In the Clarity of this Bright and Holy Light: The Paschal Candle as a Resurrection Sign

The final installment of We Sing the Glories of This Pillar of Light, a series on paschal candle and its use throughout the liturgical year.

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Paschal Candle
Basilica of Saint Mary, Minneapolis, MN

Christ is the light of the world. This profound truth is the most basic meaning behind every single candle we burn in our sanctuary. But do they have meaning beyond that?

To my mind, that is the driving question at work in our use of the paschal candle.

There are, to be sure, plenty of other issues at work. There are other candles burning in the sanctuary, and the name we give to them will affect how and when utilize them. Different placements for each candle will exert different pressures. A prominent candle raises more questions when it is unlit, and our tendency will be to light it more frequently. Likewise, a candle suspended from the ceiling, just above our line of sight, might burn out without being noticed. An oil candle -- one which can be used and refilled without ever losing its shape or stature -- might entice us to more frequent usage.

These other issues feed into the larger question: what do these candles mean? In the very first post of this series, I cited to Anita Stauffer's Altar Guild and Sacristy Handbook, where she claims that the evening light and the paschal candle have different meanings: "The paschal candle is a resurrection symbol, while the evening prayer candle is a more general reminder of the light of Christ." But that's where she leaves it; the claim is far more nuanced than a single sentence. After all, Christ is the light of the world ultimately because of his Resurrection. Why not use the paschal candle as a marker of Christ's illumination of the evening darkness?

Moreover, we proclaim every Sunday to be a "little Easter" -- that is, every Sunday is a celebration of the Resurrection -- and so why limit the paschal candle to only the Great Fifty Days, the Sacrament of Baptism, and the rite of Christian burial? Why not let the candle shine every Sunday as a reminder of Christ's light through Resurrection?

I doubt anyone will be surprised to read that I have not changed my position. I still hold that the Church should only light the paschal candle during the Fifty Days of Easter, at Baptisms, and during funerals -- and, possibly, at All Saints'. (Indeed, I've become more convinced that the paschal candle should not be used at Christmas to replace the Christ candle. Our paschal candles come laden with visual symbols of the Passion and Resurrection. While the Lamb of God might make sense during Christmastide, a lily does not.)  We have so many rich symbols of Christ's light sitting disregarded. Let us explore these symbols by bringing them to the foreground and allowing them to shine brightly rather than opting for a single multi-purpose year-round candle. If we turn the paschal candle into a generic "everyday use" item, we do so at the risk of undermining both its function and the function of every candle it would be replacing. Worse still, if we use the paschal candle as an "all-purpose feast day" candle, lit on any day of unique significance -- Reformation Sunday, Transfiguration, Ash Wednesday -- it becomes all the more muddled. Rather than pointing to the Resurrection, it becomes the sign of nothing more than that the paraments have changed color. 

Too often, the issue is reduced to "specialness." Such an argument lacks the nuance so often required by good theology and is often used to advocate against weekly celebration of the Holy Eucharist -- a position I cannot support. "Special" things maintain that quality even when done frequently -- and indeed, some acts become more special the more often we do them. Who among us would say that kissing a spouse, reading to a child, or enjoying a conversation with a close friend is "less special" if done on a daily basis?

Rather, it comes down to an issue of unique meaning and function.

Before proceeding, let me make a crucial distinction -- and one I've been trying to put into terms since jumping down this rabbit hole. What's the difference between "special" and "unique"? In this context, I would suggest we often use "special" to mean something along the lines of "imbued with extra meaning or significance." "Unique," on the other hand, might be defined as "possessing a quality not found in other, similar items." So some things might be special but not unique (eating a meal with friends or family). Others might be unique but not special (a chipped coffee mug). Still others might be both (a favorite toy from childhood).

Under these definitions, then, every candle in a parish is special in that they are set apart for the worship of the Triune God. The candles at the Altar, the red lamp burning in the sanctuary, the paschal candle, the votives in the iron stand, the candles in the Advent wreath, and the mass-produced paraffin numbers we use for Christmas Eve and the Easter Vigil: they are all special in that they carry meaning beyond that of ordinary candles at home. Each of them represents the light of Christ in the world.

Each of those candles, though, has a unique meaning. The Advent candles mark the weeks passing towards Christmas, building the amount of light in the darkness of winter. Their companion, the Christ candle, marks the arrival of the Nativity. The sanctuary lamp reminds us of God's eternal presence (and, depending on where you are, Christ's presence in the Sacrament reserved in the tabernacle/aumbry): a constant light shining even in an otherwise-vacant space. The Vespers light is Christ's light illuminating the night.

