“Poignantly Poetic” is the section of the blog devoted to the promotion and curation of poetry. Anglicanism has a long, rich history of poetry, far beyond the development of the Psalter and Book of Common Prayer. This new series seeks to offer a platform for Christian poets interested in sharing their work.
A poem by Jacob Graudin
The sun already risen, still I wait towards the east, My mouth mumbles a liturgy mixed up with other forms. In retrograde, my memory anticipates the feast.
My eyes have trouble focusing; I could have used more sleep. My knees are quickly soring on the rigid kneeler-board. The sun already risen, still I wait towards the east.
Again, I hear the beckon, ‘in remembrance of me,’ And in a mass I see the broken cup, the bread outpoured. In retrograde, my memory anticipates the feast.
Then I remember forward, joined to those surrounding me: All history sinistroversely read, Semitic lore. The sun already risen, still we wait towards the east.
This world resounds: the elements converge upon one Priest, Whose cupping hands communicate these gifts to be reborn. In retrograde, our memory anticipates the feast.
Real presence of the grape and grain, we taste and then we see. Our hopes renewed, our ears unstopped, we listen for the door. The sun already risen, still we wait towards the east, In retrograde, our memory anticipates the feast.
Jacob Graudin is a layman in the Anglican Church of North America and worships with his wife at Christ Church Anglican in South Bend, Indiana. Originally hailing from Charleston, SC, where he grew up and worked in the Episcopal Diocese, he is dedicated to discovering and expressing the fullness of beauty in the doctrine, liturgy, and art of the Anglican tradition.
“Poignantly Poetic” is the section of the blog devoted to the promotion and curation of poetry. Anglicanism has a long, rich history of poetry, far beyond the development of the Psalter and Book of Common Prayer. This new series seeks to offer a platform for Christian poets interested in sharing their work.
Poem by Chad Bird
Good Friday
That head, which angels with ceaseless praise adorn, Is pierced with crowded thorns. That face, which our God with grace and beauty lit, Is marred by sinners’ spit. Those eyes, outshining the sun’s most piercing light, Are dull as sable night. Those ears, accustomed to praise from heaven’s host, Must hear his haters boast. That mouth, whose wisdom the wisest could enthrall, Tastes vinegar and gall. Those feet, whose footstool is this terrestrial sphere, To bloody wood adhere. Those hands, which stretched out the heavens like a tent, By spikes in twain are rent. That tongue, uninjured, shall cry from that cursed tree, A prayer of love for me.
*Based on “An Exercise of Repentance from our Lord’s Passion” in the Sacred Meditations of Johann Gerhard.
Chad Bird holds master’s degrees from Concordia Theological Seminary and Hebrew Union College. He draws upon his expertise as a former professor of OT and Hebrew to cohost the podcast, “40 Minutes in the OT.” Chad has authored several books, including his latest, Upside-Down Spirituality: The 9 Essential Failures of a Faithful Life. He has written for Christianity Today, The Gospel Coalition, and elsewhere. He and his wife, Stacy, have four children and two grandchildren.
A poem by Chad Bird. “Poignantly Poetic” is the section of the blog devoted to the promotion and curation of poetry. Anglicanism has a long, rich history of poetry, far beyond the development of the Psalter and Book of Common Prayer. This new series seeks to offer a platform for Christian poets interested in sharing their work.
Lord, Thee I Love with Half My Heart
Lord, Thee I love with half my heart. The world has claimed the other part. I pray Thy name be hallowed, Lord, But want my name to be adored. Thy kingdom come, Thy reign extend, And rain on me wealth without end. Thy will be done, my lips shall pray And curse when I don’t get my way. I thank Thee for my daily bread, But cakes and steaks I crave instead. My million sins forgive, forget, While I collect a one-cent debt. From tempting evils keep us free Unless I find they pleasure me. Lord, Thee I love with half my heart. Destroy, reclaim, the other part.
Chad Bird holds master’s degrees from Concordia Theological Seminary and Hebrew Union College. He draws upon his expertise as a former professor of OT and Hebrew to cohost the podcast, “40 Minutes in the OT.” Chad has authored several books, including his latest, Upside-Down Spirituality: The 9 Essential Failures of a Faithful Life. He has written for Christianity Today, The Gospel Coalition, and elsewhere. He and his wife, Stacy, have four children and two grandchildren.
“Poignantly Poetic” is the section of the blog devoted to the promotion and curation of poetry. Anglicanism has a long, rich history of poetry, far beyond the development of the Psalter and Book of Common Prayer. This new series seeks to offer a platform for Christian poets interested in sharing their work.
A poem by Clinton Collister.
