Liturgical boot-camp at Nashotah House

It's been two long but enjoyable days at Nashotah House. We begin at 8:00 with Morning Prayer and Eucharist and go straight through until Evening Prayer at 5:00, with minimal breaks for breakfast and lunch. Here are some random things I've learned so far:

(1) Being an expert on liturgy doesn't guarantee good liturgy. Our celebrant on Monday was the Revd Dr Marion Hatchett, who is practically the Thomas Cranmer of the present-day Episcopal Church, and the liturgy was a mess. Lack of planning, inaudibility, and sundry other little problems did him in.

(2) Nashotah's liturgics guy is surprisingly un-fussy. I was expecting, almost hoping for, over-the-top Anglo-Papalism. Instead, Fr Klukas's favorite phrase is "God doesn't care." He's made a point of showing us maximal ceremonial, not to insist that we use it, but because (to quote my favorite line from him so far) "It's important to know what's traditional and why you're not doing it."

(3) Fr Klukas also nicely balances the different aspects that liturgical planners need to deal with: word, music, movement, gesture, architecture, furnishings, etc. He's an art historian by training, and I particularly enjoyed his slideshow of church buildings and the commentary on both aesthetic and functional shortcomings. Art historians are cool.

(4) I had a great conversation yesterday about the Robinson hoo-hah with a priest from the Diocese of Virginia. There is so much good will everywhere but on the edges of this discussion; maybe there's hope for the Episcopal Church after all. This priest had recently used the following example in a sermon: we're walking across a swinging bridge over raging rapids. We don't know exactly what's on the other side, and the passage is frightening, but we know we'll reach the other side safely in the end -- if only the wackos on both ends of the bridge will stop jumping up and down.

Midway between Sewanee and Nashotah House

So I got a little behind on my blogging in the latter days of the Sewanee Conference and didn't catch up while I was visiting my family. I'll see if I can't get back to it now.

The rest of my time at Sewanee was quite enjoyable. I had looked forward to "Frolic" with considerable trepidation -- the idea of a bunch of church musicians doing skits and comedy routines was quite frightening, but it was actually fantastic. With only one exception, the acts ranged from entertaining to hysterically funny. Sunday Eucharist was splendid. The preacher (the University Chaplain) offered a learned, well-constructed sermon that commented on the Gospel of the Day and quoted from Augustine, which is really all anyone can ask of a sermon, in my view.

Because Fr Turrell had recommended the book, I ordered Aidan Kavanagh's Elements of Rite, which came yesterday. What a wonderfully opinionated, no-nonsense guide -- quite successful as what it is intended to be, an acerbic Strunk & White for liturgists. I particularly like his frequent remarks that someone who can't do such-and-such should be barred from presiding at liturgies. It's a long list!

But I'm glad I didn't run across that book until my own understanding of liturgy was well-formed, as much by thoughtful reflection on experience as by any reading or theory. So forthright and assertive a book, working on my native tendency to Prayer Book fundamentalism and textual scrupulosity, might well have produced the very sort of liturgical fetishism that Kavanagh rightly deplores. As it is, I've encountered it at a perfect time.

Today I'm off to Nashotah House for a week-long liturgical workshop. I had really signed up for the course thinking it would be more practical and hands-on, sort of "How to Act Like an Anglo-Catholic Priest in Five Easy Lessons." It turns out that there will be a lot of theoretical stuff too, and it will be interesting to see to what extent the theory at Nashotah differs from the theory at Sewanee. My guess is that the overall understanding of what liturgy is and how it should function will be very close, despite the considerable practical differences between Sewanee's middle-of-the-road churchmanship and Nashotah's high Catholicism.

Before I leave, though, I have to play for the contemporary service at Saint Swithin's. The Rector is both celebrating and preaching, so opportunities for spiritual growth will abound.

Overheard

"It seems to be only the old ex-hippies who do all the crappy liturgy; the younger ones prefer the traditional forms. Maybe we can just wait 'em out."

A plea for the eastward position

To follow up on something I mentioned yesterday, here's a little piece I wrote some years ago that I still think is roughly right:

It has been a long time since I saw a priest turn away from the congregation after the Sursum Corda. From the most elaborate Anglo-Catholic liturgy to the simplest informal midweek celebration, countless variations of dress, posture, speech, song, and ceremonial are tried, the rubrics are stretched and not infrequently broken, and almost every conceivable taste is indulged. But on this one point of ceremonial an astounding uniformity prevails. It is certainly nice in these times of dissension to find something that nearly every Episcopalian agrees on; unfortunately, it seems to me that we have agreed on something that has very little to recommend it.