The paschal candle's unique meaning points very specifically to the Great Vigil of Easter. Lit from the new fire on the night in which our Lord passed over from death into life, its light very specifically points to the Resurrection -- not as an over-arching emphasis (as we do every Sunday) but in very concrete terms. This candle, unlike all others, is inscribed with signs of Christ's victory: the Cross, the lily, the Paschal Lamb, the Alpha and Omega. Five grains of incense are placed in its wax. 

Week-in and week-out, we proclaim our Lord's Passion and Resurrection. This is the very nature of Christian worship. But for fifty days, from sun-down on Holy Saturday until Pentecost, we proclaim our Lord's victory in our boldest terms. We turn our entire liturgy to that cause, adding our Allelulias and making every hymn one of joyful adoration. This candle -- more so than any other in our sanctuaries -- points us to that wonderful season of the Easter feast.

The function of the paschal candle, then, is to carry that meaning to other times when we look specifically and concretely to the Resurrection.

The paschal candle carries all of that extra meaning with it into the Sacrament of Holy Baptism. When we usher people forward to be brought into the Body of Christ, we do so quite literally in the light of Easter. The paschal candle reminds us that in Baptism, we join with Christ in passing from death into life.

The same candle brings hope into our funerals. When we bury our beloved kindred in Christ, we know that they are only asleep for a time but that they, promised life everlasting through their Baptism into Christ, will pass into life everlasting.

All of our candles show the light of Christ shining in the darkness, with the subtle hints of the Resurrection echoing underneath. The paschal candle brings the subtext of the Resurrection to the foreground. We cannot, through overuse, rob it of that meaning. We cannot make it "less special." We can, though, undercut its function.

The paschal candle acts as something of a liturgical highlighter, calling our attention to the Sacrament of Baptism and the Church's burial rites while also drawing forward the meanings of Easter. It makes us mindful of the connection between Christ's Resurrection and our own hope for the Life Everlasting, bringing forward a visual manifestation of a single common thread.

Through over-use, we drown out these connections, obscuring their meaning. The paschal candle will always continue to bear its meaning; the difference is in our own ability to discern its significance.

Mingled with the Lights of Heaven: Consistent Use of Lights in the Liturgy

Part of We Sing the Glories of This Pillar of Light, a series exploring the use of the paschal candle throughout the liturgical year.

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Over the past week and a half, I've become aware of just how complicated our use of the paschal candle really is. I set out to write a single post on the topic, but I suddenly found myself grabbing more books and planning out multiple posts. I originally thought I would research this over a weekend and write a post on a Monday afternoon and be done with it.

As Christians, we place a lot of emphasis on ordinary, physical things. Some of them are readily apparent: we worship an incarnate and self-giving God who gave us Sacraments as physical means of grace. Others we we give to God and ask God to bless for our use: palm branches and beeswax and grains of incense.

This emphasis on the physical requires us to think and act carefully. How we treat the Sacraments matters (more on this later). But how we treat those things that are less than Sacraments but are nevertheless offered to God for our use in the Divine Liturgy also matters.

Paschal Candle in Baptistery,
Cathedral of Saint Paul, St. Paul, MN

It matters how we use candles. That's why both clergy and laity have strong opinions about the use of the paschal candle and its counterparts. The Tradition has handed down specific meanings ascribed to our candles: when and how they are used, what they signify, even how and in what order they are to be lit. On top of that, we bring in our own meanings to these candles. As previously mentioned, I've heard a number of different explanations on why most parishes have two candles on the altar. As humans and as Christians, we look for meaning in the world around us. The paschal candle is a light surrounded by other lights, one candle mingled among many. We look for its significance: what does that one candle say or do that the others don't? We see signs, and we seek to understand them in context, to see the meaning in why they are where they are. 

For that reason, we must remember that consistency matters.

Paschal Candle sans Font, sans Context
Trinity Lutheran, Owatonna, MN

Lutherans will continue to disagree over the proper use of the paschal candle. This debate will not disappear any time soon. Whichever way you take it, though, be consistent. Make sure that the local custom is known and followed. Make sure all of the clergy, altar guild, sextons, acolytes, and anyone else who lights the candles knows which candles to light.

The worst possible solution is, "It's lit whenever it gets lit." Any and all significance is lost when the candle is lit at the whim of the person with the taper.