“The Gospel According to Mary Magdalene”
“I see you’re reading Origen,” he said, And asked me to go out with him for lunch. A coder in ball cap, who spoke in blocks, He told the tale of when his grandma kept Him Cooped up in her home for three long months. “I loathed her wooden cross and her old prayers, So I sought out the ghosts on my same side.” They possessed me like light and cosmic truth And when they left, I never felt the same.” The pool balls cracked as Neil confessed and drank, And my thumb moved from knot to knot in shock. “I could not make them speak to me again, But I now felt the need for death or joy. You call men like us players or artists. Well, it’s a numbers game, and I asked hundreds.” I sipped my beer and schemed to leave the hall. “Yes, if there is lead in the air, you’re dangerous.” I offered, paraphrasing my uncle’s Go to advice for hunters and for basement Dwellers. Then I put down cash and escaped Outside into the cool September breeze.
Clinton Collister studies theology and poetry at the Institute for Theology, Imagination, and the Arts at The University of St. Andrews and edits the Poets’ Corner at The North American Anglican. His articles have appeared at Forward in Christ, Front Porch Republic, and Solidarity Hall. He and Sarah live in Guardbridge and attend All Saints. You can hear them share their love of poetry on their podcast, Poetry for the People.
“Poignantly Poetic” is the section of the blog devoted to the promotion and curation of poetry. Anglicanism has a long, rich history of poetry, far beyond the development of the Psalter and Book of Common Prayer. This new series seeks to offer a platform for Christian poets interested in sharing their work.
Poems by Chad Bird
Hope Unveiled
As sure as the sun’s rise dispels sable night,
With plow-like rays, unearthing dawn’s light,
When yesterday’s darkness enshrouds today’s face,
Hope shall unveil tomorrow’s bright grace.
O Swaddled God
O swaddled God within a manger throne, Blood of my heart and marrow of my bone, Suffuse all you are in all that is me, That I become what you’ve made me to be.
Chad Bird holds master’s degrees from Concordia Theological Seminary and Hebrew Union College. He draws upon his expertise as a former professor of OT and Hebrew to cohost the podcast, “40 Minutes in the OT.” Chad has authored several books, including his latest, Upside-Down Spirituality: The 9 Essential Failures of a Faithful Life. He has written for Christianity Today, The Gospel Coalition, and elsewhere. He and his wife, Stacy, have four children and two grandchildren.
This is Andrew Russell’s third installment in his mini-series on Anglican Spiritual Formation for our “Ecclesia Anglicana” series.
“There is a certain resemblance between the unity of the divine persons and the fraternity that men are to establish among themselves in truth and love. Love of neighbor is inseparable from love for God.”
Though this comes from the Catechism of the Catholic Church, it rings true for Anglicanism as well. Christianity has always been communal, and the depiction of the Church in Acts confirms this: “The whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common.” Christ is to be found on earth in his body, which is the Church, and there are no Christians who exist apart from the Church (though it is true, of course, that in some cases a Christian may not have physical access to a local body of believers).
Practically, Christian community is important for the building up of fellow believers and for providing loving instruction and, when necessary, correction. Anglicans are committed to caring for their brothers and sisters, even when it is uncomfortable. This comes from a long tradition that began in the monasteries, communities in which Christians submitted themselves to the loving authority of the abbot. St. Benedict’s Rule, the golden standard of Christian communal structure and a deeply influential one in the English monastic tradition, highlights this function of community in its preface: “Therefore we intend to establish a school for the Lord’s service. In drawing up its regulations, we hope to set down nothing harsh, nothing burdensome. The good of all concerned, however, may prompt us to a little strictness in order to amend faults and to safeguard love.” Anglicans believe that submission to ecclesial authority is beneficial for spiritual formation.
The unique contribution of Anglicanism to spiritual life, however, is the emphasis on the spiritual director-directee relationship. Not only is a right relationship to the community at large necessary for the Christian life, but an intimate relationship with an older, wiser mentor is also invaluable for the development of Christian character. The English monastic tradition understood the importance of this, as even many of those who dedicated themselves to the solitary religious life served as spiritual directors for the laity in their area (St. Julian of Norwich is probably the most famous example).
Spiritual directors help parishioners with their individual struggles, encourage them in their individual victories, and provide for their spiritual needs. Their primary role, however, is to guide the parishioner in her understanding of Christian doctrine and to help her integrate her theology into her prayer life (see my first post for Martin Thornton’s definition of spiritual formation). This, of course, includes theological education—and this must never be downplayed in a discussion on spiritual formation! In a day and age when people are looking for immediate “practical application,” we do well to remember that all theology is practical. What we believe deeply impacts how we live our lives.
One of the most significant ways this theological instruction will express itself in the life of the faithful is an encouragement to practice spiritual disciplines—the Daily Office, personal reflection on God’s character and activity throughout the day, silence, solitude, fasting, confession of sin, etc. It is the role of the spiritual director to hold those under her care accountable for practicing the disciplines, to help them practice the disciplines fruitfully, and to assign or suggest appropriate disciplines for them at times in which they may benefit most from their practice. In this way, Anglicans assure that each member of the congregation receives appropriate and beneficial care and further “equip the saints for the work of ministry,” as Paul describes in his letter to the Ephesians.