In what follows I wish to suggest two principal reasons for preferring the eastward position, one theological and one purely practical. We can see the full force of the theological reason by asking a question. What is the priest doing in the Eucharistic Prayer? He or she is offering to God the gifts of bread and wine, which represent the total sacrifice of soul and body in praise and thanksgiving, and asking God's blessing upon those gifts so that they can be transformed into a life-giving vehicle of grace. And what are the people doing? The very same thing. The priest is the one appointed and empowered to present the sacrifice and consecrate the gifts, but the offering of the whole self and the prayer for God's blessing belong to everyone. But if the people are addressing God, and the priest is addressing God as their representative, does it not make far more sense to enact that symbolically by having the priest face the same direction as the people? After all, the priest is performing the same activity as the people.

This is not to minimize the importance of the priestly ministry. But the eastward position underlines the important theological point that the priest is addressing God, not the people. The unfortunate use of the word "presider" instead of "celebrant," current in Roman Catholic circles and apparently spreading to Episcopalians, embodies the very misconception that the westward position does much to reinforce. It suggests that the priest is acting as the chair of a meeting, or (I do not mean to be flippant, but the behavior of many priests suggests that I am not far wide of the mark) the host of a game show. I should like to see fewer presiders and more celebrants, fewer priests who draw attention to themselves and more who turn our attention to God.

When priest and people face the same way, one thinks of the priest as the head of a pilgrimage--the priest too is a pilgrim, albeit a pilgrim who is authorized to speak for the whole assembly. When the priest faces the people, this imagery is lost. And I at least cannot see that any better image is put in its place.

Besides this theological reason, there are many practical reasons. To have the priest face the people is to court any number of temptations that are better avoided. (Are we not taught to avoid occasions of evil?) The very variety of liturgical styles that I mentioned earlier poses one sort of problem. One never knows what a priest might do next. And while the game of trying to guess where and when a priest went to seminary ("Looks like he took liturgics at Sewanee in the '80's") has a certain interest, it is a distraction that worshippers would safely be spared. I recently attended an Anglo-Catholic Eucharist at which the celebrant made the sign of the cross more times in the course of the Eucharistic prayer than some Episcopalians make it in a lifetime of faithful church attendance. I grant that I should not have fallen into speculation about the point of such elaborate ceremonial. But how much better it would have been if I had never been presented with the temptation to do so.

The people are not the only ones being led into temptation by current practice. Priests themselves fall prey to a number of temptations. Perhaps the worst is the impulse (apparently more widespread among Roman Catholics, but not without its attraction to Episcopalians) to make meaningful eye contact with the people at the words of institution. The Eucharistic Prayer, of which the words of institution form a part, is addressed to God. To use those words as a chance to make meaningful eye contact with the congregation, perhaps pivoting gently so as not to miss anyone off to the side, is to betray an elementary and embarassing misunderstanding of what one is doing. It is, to say nothing more, rather rude to look around when one is talking to someone.

I could easily add more practical reasons: the fact that genuflecting behind an altar produces a ridiculous jack-in-the-box effect, that priests would be less inclined to exaggerated histrionics if they were facing away from the people, that only the most absent-minded worshipper can be distracted by the back of a chasuble. I could even dredge up other theological reasons. The eastward-facing priest is symbolically looking for the return of Christ, while the westward-facing priest is apparently hoping that He will slip in quietly at the back of the church. The eastward position minimizes the priest's individuality, which is of no importance, and emphasizes instead the priestly office, which is of crucial importance.

But perhaps a simple experiment would help my case. I make this suggestion to any priest who feels at all moved by these considerations: adopt the eastward position for a few weeks. Then listen carefully to the complaints that you will undoubtedly receive. "I don't feel that you're talking to me." (Well, I'm not.) "I can't see what you're doing." (Why would you want to?) And so on. And then ask yourself why you would want to go on liturgically enacting a falsehood.

Sewanee Conference, Day Four

I'm in the middle of day five, taking a break and doing some philosophy, and I just realized I didn't post on day four. Mostly we rehearsed yesterday, gearing up for the big Evensong, which I think went well on the whole, although there was a moment in Psalm 23 when the bottom dropped out just briefly. There was even incense, so I was especially happy.

I also had enjoyable conversations with several people throughout the day, so what more could I want?