If the parish norm is to light the paschal candle every week, make sure it's lit every week. If the local practice is to light it only during the season of Easter, during Holy Baptism, and at funerals, make sure it gets lit on those occasions. Do not let it become a liturgical Cheshire Cat, appearing and disappearing at random. Take the time to discuss the candle with acolytes and altar guild members.

Believe it or not, people in the pews do notice what happens up front. Children ask their parents questions. Visitors notice things that are different from their home congregation. Those new to the faith wonder why things are done the way they are. Make sure there's an answer for these inquirers that extends beyond, "Shoot, did we forget to light that today?"

Burning to the Honor of Your Name: Paschal Candles and Sanctuary Lamps

Part of We Sing the Glories of This Pillar of Fire, a series on the use of the paschal candle through the liturgical year.

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"Christ the Light of the World is present in this space." This is one of the most basic claims the Church makes in her architecture and design. We furnish our sanctuaries in such a way as to allow ample light in. When we gather after nightfall and in the short days of winter, we light more candles, expelling the darkness. The flames which once served a practical function, providing light by which to read, have become more and more symbolic.

We proclaim that the lumen Christi is present in our midst, as well we should. We make a mistake, though, if we assume that our paschal candle is the only way to communicate Christ's illuminating presence. Week in and week out, we light candles on the Altar. (The real question is why two? Over the course of my life, I've heard numerous answers to this question: the divine and human natures of Christ and the Old and New Testaments chief among them. Realistically, though, it's likely a mixture of utility and symmetry.) Some of us light candles beside the pulpit, a reminder that Scripture is an ever-present lamp unto our feet.

More than that, though, we have a light that remains lit year-round, burning even after the Divine Service has ended. It goes by many names: the presence candle, the altar lamp, the sanctuary lamp. They're usually encased in red glass and suspended from the wall or ceiling. Per the Altar Guild and Sacristy Handbook:

Some churches have a sanctuary lamp in which a candle burns continuously throughout the year. The lamp is suspended from the ceiling or mounted on the chancel wall; it is never properly placed on the altar itself. In general, sanctuary lamps follow the ancient Jewish custom of always having a light burning at the altar and have come to symbolize God's living presence among us. As such, they are not extinguished following a service. [p. 20]

Surprisingly, as ubiquitous as these candles are in liturgical parishes, their history is difficult to trace. They get a passing reference in The New Westminster Dictionary of Liturgy and Worship (usually my starting point for such matters owing to its usually-thorough nature) and only a single citation in the General Instruction of the Roman Missal (discussed below). The ELCA worship staff's FAQ sheet on sanctuary lamps traces their more contemporary usage to the twelfth century (though sadly without citing a source for further reading).

Whatever the lamps' history, suffice it to say that their origin dates back to Jewish practice and at some point became associated with the Eucharist as that the consecrated elements were reserved in the tabernacle:

In accordance with traditional custom, near the tabernacle a special lamp, fueled by oil or wax, should shine permanently to indicate the presence of Christ and honor it. -- GIRM 316

A burning sanctuary lamp, in medieval practice, guided practice to ensure that proper respect and devotion was given to the Body of Christ.

In the sanctuary lamp's most basic meaning, then, it communicates that Christ is present, either in the the consecrated Host or more generally in a space set aside for Christian worship. Per New Advent:

Mystically it signifies Christ, for by this material light He is represented who is the "true light which enlighteneth every man."

Sanctuary Lamp
Basilica of Saint Mary, Minneapolis, MN

Again, we see that many of our candles have overlapping meanings: the paschal candle and the sanctuary lamp both signify Christ.

As we contemplate the usage of the paschal candle, I wonder: why are we so eager to light another candle when we have one that is so often ignored? From the ELCA worship staff again:

While some assemblies may continue this custom of a sanctuary lamp, it may be a case of something practiced that is not understood, a kind of “we’ve always done it” but without being clear why. A congregation will need to ask what is communicated by the presence of such a lamp.

At the same time, I wonder if we are venturing into similar territory with our paschal candles. Do we light it without asking what is communicated by its presence? Has the paschal candle become something we light because it's there, or does its light communicate something above and beyond the presence of Christ our True Light?

To better understand that, perhaps we should also consider where we place our sanctuary lamps. They are often hung high above the floor as a practical consideration. New Advent explains:

The lamp is usually suspended before the tabernacle by means of a chain or rope, and it should hang sufficiently high and removed from the altar-steps to cause no inconvenience to those who are engaged in the sanctuary. It may also be suspended from, or placed in a bracket at the side of the altar, provided always it be in front of the altar within the sanctuary proper (Cong. Sac. Rit., 2 June, 1883).