Though the implementation of this vision has not been perfect in the local church, the Anglican vision of spiritual formation via spiritual direction is consistent with the biblical witness and most effectively contributes to parishioners’ growth and ministry in the Church. Robert Mulholland, author of Invitation to a Journey, has described spiritual formation as “a process of being conformed to the image of Christ for the sake of others.” Anglicans agree with this, but we also insist that this definition does not go far enough. Spiritual formation is not only an individual enterprise; it is intimately connected to the work of the Church and must not be separated from the liturgical and sacramental worship of the Body of Christ (as I discussed in my last post).
It is only through participation in the Mystical Body of Christ that the Christian grows in godly love, wisdom, and holiness. We need each other—our spiritual brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers, and all the faithful who have gone before us—to live the Christian life. If you do not have a spiritual director, I strongly encourage you to seek one out. I can personally attest that it is one of the most important relationships I have had in my life as a Christian. God made his Church to be a community—a family of adopted sons and daughters who support, guide, and encourage each other on their path to final union with God in the new heavens and the new earth. Without our community, we cannot live as God intended us to live, but perhaps even more importantly we cannot fully express the image of the God who created us, the one God who exists as a community of three persons.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Next time, we will discuss why the Trinity is central to an Anglican understanding of spiritual formation. Until then, I’ll leave you with a collect that helps us thank God for our Christian community and ask him to help us strengthen each other:
Almighty God, by your Holy Spirit you have made us one with your saints in heaven and on earth: Grant that in our earthly pilgrimage we may always be supported by this fellowship of love and prayer, and know ourselves to be surrounded by their witness to your power and mercy; for the sake of Jesus Christ, in whom all our intercessions are acceptable through the Spirit, and who lives and reigns with you for ever and ever. Amen.
Andrew Russell is an M.Div. candidate at Beeson Divinity School. He is an ordination candidate in the Anglican Diocese of the South and hopes to serve the Church as a parish priest. He lives in Birmingham, Alabama, with his wife, Anna. Follow him on Twitter: @andrew_05.
This post is part of “Ecclesia Anglicana,” a series devoted to all topics pertaining to Anglicanism. This contribution is by Trystan Owain Hughes, Tutor in Applied Theology at St Padarn’s, Cardiff, Wales, UK. Stay tuned for more!
In recent years, the identity and distinctiveness
of priesthood has been questioned. In functional terms, it has long been recognized
that priests require certain gifts and talents to minister effectively.
Vocations advisors and directors of ordinands will suggest texts to candidates that
list these functions. Such lists can seem daunting to those exploring a call to
ordination. In John Pritchard’s The Life
and Work of a Priest, one of the principal texts given to candidates exploring
ordained ministry in the Church of England and in the Church in Wales, sixteen distinct
functional roles are presented, including “creative leader”, “faith coach”,
“wounded companion”, and “spiritual explorer”. Traditionally, theological
models of priesthood have grown out of a consideration of such functions. By
doing so, such models often forged an ontology of priesthood.
During the twentieth century, in the UK at
least, the model growing in prominence was the priest as, primarily, a pastoral
care giver. In some ecclesial and theological circles, though, there was a
sense of uncertainty about this model, with the question posed how much its
functional roles actually differ from counseling and social work. By the time I
went through the discernment process in the late 1990s, Anglican Churches had
moved to regarding the principal role of a priest as an empowerer – a nurturer
of the gifts of others. Before my own selection board, one priest even said to
me: “as long as you slip in the word ‘enabler’ at least six times, you’ll sail
through”! The concept of enabler certainly fits neatly into the contemporary emphasis
on collaboration and the flourishing of lay ministries. However, questions
should still be asked about the primacy of this model. It is, after all, weak
in terms of its sacramental rooting and it could lead to priests becoming glorified
creative administrators or, worse still, simply talent-spotters. As such, it is
difficult to forge an ontology of priesthood from this model alone.
Towards a New Model
With such uncertainties in theological and
ecclesial circles surrounding models of priesthood, it is little wonder that so
many candidates struggle to articulate why they feel called to ordained
ministry, despite the fact that most of them have read the classic texts of
discernment and vocation. The purpose and nature of priesthood certainly needs
more thought and clarity. In an issue of The
Furrow in 1995, the Roman Catholic Auxiliary Bishop of Los Angeles, Robert
Barron suggests a model that is both culturally relevant and spiritually
uplifting, as well as firmly rooted in tradition and scripture. It is also a
model that could appeal to the plethora of churchpersonships and traditions
that make up the Anglican Communion. It can be summed up as the priest as “a
bearer of mystery”.
Barron begins his exploration of this model by
describing the fundamental loss of confidence within the priesthood in recent
years. He attributes this to an underdeveloped and negative theology of ministry.