Sewanee Conference, Day Three

Well, I indulged my introversion a fair bit yesterday, avoiding meals and keeping a low profile, so there's not much to report. (I must, must, do better today.) We continue to work through a good deal of music rather quickly in rehearsal. I'm glad we have a lot of rehearsal time today before Evensong. Again I skipped the afternoon sessions and went to campus to get some work done, but this time I went to Stirling's, the campus coffee house. That's where I'll go if I get more time to do work, since it's comfortable, there's wi-fi, and I can have stuff to eat or drink -- not that I'm getting too little food or caffeine at the conference. Last night's recital was in the Chapel of the Apostles, which is the new seminary chapel and is quite striking. Once again, Neswick and Pysher played wonderfully, both individually and together. The last two items on the program were hymn settings, so they had us sing the hymns in between movements ("The duteous day now closeth" to "O Welt, ich muss dich lassen" and "Jesus shall reign where'er the sun" to "Duke Street"). It was lovely; this bunch can really sing hymns.

Then instead of going to the reception I went back to my room and read P. D. James. I'm a wimp to flee from the socializing, but it was a much pleasanter way to conclude the day.

This morning it's Rite One! With the Hassler service music! I wonder if I could sneak in early and shove the altar against the back wall. One of the few faults of our young chaplain is that he has absorbed the conventional animus against the eastward position.

Sewanee Conference, Day Two

Notes from yesterday;

7:30 Eucharist. Why am I surprised that a professor of liturgics is a good celebrant? It was a good homily, too. Fr Turrell has a good manner about him, warm and engaging but unobtrusive. I rather liked his late-morning lecture on the role of music in the renewal of liturgy, but the Conclave of Bitchy Queens with whom I ate lunch dismissed it sniffily for no reason that I could fathom. I swear, these music conferences could easily make me into a homophobe.

I took the afternoon off to do some philosophical work in the library. Sewanee actually makes its wireless internet network available to everyone, so I was able to check e-mail and read blogs whenever I needed a break from the eleventh century.

I had dinner with a much pleasanter group of guys. But my awkward socializing is really gettting to me, and I found myself this morning thinking of ways to skip meals so that I wouldn't have to try to talk with anyone. I remember now that at the last conference like this I attended, it wasn't until the next-to-last day that I finally felt comfortable with people. Great.

After dinner we all drove over to the chapel at Sewanee (a misleading name for a grand and beautiful church) for the organ recital. Bruce Neswick and Harold Pysher played both together and apart. I found Bruce's playing particularly compelling, especially the Larry King "Fanfare for the Tongues of Fire," which I would dearly love to have at my ordination (except that it was written to showcase a solo reed, and all we have is a pretty obnoxious krummhorn). The crowning glory of the recital was Bruce's improvisation on a submitted theme. The conference director, Robbie Delcamp, gave him "Urbs beata Ierusalem," and Bruce did marvels with it.

I skipped the post-recital reception. See above, under "socializing, awkward."

I'm actually posting on the morning after Day One. I'm not one of these dedicated bloggers . . .

Some scattered impressions:

There's nothing like singing Evensong with 150 really fine singers and a top-notch organist. The effect is somewhat spoiled when one gets in the car afterwards and Paula Abdul is singing on the 80's channel.

I think I'm going to like the conference chaplain. I wonder if he'll stay in clericals the whole time, though. I like my priests to look like priests. But if last night's homily is any indication, he's a good preacher.

There are a lot more youngish people here than I would have thought. There are even some young gay guys. (One looked as if he had wandered in by mistake from a casting call for Queer as Folk extras.) Generally at something like this I would expect mostly your old queens, with some of your almost-middle-aged curmudgeons, but no one younger than 35. I fear I may be the only almost-middle-aged curmudgeon here.

Even in a choir of talented singers, there are people who have never learned that vibrato is a tool, not a condition.

I'm not sure even Bruce Neswick can get this many people to do the shapely, sinewy Anglican chant he likes.

The chapel instrument is an electronic -- state of the art, the very latest thing, and all that. But it's not an organ. I never thought I would become such a purist, but it's true: nothing substitutes for air flowing through pipes. I listened to the prelude and postlude last night -- beautifully played, of course, and fine music from Hurd and Hancock -- thinking "Not bad, for an electronic." And I don't have a particularly good ear, so I can imagine how real musicians feel. I'm looking forward to the two recitals this week, which will be on the real organs at Sewanee.

Service notes: Church of the Resurrection, Franklin, Tennessee

I should probably just sign up to be a Mystery Worshipper at Ship of Fools, but I'm too lazy. Anyway, as I travel, I'll post notes on worship at the parishes I visit.

Today I attended the 10:30 Eucharist at the Church of the Resurrection in Franklin, Tennessee. The Rector was out of town. The Rector is always out of town when I visit somewhere. It was a smallish congregation for the size of the church, which I take it was built for growth. It wasn't built for singing, certainly: there's carpet everywhere. (In the special musician's edition of the Bible, the Ten Commandments say nothing about adultery or murder but do include "Thou shalt not carpet the church" and "Thou shalt not reaspirate during thy melismas.") Generally when I'm in Franklin I worship at the venerable Saint Paul's, but I thought I'd try something different. Saint Paul's has a lovely building and excellent music (not to mention a very handsome music director), but it drives me crazy the way they overelaborate the offertory rite. It's worse even than the Roman Rite, which at least limits itself to prayers over the bread and the wine. At Saint Paul's they also pray over the money.