The downside of that placement, though, is that they become almost impossible to see. Of the various parishes I've served and visited, most of them have the lamp well above the line of sight, to the point that one must actively search out the lamp. Once spotted, it's nearly impossible to tell if the lamp is burning; both its altitude and its red case hide the small flame within. Our symbol for the presence of Christ is a small flame often hidden from view.

As discussed previously, we have conflated the roles of the Christ and paschal candles. It seems, too, that we have added the sanctuary lamp into this amalgamation. Both flames call to mind the light of Christ, but they have distinct origins and point to separate Sacraments. In calling attention to the paschal candle -- a light linked to the Sacrament of Holy Baptism -- we have pulled attention away from the sanctuary lamp -- a light linked to the Sacrament of the Altar.

One possible way forward is to bring down our sanctuary lamps, that perpetual flame we have for too long ignored. Instead of lighting the paschal candle week-in and week-out, we might consider moving the sanctuary lamp to a more prominent place -- either lowering its chain or mounting it on a wall near to the Altar.  We might even incorporate the lamp more fully into the liturgy; rather than a dim light only visible when the lights are out, we could use the flame as the source for the Altar candles, lighting the taper from our red lamp and carrying its light to the Table.

No matter the path, we owe it to our parishioners to fully consider all of the signs in our sanctuaries before opting to ignore one in favor of the other.

[Edit: I realize that current Catholic practice is to keep the sanctuary lamp burning nearer the tabernacle in Chapel of the Blessed Sacrament, and more liturgical Episcopal and Lutheran parishes have placed the lamp closer to the aumbry. I'm operating under the assumption that those parishes are more likely to follow the rubrics regarding the paschal candle. I'm writing with less liturgical Lutherans in mind, assuming that they both maintain an ever-burning sanctuary lamp and are more likely to light the paschal candle on a weekly basis.]

Let Your Light So Shine Before Others: Placement of Font and Paschal Candle as Sources of Controversy

Part of We Sing the Glories of This Pillar of Fire, a series on the use of the paschal candle throughout the liturgical year.

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One astounding result of the Liturgical Movement has been the renewed emphasis on an embodied sacramental theology. The Sacraments are no longer hidden away: lay Catholics are offered the Chalice; liturgical Protestants are moving towards weekly celebration of the Eucharist; real bread is offered at the Altar. The emphasis on lay participation has led to a wonderfully tangible liturgy.

Baptistery
Pisa, Italy

The renewed sacramental emphasis has also led to a more prominent place for the Font (and with it, the paschal candle). Many parishes have moved the Font out of the corner, taken the lid off, and kept water in it throughout the week. It's no longer a bird bath hauled out of storage when needed but a permanent furnishing on par with the Altar. In so many ways, these developments have produced good fruit. I have seen Lutheran laity, unbidden, approach the Font, dip their fingers in, and make the sign of the cross -- a sign that is still viewed by some as suspiciously Roman but is, nevertheless, becoming more commonplace. Granting more prominence position to our baptismal furnishings starts us down the path to more fully remembering and living into our baptismal identities.

Important though this development is, we have inadvertently brought upon ourselves a new issue. In many parishes, the old designs are still in place. The building was crafted without a permanent baptismal space. In many places, the solution has been to put the Font up front, either in the chancel or at the front of the nave (in what would have been the transept in larger churches). It's easy to understand why: during the Sacrament of Baptism, the assembly can see what's happening without having to awkwardly turn around in the pews. The Font and the Altar are right up front, meaning that the preacher can easily gesture towards both of them and all liturgical action looks forward in the same direction. On a practical level, it makes a certain amount of sense: the Sacrament and its accompanying furnishings are made plainly visible.

Baptistery, Interior
Pisa, Italy

It's worth noting that there are options other than putting the Font in storage or placing it in or near the chancel. In older times, the Font would be placed in a separate room or even in a separate building. Note in the photo above: at the Pisa cathedral, the baptistery is physically distinct from the cathedral itself. The cathedral in Florence follows a similar pattern, as does Saint John's Lateran in Rome. At the cathedral in Speyer (Germany), the original baptismal font is in the crypt. These chambers had large Fonts -- of such size that adults could be baptized by immersion. Baptism in these contexts featured a large procession -- following the ancient pattern of the Great Vigil of Easter.