As a result, priests have lost confidence in themselves and their identity, leading
to a lack focus and orientation. While he is writing from his own particular ecclesial
context, the loss of joy and hope, along with the increase of pessimism and
cynicism, is reflective of some areas of our own denomination. Rooted in that
same loss of priestly identity is the superior, and sometimes arrogant,
attitude that is found in other areas of our Communion, which looks down condescendingly
on what is perceived as the lack of zeal and spiritual fervor of other clergy.
To counter the loss of priestly confidence and
identity, Barron therefore presents an image that he believes captures the
unique and indispensable quality of a priest. The term “mystagogue” was used in
the early church with relation to bringing catechumens into the faith. Barron
chooses this word to flesh out the priest’s role in bringing the mystery of
God’s being to people’s troubled lives. In other words, the priest’s role is to
notice, to announce, or to bring God’s love, hope, peace, and compassion to individuals
and communities. He roots this in Thomas Aquinas’s analogia entis, whereby we come to know and experience God through
his creation – we experience the otherly-other Being through the very tangible
being of this world.
In this model, the overriding call of priesthood
is to explore and grasp the mystery and then initiate others into it – opening eyes
to God’s presence, ears to God’s call, hearts to God’s love, and ways to God’s
will. It is in this context that Theilard De Chardin described the priest as a “border
walker”, bringing those on earth closer to the kingdom. They stand at the
boundaries between the commonplace and the sacred, thus offering the
possibility of relationship with the divine. Priests are, therefore,
interpreters of Manley-Hopkins’s “grandeur of God”, Von Balthasar’s “patterns
of grace”, and Philip Yancey’s “rumours of another world”. They hold, to use
William Blake’s phrase, “infinity in the palm of their hand and eternity
in an hour” and offer this to those to whom they are ministering.
Incarnation and Mystery
This model is profoundly incarnational in its
scope. Paul Tillich describes preaching as “holding up a picture of Christ”.
The mystagogue’s task is related to this image – it is the art of bringing
Jesus down to earth by displaying of the wonder, inspiration, and complexity of
his icon. We do this through our words, but also through our lives. Meister
Eckhart pointed out that the incarnation is worthless and pointless if the Word
is not also born in Christians. By stating that “the Word was made flesh” (John 1.14), the Gospel writer
uses the inceptive aorist Greek tense which implies an action that has started
in the past but is continuing into the present. The phrase might rather be
translated as ‘the Word started to become flesh’. Thus, the Word continues to
become flesh, even today, as Christians acknowledge that “I no longer live, but
Christ lives in me” (Galatians 2:20). The priestly calling is rooted in this and, in this sense at least,
all church traditions will be able to affirm the priest as “in persona Christi”. The model of the bearer of mystery therefore allows us model ourselves on the
Jesus of the gospels, bringing to our congregations as many questions as we
provide answers, telling as many stories as we affirm facts, and challenging as
much as we give comfort.
Yet, more than this, this ministry is a
paradoxical process of being Christ to people we already regard as Christ. Cistercian
Charles de Foucault regarded the recognition that all people are “the greatest
treasure of all, Jesus himself” as integral to the priesthood. Likewise, in
light of the radical incarnational call of Matthew 25, Alan Ecclestone went as
far as to challenge his fellow priests to consider where they bow at the end of
each service. They should, he suggested, be bowing where they truly believe
Christ is. Rather than bowing to the altar or the host, he urged them to
consider bowing to their congregations, where the real body of Christ resides
and where the physical real presence is found. With the model of the priest as
a bearer of mystery, then, we are compelled to see Christ in both ourselves and
others, whoever they may be and however different they are to us.
Sacraments and Mystery
This model of priesthood is also sacramental to
the core. On one hand, priests become witnesses to the wonder of the
traditional sacraments, leading others beyond physical matter to spiritual beauty
and benefit – to see beyond bread and wine to Christ’s body and blood, beyond
the font to the transformational water of life, beyond the temporary joy of a
wedding day to a spiritual covenant, and so on. On the other hand, priests
become living sacraments themselves. They do this by, firstly, demonstrating,
through words and deeds, God’s excessive and unreasonable love and compassion.
To use Philip Yancey’s words, priests need to show people “what’s so amazing
about grace”.
Secondly, though, priests become living
sacraments by bringing others into engagement with the beauty and wonder of the
whole gamut of human experience – theology, literature, film, music, nature,
laughter, ecology, spirituality, art, architecture, poetry, and so on. G.K.
Chesterton wrote that to see the world properly one must stand on one’s head.
The priest’s role is to stand on her or his head, beckoning others to do the
same and so to share this distinct, awe-inspiring, and life-giving vision of
the world around. It is helping others to recognise the pearl of great price in
their seemingly ordinary everyday routines. Karl Rahner, himself often referred to as a
‘mystic of everyday life’, pointed out the importance of leading Christians to
God’s active grace in creation, his self-communication in the midst of our
everyday lives. This is, to use the words of R.S. Thomas, “the turning aside like Moses
to the miracle of the lit bush, to a brightness that seemed as transitory as
your youth once, but is the eternity that awaits you”. Furthermore, there is
also a healing aspect to this call to, in the words of Alan Billings, “make God
possible”. After all, love, compassion, wisdom, and beauty are not only mystery
bearing, but also profoundly healing. Barron employs the ancient term doctor animarum (doctor of the soul) to
develop this aspect of priesthood and relates it directly to the priest’s pastoral calling.
