.

Over the last few years I have grown to appreciate the Episcopal Church for its self-placement within Christianity as a via media--a middle way. It is catholic; it is protestant. It is traditional; it is progressive. It holds on to historic Christianity (especially its worship and ecclesial structure) tightly with one hand. Yet it allows reason and ethics to critique that tradition. It is within this tension that I see myself standing, able to appreciate what has gone before me and be challenged by what is ahead.

I invite you into this conversation, not to drag you along with me on my peregrination, but to share travelogues, and experience mutual benefit.