More modern buildings have followed the pattern but in a more compact form. At Saint John's Abbey in Collegeville (Minnesota), the baptistery is located in the narthex, and a large set of doors separates the Front from the central nave. The Roman Catholic cathedrals in Savannah (Georgia) houses its Font at the back of the nave. [Edit: Mount Olive Lutheran in Minneapolis, MN and Ebeneezer in Columbia, SC have also placed their Fonts near the narthex.] Entering the church through the center doors, then, Christians are reminded that entry into the Church flows from the Font towards the Altar. In arranging the furnishings, we invite Christians to remember their entry into the Body of Christ through the Sacrament of Baptism as they venture forward to receive the Body of Christ in the Sacrament of Holy Communion.

This arrangement rubs us the wrong way. We like to stay stationary. If something is worth looking at, it happens up front, just like at a lecture, play, or concert. Moving the Font out of the chancel towards the narthex means people would have to get up, to move around. To be honest, we're lucky if we can get them to face the Cross or the Gospel during processions -- to say nothing of being in the procession themselves. But as Pfatteicher says in his Manual on the Liturgy:

Too often the font is located in a corner or set in the chancel so that it can be seen (as if the chancel were a stage on which all the action takes place.) In a Christian church the is not one place of action (the chancel) and seats for the audience (congregation). There is room in which the people of God do their service, and in this room the focus shifts as the service progresses. [p. 150-51]

In our attempts to emphasize Baptism, we risk inadvertently re-enforcing the message that important events take place "up front" as opposed to throughout the entire space. In many places, we have bolted ourselves to the floor, just like our pews.

Notice, though, that I say we risk re-enforcing the stage/performance mentality. My concern is that the Font be prominently placed and remain stationary: numerous configurations, if done well, permit the sort of sacramental emphasis essential to Christian liturgy. Just so, any and every configuration has its certain risks. If I may be so bold, the one absolute rule I would posit is this: the Font, once placed, does not move. Our seating may move around it, just as our lives revolve around our baptismal identity, but the Font and Altar stay put; they are permanent features in an ever-shifting world.

Baptismal Font
Saint John's Lateran, Rome

Why am I spending so much time talking about where we put the Font? Because outside of Easter and funerals, the paschal candle stands next to the Font. As soon as we put the Font up front, we raise an issue: why do we light all of the candles in the chancel area except for one? Our decisions about architecture and design have subtle but far-reaching implications; in moving the Font, we have changed how the paschal candle is perceived. The candle became more prominent, and so did its darkness throughout the year. We have moved a large, ornate candle to the foreground, but we rarely light it. It's no wonder, then, that pastors, altar guilds, and acolytes are so uncertain about its meaning, "special-ness," and function. The paschal candle would be, in practical terms, a non-issue in other configurations. Its unlit wick would be less prominent in the narthex. We would not risk an over-eager acolyte or altar guild member rushing out to light the one that "got missed."

I realize I'm thinking of configuration in practical terms, but there is a reason for that. The paschal candle is a sign: it points to something else. As with vestments and manual acts, the candle's importance comes from the practical matter of how it is seen. The paschal candle's significance comes, at least in part, from how it is displayed and thus how it is understood. If it is the lone, unlit candle surrounded by flame and electric light, prominently displayed week in and week out, it will be understood differently than the candle illuminated every time its environment (the baptistery) is used.

The Light of Christ: Use of Candles at the Great Vigil, Christmas Eve, and Vespers

Part of We Sing the Glories of This Pillar of Fire, a series on the use of the paschal candle throughout the liturgical year.

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Advent Wreath
sans Christ candle

There has been a certain amount of conflation between the paschal candle lit during the Great Vigil of Easter and the Christ candle lit on Christmas Eve. Presumably to emphasize symbolic continuity, many parishes have adopted the custom of using a single candle which is lit at the Easter Vigil (or perhaps at the Sunrise Service) and at the reading of the Nativity on Christmas Eve. The Christ candle, as part of the Advent wreath, is a much later tradition -- some fifteen hundred years, at least -- than its paschal counterpart. Despite the chronological chasm between the two flames, there is a certain amount of sense to one candle which connects the two greatest feasts. That same single candle serves as both the crown of the Advent wreath (though physically distinct from the wreath) and as the candle lit from the new fire of the Paschal Feast. In these parishes, that single candle is interchangeably called both the Christ candle and, less frequently, the paschal candle.

(As an aside: I wonder how many parishes, having conflated the paschal and Christ candles, firmly insist on wearing blue in Advent and violet in Lent to properly distinguish between the seasons?)