To truly live out this model, though, priests
themselves need time and space to connect with God and to engage with, and
theologically reflect on, wider culture. The pace of modern ordained ministry,
much of which is either non-stipendiary or encompasses the demands of diocesan
or provincial roles alongside parish work, rarely allows enough time for study,
contemplation, and prayer, thus making St Paul’s command to pray continually (1
Thessalonians 5:16) seem a mere aspiration to most clergy.
Bearer of Mystery
With Anglican Churches embracing the healthy
process of commissioning and licensing lay people for various roles, it is
imperative that we ensure that the priestly role is not devalued. Embracing the
model of the bearer of mystery may help give further life and purpose to priestly
ministry, as well as to our ordinands and ordination candidates. Priests should
certainly never be placed on a spiritual pedestal or elevated over and above
the laity. No parts of the body should be elevated above the body itself (1
Corinthians 12). However, there has to be something unique and distinctive
about priestly ministry. The concept of priesthood of all believers (1 Peter
2:5) reflects that all Christians share something of the role of Mystagogue,
but to the priest this is more than a role or function. Through ordination, it
becomes a way of being.
While there is, then, no ideal model for which we can forge an ontology of priesthood, Barron’s work does provide us with a model that is both relevant to our times and rooted in the past. It also has the potential to inspire those who may feel the oars of priesthood have been lost on the shores of our rapidly changing culture. Furthermore, this model has the benefit of being accessible to all backgrounds and traditions. John Wesley once described himself as a preacher who set himself on fire and allowed people to watch him burn. This is at the root of this model of priesthood. The primary function of the priest, writes Barron, is not to preach, minister, or counsel. In fact, no function can define or confine priesthood. Rather, a priest is someone who is set on fire to the depths of their being by the mystery of God and then beckons others to draw near and be warmed or set alight by the flame.
Trystan Owain Hughes is Tutor of Applied Theology and Director of the MTh (Theology) at St Padarn’s Institute, Wales, UK and priest-in-charge of Christ Church, Roath Park, Cardiff, Wales. Previously he has been Chaplain at Cardiff University, Director of Ordinands at Llandaff Diocese, and Head of Theology at Trinity University College, Carmarthen. His theological training included extended placements in an asylum seekers deportation centre, an Oxford University college, and a large episcopal church in Washington DC. Trystan has attained an MTh from Oxford University and a PhD in church history from the University of Wales, Bangor. He is the author of Winds of Change: The Roman Catholic Church and Society in Wales 1916-1962 (UWP, 1999), Finding Hope and Meaning in Suffering (SPCK, 2010), The Compassion Quest (SPCK 2014), Real God in the Real World (BRF, 2014), and Living the Prayer (BRF, 2017). He has also been a regular voice on BBC Radio 4’s ‘Prayer for the Day’ and BBC Radio 2’s ‘Pause for Thought’ and was on the theological commission that assists the bench of Welsh Bishops for over 10 years. He is presently a member of the Church in Wales Evangelism Fund Committee, appointed as a cleric who has seen considerable growth in his parish in the past five years.
“Poignantly Poetic” is the section of the blog devoted to the promotion and curation of poetry. Anglicanism has a long, rich history of poetry, far beyond the development of the Psalter and Book of Common Prayer. This new series seeks to offer a platform for Christian poets interested in sharing their work.
The five of us intended to commune. Shoulder to shoulder in my godson’s car, We rolled down Jefferson and swerved around A grey haired man jaywalking, eyes far off. We hung a left into the view of guards. The long haired one alarmed the men with guns. Under storm clouds, beside the tunnel, we stood, As bells rung out from Mariners’ Cathedral. They frisked us in case we were doing drugs, And searched the car for weapons and for guns. The crooked nosed guard gave us back our papers. We felt suspicious eyes as we walked late Between choir members in white robes and I lost Excuses to refuse the weight of glory.
Clinton Collister studies theology and poetry at the Institute for Theology, Imagination, and the Arts at The University of St. Andrews and edits the Poets’ Corner at The North American Anglican. His articles have appeared at Forward in Christ, Front Porch Republic, and Solidarity Hall. He and Sarah live in Guardbridge and attend All Saints. You can hear them share their love of poetry on their podcast, Poetry for the People.
This is Andrew Russell’s second installment in his mini-series on Anglican Spiritual Formation for our “Ecclesia Anglicana” series. You can read his introductory post here.
