Yesterday I returned to an Episcopal church I used to frequent when I lived in Colorado four years ago. Most weeks, I would attend a 7 a.m. Eucharist, eat breakfast at Wooglins (a favorite crunchy breakfast cafe across the street from Colorado College), then rush to New Life for staff meeting. The Eucharist was a wonderful and much-appreciated respite from the normal mega-flow of Christian experience, and I was always glad for it.
But that gladness was always coupled by a tinge of sadness. I was usually one of 5 or 6 people at the service, and my being there halved the median age of the congregation. I guess that much is to be expected, but making matters worse was that with one exception, the priests who ministered the Eucharist did so in a half-dead monotone. The liturgy itself–that is, its language, its import, its dramatic arc–was filled with life, but the priests leading us through it seemed determined to kill it.
On Wednesday, I was happy to return to the church for the Institution of the Ashes service marking the beginning of Lent. I live far north now, nearly outside of Colorado Springs and well removed from downtown, Wooglins, CC, and the Episcopal church–all things I miss a great deal. So I was excited that Ash Wednesday gave me the extra push I needed to make the long commute. And it was worth it. As I did four years ago, today I still appreciate a chance to check my megachurch spiritual life against a more historical-traditional expression of faith. The liturgy, as ever, was beautiful, convicting, and stirring. (Wooglins was as crunchy and satisfying as I remember, too.)
But if that morning Ash Wednesday service was any indication, the church has not managed to grow at all in four years. And while there was a new priest–a young, bright-looking man–he kept the monotone I had remembered the church for. He did not kill the liturgy for me–how could he?–but his delivery of it made it seem like he longed to be somewhere else.
Hmm. That was a rabbit trail. I meant to write a post about the certain pomp and circumstance of even these older, more deeply historical churches. I meant to compare the rush of art one sees as one walks through the door with the rush of sight and sound I described in the megachurch worship on Sunday. But I’ve gone in the opposite direction for now. More on the other anon.
If its smells and bells you are after, http://www.theophany.org/services.html
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Here’s the problem: you should have picked the Wednesday morning that I was the priest celebrant–I really know how to pack a room! Just kidding. Actually, as you know… I think you know… worshipping God in the Anglican-Catholic tradition is not dependent on the personality of the priest–thank God! In all fairness to the young priest, who I know (of course), the monotone is for the purpose of de-ephasizing pesonality so that the focus is on Christ and not him. It’s also not about the numbers. A valid and meaningful Eucharist only needs two or three congregants to be present, because Jesus has already promised to be in the midst of them. One last thing… In the Catholic tradition it is believed that when Eucharist is celebrated we are combined with the church in heaven, as well as on eartrh–therefore we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses. Talk about numbers!
Guess who just brightened up my day?
Thanks a lot!