Paschal Candle
Cathedral of Saint Paul, St. Paul, MN

Compounding the conflation of the Christ and paschal candles, there is also the candle used during Vespers. Our evening liturgy begins with the Lucernarium, a service of light in which we illuminate the darkness with a tall candle while singing a hymn proclaiming that God illumines the world (the Phos Hilaron). At the Easter Vigil, we gather in darkness and illuminate the night with a tall candle while singing a hymn proclaiming that God illumines the world (the much longer Exsultet). The Catholic Encyclopedia at New Advent even suggests that there may be some ancient connection between these two acts:

Others see in this an allusion to the ceremony of the paschal candle. However, the Lucernarium may have had, at that time, some analogy with the ceremony of Holy Saturday, and the hymn could thus be adapted to one or the other. In the "Old Gallican Sacramentary" (Thomasi, "Opera", VI, 395) we find for Holy Saturday an oratio ad duodecima, designed to celebrate the light as well as the Resurrection, which would seem thus to favour our hypothesis. St. Basil also speaks of a hymn being sung at the moment when the torches were lighted, doubtless the famous hymn--"Lumen hilare" (cf. Cabrol, l. c., 47-8). [Caveat: I am well aware that New Advent is outdated, and I don't know the current state of research on connections between the Vigil and Lucernarium.]

Add to these similarities that the Altar Guild and Sacristy Handbook tells Lutherans, "[The candle used at Vespers] should be almost as large as the paschal candle," and only offers the distinction that it should be white and unadorned and only offering the distinction that this plain candle is "a more general reminder of the light of Christ."

It's a recipe for confusion. We have three large candles which play significant roles in evening liturgies, and their basic meanings overlap: whatever extra nuances exist, all three of these lights indicate to the assembly that Christ is the light of the world. Even in terms of ritual action, all three of these candles are used to distribute light from a central source to smaller tapers. It's immediately apparent that these three candles are similar, but how are they different?

Our liturgical texts do us a disservice by not fully exploring the idiosyncrasies of liturgical symbolism. They state that the candles are not interchangeable but fail to adequately explain why -- or worse, leave the issue after simply stating a firm rule. As a reader and a liturgist, I leave Stauffer's Altar Guild book wondering why the candle used during Vespers is not a reminder of Resurrection. I've spent a lot of time thinking through these issues and have come to my own conclusions. But how many of our altar guild members, acolytes, and folks in the pews are left wondering why sometimes we have extra candles? We owe it to our parishioners to have these discussions out in the open, to discuss them at workshops for our acolytes, when meeting with the altar guild to talk over Easter arrangements, to point out these holy objects in our preaching.

We Sing the Glories of This Pillar of Fire: Use of the Paschal Candle, Revisited

Exultet during the Vigil
Gloria Dei Lutheran, St. Paul, MN

Last year, I wrote a few pieces on the paschal candle and its use throughout the liturgical year. As is often the case, I've continued to argue with myself about what I wrote and how I said it. As is so often the case, though, in putting my words to paper (or the screen), the project has quickly spiraled beyond what a single post can bear.

At the start, I should say I still think the paschal candle should be lit on All Saints' and All Souls' for the same reason we light the candle at funerals: the burning paschal candle re-affirms our faith that all the Baptized will see the Resurrection of the Body. I know I'm coming at this from a decidedly Protestant perspective and that I'm thinking of All Saints' more as an annual funeral rather than a feast for a given saint. (After all, we don't light the paschal candle on the Feast of Saint Andrew, so why should we on All Saints'?) But All Saints' has morphed, at least among many Lutherans and Methodists, to a more generalized remembrance for the Faithful Departed, and as such, use of the paschal candle is fitting.

Putting that aside, what are the issues at work in our use of the paschal candle? How did we develop such a divide (at times, deep and bitter) in our use of the paschal candle? What do the different positions intend to say? What does the paschal candle mean, and how does it function?

Posts in this Series:
1) The Light of Christ: Use of Candles at the Great Vigil, Christmas Eve, and Vespers -- On the conflation of various candles used within the liturgy
2) Let Your Light So Shine Before Others: Placement of Font and Paschal Candle as Sources of Controversy -- Discussing the placement of baptismal fonts and the emphasis such a location puts on the paschal candle
3) Burning to the Honor of Your Name: Paschal Candles and Sanctuary Lamps -- Have we developed two candles competing to signify Christ's presence?
4) Fed By the Melting Wax: Wax and Oil Candles as Sources of Tension -- How do practical decisions about the construction of candles subtly influence our decision to light the paschal candle?
5) Mingled with the Lights of Heaven: Consistent Use of Lights in the Liturgy -- Whatever you decide, be consistent.
6) In the Clarity of this Bright and Holy Light The Paschal Candle as a Resurrection Sign -- On the unique meaning and function of the paschal candle, and how that meaning is hindered when the paschal candle is lit outside of the Fifty Days