The Christian life is fundamentally a life of worship. More than growth in holiness, proclamation of the gospel, or working toward social justice, the Christian Church exists to sing praises to God, offer her gifts to him at the table, be nourished by the Scriptures and sacraments, and commune with him in worship (though holiness, evangelism, and social justice are all natural outgrowths and consequences of that worship). This article is concerned with an Anglican view of spiritual formation and the central role worship plays in the formation of an Anglican Christian. However, Anglicans have often found help for explaining the importance of worship—and the world’s value for assisting human beings in their worship—in the writing of the great Orthodox liturgical theologian Alexander Schmemann:
All that exists is God’s gift to man, and it all exists to make God known to man, to make man’s life communion with God. It is divine love made food, made life for man. God blesses everything He creates, and, in biblical language, this means that He makes all creation the sign and means of His presence and wisdom, love and revelation. (For the Life of the World)
This means the entire world is a temple in which worship of the triune God is eternally being performed. Humanity’s decision to love the world more than God—to love the world for its own sake—caused the death of the world. But Jesus Christ, in his life, death, resurrection, and ascension, has “taken up all life, filled it with Himself, made it what it was meant to be: communion with God, sacrament of His presence and love” (Schmemann). The cosmos again worships God, as it was originally created to do.
It is the joyous responsibility of Christians to take part in this grand cosmic worship service. This is done, of course, by daily living, but also—and perhaps most meaningfully—in the liturgy of the Eucharist.
Liturgy is essential in worship. The Church inherited liturgical worship from the Jews. It is as old—and perhaps even older!—than the Scriptures themselves, and it follows a pattern because the God of Israel is a God of order. This, along with the conviction that liturgy creates an atmosphere of beauty and reverence, is summed up nicely in the catechism of the Anglican Church of North America: “Anglicans worship with a structured liturgy because it is a biblical pattern displayed in both Testaments, and because it fosters in us a reverent fear of God.” In the liturgical traditions, the command to “worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness” is taken seriously.
Though Anglicans differ amongst themselves on Eucharistic theology, it is universally accepted that the Eucharist strengthens believers and communicates the grace of God to them. More specifically, the Eucharist unites believers with Christ. It is the means through which we repeatedly receive the benefits of his atoning work and sacrificial death. In the Eucharist, we enter into the joy of the resurrection and sit at the festal table with the triune God in the Kingdom. The world to come is brought to this world, and we are able to see that all of creation is shot through with the presence of God. The world [again] becomes sacrament.
In the Anglican tradition, the Daily Office is also central to spiritual formation. The Daily Office is more than a time of prayer; it is a time of praise, confession, study of Scripture, intercession, and thanksgiving. Furthermore, the Daily Office claims the time of the day for God and recognizes that time itself benefits from the redemptive work of Jesus Christ. American society tells us to frame our days with rush and relaxation, but the Scriptures tell us to frame our days with worship and prayer: “From the rising of the sun to its setting the name of the Lord is to be praised.”
As far as what makes up Anglican worship, Anglicans are in keeping with the vast majority of the Christian tradition: Word and sacrament. The Word of God is the foundational witness to the saving work of God in the world. It is the source of our belief and practice, and because of this it is one of the most precious possessions entrusted to the Church. This is why, every day, Anglicans sing psalms and read passages from the Old and New Testaments, with the end result of reading the entire Bible once a year (or once every three years, depending on which lectionary you use). Not only does the Bible provide the raw materials for our worship and doctrine, it also recounts our history as the people of God. Gerald Sittser is worth quoting here:
The Bible tells a story of human resistance and God’s persistence. The story is full of flawed heroes and strange twists of plot, of the wretchedness of evil and the triumph of good, which was accomplished in a way that no one could have predicted, namely, through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. It is a wonderful story; it is also a true story that speaks to the depths of the human condition. This story provides us with the truths we need to make sense of our own stories. What God accomplished then he can accomplish now because he is the same God who works in the same way. Even more, we come to realize that our stories are given meaning not because they are our stories but because they are located within the story of salvation history. (Water from a Deep Well)
Sacraments are the other element of worship in which Anglicans undergo spiritual formation. We believe that the incarnation of God in the person of Jesus Christ signifies not only the union of God and humanity, but also the resanctification of matter itself.
As we discussed earlier, all of creation may in some sense be seen as sacramental. There is no location where God is not present, and there is no activity in which God is not working. Jesus Christ is the perfect demonstration of this as the quintessential sacrament. He is the place where heaven and earth meet. He is the foundation and proof that God works with human beings in ways they can most easily understand. Thus this world is not a necessary evil; it is, for humanity, a necessary good.
Anglicans believe that God forms human beings spiritually through material things, in keeping with the Great Tradition going back to the ancient Church. Through mundane things like bread and wine, human beings are united to God and transformed into who they were made to be. However, it is important to remember that the sacramental nature of reality is only made possible and sustained by the Word of God (both the personified Word, Jesus Christ, and the written Word). It is both together that form the basis of an Anglican view of worship and, consequently, spiritual formation.
Andrew Russell is an M.Div. candidate at Beeson Divinity School. He is an ordination candidate in the Anglican Diocese of the South and hopes to serve the Church as a parish priest. He lives in Birmingham, Alabama, with his wife, Anna. Follow him on Twitter: @andrew_05.