All together now: it is the Eucharistic Prayer itself that offers the bread and the wine, plus the money, plus our very selves. So those post-offertory prayers are redundant in the worst possible way. I don't know what it is that compels Episcopal priests to embellish the offertory rite with presentation hymns and sentences and extra prayers and all the rest of it. The Prayer Book (remember the Prayer Book?) gets it exactly right. The first words out of the priest's mouth after the offerings are received should be "The Lord be with you."

Naturally, at Resurrection the priest overelaborated the offertory rite.

But let's back up. The words out of his mouth was that stirring and heart-warming admonition, "Please stand." Honestly, do Episcopalians really need specific instructions to stand when the opening hymn starts playing? Are they going to think, "Gosh, we've stood for the opening hymn every Sunday morning since Henry VIII's eyes first started wandering, but maybe this Sunday they want us to stay seated"?

(Brief GOE digression: yes, I know they didn't sing opening hymns in Henry VIII's day. Leave me alone.)

Still, there was so much that worked, and so little that was distracting, that I could effortlessly worship. Sure, the sermon tried much too clumsily to pull in all three lessons, but it was a noble effort. There were announcements, but they were so well done and so brief that I didn't even mind. The soloist was marvelous, the organist was proficient (if over fond of 4-3 suspensions), and the hymns were good.

Why is it, though, that no one observes the silence after the Fraction? That has to be the second-most-violated rubric in the Prayer Book. The most-violated rubric is the one that calls for ministers to instruct their congregations about the duty to make wills: see BCP 445. I have never heard a Rector talk about wills, but I have seen a handful of priests keep the silence after the Fraction. If I'm ever ordained, I'm going to kneel for an appreciable period of silent prayer and maybe lay on some extra incense, just to even things out.

Church websites

As always when I'm out of town, I've been using the web to figure out where I'm going to church tomorrow. Obviously some parishes don't realize how important the website can be. One site claims that it's Holy Week, so can I really trust what it says about service times? And I really don't think we need every new page to play a hymn. The best site is so regularly updated that it actually has a copy of tomorrow's bulletin on line, so that (if I were so minded) I could even decide whether to go there on the basis of whether I like the hymns. But that's the place I always go when I'm visiting my sister and her family, so I think I'll try somewhere else. There's a nearby parish whose 10:30 service is described as "Traditional with Hymnal Music," which certainly sounds better than the 9:15 "Contemporary Praise & Worship." Still, it would be even better if it told me whether it's Rite I or Rite II, and a bulletin would be ideal.

On the road (with a hotel recommendation)

If your travel needs should ever take you to southern Illinois, let me recommend the Hampton Inn in Mount Vernon. For about $80, including taxes, I got a very clean and comfortable room with lots of channels on the cable, free evening cocktails, a better-than-average free breakfast, free high-speed internet (wired in the room, wireless in the comfortable lobby), a small workout room in which all the cardio equipment actually worked, and cheerful and efficient staff. I didn't use the indoor pool, but that looked nice too. An excellent value!

Anyway, I'm on the road to visit my family, and since I'm the kind of person who can't drive more than six hours or so a day, I stopped over in Mt Vernon last night. I'll make it the rest of the way today. I'm especially eager to see my nieces, whom I haven't seen since Christmas. They'll have a changed a lot, I'm sure.

After that I'm off to the 55th Sewanee Church Music Conference. As far as I can tell, this will be the first time that celebrated event has been blogged, a novelty that I am sure will break important new theological and musicological ground. This is my first time at the conference, which I've been wanting to attend for a while. I'm particularly excited because Bruce Neswick, of whom I'm quite a fan both personally and as a musician, is on the faculty, as is Craig Phillips, whose music I know and admire. I'm not familiar with the conference chaplain, the Revd Dr James F. Turrell of Sewanee, but he's leading a session called "The seven deadly liturgical sins (and what a church musician can do about them)," which suggests a certainly spiritual affinity with me.

What I should be doing this summer, of course, is attending a class or two to fill in gaps in my theological preparation, not doing music at Sewanee and then liturgy at Nashotah House -- two of my best areas. Well, tough.

Ember Days: now with e-mail

I've set up an e-mail address on the off chance that some stray reader (or someone sent by the marvelous Professor Althouse, source of all traffic) wants to say hi.