"Always Refer to Your Baptism" -- Il Papa on Making Eucharist Together

In recent weeks, representatives from the ELCA and the US Conference of Catholic Bishops (USCCB) put forward a bold declaration of points where we have come to agree on the Church, ministry, and the Eucharist. (For a more detailed summary of the process, consult the Catholic News Service article.) They recognize the differences that divide us -- women in ministry, full acceptance of LGBT persons, married priests and bishops, explanations of how Christ is present in the Bread and Wine -- but these differences are not what makes this document unique. Rather, it is the declaration that Catholics and Lutherans should be able to (occasionally) commune together.

The document, called "Declaration on the Way," is well worth the read and has made quite a splash within ecclesial circles -- along the same lines of the "Joint Declaration on the Doctrine of Justification," the groundbreaking work released in 1999. "Declaration on the Way" still has a long way to go. While the ELCA bishops have approved it, their decision is not binding. Rather, it will go before our Churchwide Assembly in 2016. From there, it will go to the Lutheran World Federation, the worldwide communion of independent Lutheran denominations. Likewise, same document will go before the entire USCCB for a vote on whether or not to send the proposal to Rome, where it would be considered by the Vatican's group on ecumenical relations. It's a long way to go, to be sure. The schism between Augsburg and Rome is not yet healed.

The en via, though, recognizes a central fact about the Eucharist: While it is a sign of ecclesial unity, it is also the means by which we are gracefully united into the Body of Christ. The Eucharist upholds our baptismal unity.

And Pope Francis has taken up this issue himself in recent weeks. He attended Vespers at the Lutheran parish in Rome, and in doing so, encouraged Lutherans and Catholics to forgive each other for the horrible persecutions they have perpetrated against each other and to work together. In and of itself, this is a marked shift from the pre-Vatican II church, but not unexpected from this Pope, who has met with the female presiding bishop of the ELCA and has worshiped alongside the Archbishop of Canterbury.

And then a woman asked a question. She and her husband are in a mixed Lutheran/Catholic marriage, and she wanted to know if she would ever be allowed to share the Eucharist with her full family. The Pope's response is worth quoting at length, as found at Whispers in the Loggia:

I think of how the Lord told us when he gave us this mandatumto “do this in memory of me,” and when we share the Lord’s Supper, we recall and we imitate the same as the Lord. And there will be the Lord’s Supper in the final banquet in the new Jerusalem – it’ll be there! But that will be the last one… in the meantime, I ask myself and don’t know how to respond – what you’re asking me, I ask myself the question. To share the Lord’s banquet: is it the goal of the path or is it the viaticum [etym. “to accompany you on the journey”] for walking together? I leave that question to the theologians and those who understand.

It’s true that in a certain sense, to share means that there aren’t differences between us, that we have the same doctrine – underscoring that word, a difficult word to understand. But I ask myself: but don’t we have the same Baptism? If we have the same Baptism, shouldn’t we be walking together? And you’re a witness of a likewise profound journey, a journey of marriage: itself a journey of family and human love and of a shared faith, no? We have the same Baptism.

...
I can only respond to your question with a question: what can I do with my husband that the Lord’s Supper might accompany me on my path? It’s a problem that each must answer [for themselves], but a pastor-friend once told me that “We believe that the Lord is present there, he is present” – you believe that the Lord is present. And what's the difference? There are explanations, interpretations, but life is bigger than explanations and interpretations. Always refer back to your baptism – one faith, one baptism, one Lord: this Paul tells us; and then consequences come later.

I would never dare to give permission to do this, because it’s not my own competence. One baptism, one Lord, one faith. Talk to the Lord and then go forward. [Pauses] And I wouldn't dare – I don’t dare say anything more.

Video of his response from the Catholic News Service:

The Pope's response reminds me of the ELCA's presiding bishop when I had the chance to ask her about our relationship with Rome this summer:

That is a scandal....The Reformation needed to happen, but we should not celebrate when the Church is fractured....With Christ, all things are possible....I'm not going to put a date on it, but it is our Lord's will.

A time is coming at this, the end of the age, when we will gather together and join the unending hosts of heaven in celebrating our Lord's presence among us.

Thanks be to God.