This post is part of “Ecclesia Anglicana,” a series devoted to all topics pertaining to Anglicanism. Stay tuned for more!
I did not grow up in the Anglican church. My teenage years were split between a Messianic Jewish synagogue and a Grace Brethren congregation. So, at a distance, the sacrament of confirmation looked like a cool rite of passage for my Episcopalian friends. But on February 11th, 2018, I received the laying on of my Bishop’s hands with this blessing:
“Defend, O Lord, this your servant,
Hunter, with your heavenly grace, that he may continue yours for ever, and
daily increase in your Holy Spirit more and more until he comes into the
fullness of your everlasting kingdom.”
This same
confirmation prayer occurs in every iteration of the Book of Common Prayer,
always emphasizing mature perseverance
as an intended fruit. I received this
sacrament as an adult who, at that point, had served as a youth minister for
six years, yet I experienced a new vigor in receiving the Eucharist and
participating in parish life. Perhaps my own confirmation experience makes me
acutely aware of a common disparity between the theology of confirmation and
the practice of confirming youth in the Anglican church. It seems to be the
case that parish catechesis risks merely preparing youth confirmands for the
rite of confirmation while the liturgy and theology of confirmation treats the
sacrament as an initiation into life-long, Holy Spirit-filled perseverance. The
result of this disparity is a generation of youth fully initiated into a Body
they are unprepared to participate in long-term. Thus, the Church risks
perpetuating another achievement for youth to attain without life-long
practices and perspective. So, the question, “Are you initiated?” may not be as
helpful for confirming youth as, “What are you initiated into?”
Now, there
is no ecumenical consensus on the timing of confirmation. Our Eastern Orthodox
friends do not separate baptism and chrismation, while Anglicans, like our
Roman Catholic friends, withhold confirmation until a child or adult may take
reasonable, mature ownership of their faith. However, the question of what youth
are initiated into remains for every Christian tradition. In what follows, I
will explore the way a strong method and theology of confirmation moves youth
beyond the words of a catechism and the works of piety into a persevering
desire for the Triune God.
Words, Works, and Desire
What prepares a young person for
confirmation? The numerous catechisms written since the Protestant Reformation
seem to answer: systematic content. The Apostles Creed, the Lord’s Prayer, the
Ten Commandments, and the Sacraments become jumping off points into a didactic
process whereby the catechumen ought to know what these teachings mean
and why they occur in the Church’s liturgical life. Now, it may be unfair to
diagnose this method as overly cognitive in its scope, yet youth confirmands
experience that, in order to be confirmed, you must learn what these words
mean. Under this view, catechism concerns the meaning behind the words and
works of the Church. William Cavanaugh addresses a similar problematic method
at work in the Eucharist. “The problem is that the Eucharist has been reduced
to the message, to a piece of information for the mind to grasp. … The key is
not what the Eucharist means, but what it makes. And it makes the Church.”[1] Surely the sacrament of confirmation
also ought not be reduced to merely confirming what someone knows.
Since a
little ressourcement goes a long way, let us consider a catechetical method
from the early church. In De
Catechizandis rudibus,
St. Augustine responded to Deogratias, a deacon in Carthage, regarding how to
deliver a proper catechism. This deacon, celebrated in doctrinal knowledge and
eloquence, struggled to deliver the scope of the Christian faith without boring
his catechumens. What is Augustine’s advice?
The narration is complete when the
candidate has received instruction from that first passage in Scripture, “In
the beginning God created the heavens and the earth,” all the way up to the
present age of the Church. But this does not mean that those of us who have
memorized the whole Pentateuch, all the books of Jewish kingdoms and Ezra, the
whole Gospel and the Acts of the Apostles, should rehearse them verbatim. …
Rather we should offer a brief and general summary, selecting particular
passages that occasion wonder and pleasure in the hearer and also form the
sinews of the story.[2]
Certainly,
Augustine is not implying that parts of the Biblical narrative are unimportant.
His narrative method is intentional, knowing that where one starts affects the
whole and must fit together with all other pieces.[3] The goal of catechetical instruction
is “love proceeding from a pure heart, good conscience, and unfeigned faith.”[4] Much like the hermeneutic
instructions in De Doctrina Christiana, Augustine emphasizes the desire
for and enjoyment of the Trinity as the ultimate end of all instruction.
So, how
does Augustine’s narrative
method answer what catechumens are initiated into? A catechism beginning with a
selective biblical narrative (1) shows that the catechumen/confirmand is part
of and participates in the public story of God’s redeemed people and (2)
assumes this story will inspire wonder and pleasure for a life-long pursuit of
God. If I might expand Augustine’s illustration, the sinews of the biblical
narrative are sufficient for the catechism because they prepare the confirmand
to be a full part of the Body of Christ, rather than an individual initiated
solely on their mature knowledge.
Confirmation
gives young people something to long for beyond the moment of initiation: a
daily strengthening by the work of the Holy Spirit. The theology of
confirmation points to this very reality. In baptism, the Church is united to
Christ’s death and resurrection. In the
Eucharist, the Body is united to Christ and one another through receiving His
body and blood. In confirmation, each believer participates in Pentecost. A
narrative catechism emphasizes a young person’s participation in a public
story; initiation is participating and receiving that act of God which
initiated and constituted the Church.
Throughout De Catechizandis rudibus,Augustine exhorts the
listener to consider what they really rest their hope upon. If you place it
upon your personal character, you will not persevere. If you place it upon the
character and piety of others, you will not persevere. Augustine’s interest in
the chaff among the wheat takes a pastoral turn towards perseverance and the
purpose of Christian practice.
This is fulfilled by no one save the
man who has received the other gift, the Holy Spirit, who is indeed equal with
the Father and the Son, for this same Trinity is God; on this God every hope
ought to be placed. On man our hope ought not to be placed, of whatsoever
character he may be. For He, by whom we are justified, is one thing; and they,
together with whom we are justified, are another.[5]
Here
lies the mysterious hope in the sacrament of confirmation: that, by grace, we
will persevere in our desire for the God on whom, alone, our hope truly rests.
Christian practices form persons who daily put their hope in God, awaiting the
fullness of His everlasting kingdom.
A Practitioner’s Perspective
Discipling
teenagers is not an easy task. I studied youth ministry at a Christian college,
served in youth ministry a non-denominational church for six years, and now I
am a student ministry director at an Anglican parish. I write as a practitioner
seeking clarity and conviction for my own students, more like Deogratias than
Augustine! Yet I find that the Anglican tradition offers a uniquely helpful
perspective and practice for forming youth.
First,
Anglican youth ministry is free to learn from any Christian tradition and
practice. Youth ministry, at least in the United States, began from a larger
sociological shift when the institution of public education functionally
created a distinct people group: teenagers.[6] The Anglican Church can learn from
every kind of response to this phenomenon, from movements emphasizing
family-driven faith to methods presupposing teenagers are largely unchurched. I
have every reason to study the Bible, the Book of Common Prayer, Orange’s “It’s
Just A Phase” curriculum, Hillsong Worship, St. Augustine’s understanding of
the Imago Dei, and missiologist Leslie Newbigin in order to catechize
and disciple students well.
Second, the
Anglican tradition can be locally adapted for a variety of post-Christian
contexts. I serve a diverse, urban parish in the heart of a city nicknamed the
Holy City for all the church steeples on the skyline. Yet my students attend
schools, have jobs, and form friendships in spaces that relegate religious
beliefs to private preferences. Thus, the methods of reaching teenagers and
equipping parents will look different in a diverse, urban setting compared to a
suburban, like-goes-with-like context. The Liturgy of the Word and the Liturgy
of the Table will form parishioners in a Kingdom reality, but parish catechesis
must adapt to the spaces where parishioners will go in peace to love and serve
the Lord.
Third, the
Daily Office is an ideal rhythm for worship and discipleship. It is relatively
easy for young persons to read Scripture with the multitude of Bible apps and
reading plans one download away. Yet the Anglican tradition gives youth
ministry a true gem: a pattern for how to hear, read, mark, learn, and inwardly
digest Scripture as a Body. Our parish now requires all confirmands, youth and
adults alike, to learn and practice the Daily Office as a rule of life.
Finally,
Anglican youth ministry benefits from strong sacramental theology and practice.
On one morning of a youth service weekend at a nondenominational church, I
struggled to teach Christ’s
words, “I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him,
he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.”[7] I realized I could not teach this
passage without treating the Eucharist as a true sacrament and not just a
memorial ordinance. Christ’s words surely go beyond daily devotions and into
the constitutive reality of a Church united to Him in the sacraments. Youth
ministry, at least in the United States, risks merely moralizing Christian
practices without a historic sacramental theology, a risk still present even in
Anglican parishes. The challenge of parish catechesis will always be to pierce
beyond the meanings of a catechism into the mysterious initiation into a Body
united to Christ, “from whom the whole body, nourished and knit together
through its joints and ligaments, grows with a growth that is from God.”[8] May our youth always persevere in
their desire for God and participation in the Body.
Hunter Myers is a Student Ministry Director at the Cathedral Church of St. Luke & St. Paul in Charleston, South Carolina. He earned his BA in Youth Ministry & Philosophy at Columbia International University. He is from a small town called Golden, Colorado.
[1] Cavanaugh, William. “Eucharistic Bodies
in an Excarnated World.” Lecture, The Intersection Conference, Atlanta, May 17,
2019.
[2] Personal unpublished translation by Dr.
Andrew Alwine, Associate Professor of Classics, College of Charleston.
[3] See Dr. Sarah Coakley’s understanding of
systematic theology. Coakley, God, Sexuality, and the Self, 41.