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Post-Script: As an aside, Il Papa addressed the gathering of the Catholic Church in Italy with the following words and a hat-tip to the Lutheran tradition:

"The reform of the church then, and the church is semper reformanda ... does not end in the umpteenth plan to change structures," he continued. "It means instead grafting yourself to and rooting yourself in Christ, leaving yourself to be guided by the Spirit -- so that all will be possible with genius and creativity."

The Pope and the Clerk: On Rushing to Judgment

Let me put a few cards on the table:

1) I support full LGBT inclusion in the Church and in society. I rejoiced at the Obergefell decision.

2) I support freedom of religious expression and those who have conscientious objections.

3) I disagree with Kim Davis' decision to stop issuing marriage licenses. If her job requires her to act in contradiction to her religious beliefs, she should follow the example of early Christians and leave her job. The ancient liturgical document The Apostolic Tradition of Pseudo-Hippolytus lists professions that were forbidden to Christians. The expectation was that there are certain jobs that conflicted with the teaching of the Church: ancient Christians did not serve as as charioteers. It's not that they were charioteers who refused to race; they simply left the profession. Davis should follow the example of the third century Chrisitans and resign her position if she believes if conflicts with her faith.

4) Moreover, I think Davis' legal counsel is using her. They have their own agenda in mind, not her best interest. Frankly, I am surprised that her representatives have not been disbarred.

5) I like this Pope. I disagree with him on a few issues, but I firmly believe that he is making steps towards full reconciliation within the Church.

6) I like NPR. They tend to get stories right on the first go and tend to be the most unbiased news source in this country. I'm going to call them out on some stuff in this post precisely because they usually do a good job. Fox News or MSNBC dropping the ball on a story? Nothing out of the ordinary. NPR is capable of better, and so they're my media-stand-in.

With all of that being said, when Pope Francis met Kim Davis, the American media lost its mind.

The trip went incredibly well. The Bishop of Rome delivered a stirring address to Congress, ate with the poor, met with survivors of clerical sex abuse, and projected himself as a bishop of the people -- in keeping with his desire that the Church be poor and for the poor.

But just consider how the few days after his departure played out.

The first few days after his return to Rome, NPR lauded the visit, saying he "Moves Believers and Skeptics Alike" and "Strikes A Chord" with both Catholics and non-Catholics.

And then something happened. Lawyers at the Liberty Counsel started tweeting about Kim Davis' papal audience. And the tone of the conversation changed. NPR picked up the story and reported what Davis told ABC News:

Just knowing the pope is on track with what we're doing, and agreeing, you know, kind of validates everything.

That same day, NPR ran a story: "Pope's Commitment to Religious Freedom Highlighted on US Trip." Interviewee Emma Green, a reporter at The Atlantic, details all of the ways that Il Papa discussed religious freedom: he mentioned it at Independence Hall, he met with a group of nuns in a legal struggle against the contraceptive mandate, and he mentioned it before Congress. As Green puts it: "hints." But meeting with Davis? That's highlighting, because we all know how intimately the Bishop of Rome is concerned in the goings-on of a Pentecostal county clerk in Kentucky.

It's important to remember that at this point, there had been little news on the event. The story broke on 30 September, the date of the article above. The Vatican commented on it the same day, acknowledging that the Pope and Davis had been in the same place at the same time.

By the next day, NPR was touting that the visit "Puts a New Twist" on the papal visit. Credit where credit is due, one of the Vatican correspondents discussed the Pope's mid-air press conference this way:

We don't know exactly how this meeting occurred and what the pope knew about her. Of course, just later on a press conference on the way back to Rome after leaving Philadelphia, he was asked about the rights of conscientious objection for people, and then he gave a very milk-toast, bland answer about generic rights of conscientious objection for people without mentioning Kim Davis, without mentioning same-sex marriage. So it makes me think that maybe he didn't even know who this person was or what was going on in that meeting.

But this clarification came only in response to the anchor's question:

It would seem that everything on a papal trip is there to make a point. What might have been the point for Pope Francis in this meeting with Kim Davis?

Later, NPR ran a follow-up about the response of LGBT Catholics "disappointed" in the papal "meeting."

It's important to remember how little had come out at this point in the story. The only source of information on the meeting was from Davis and her lawyers. The Vatican had done little more than to begrudgingly admit that the meeting had occurred. And yet the entire week-long visit was recast by this single event.

Then, after two days and no fewer than four articles of confused "this changes everything" reporting, the hurricane stopped. The Vatican issued a statement. Turns out, the meeting didn't change everything. The Pope met Davis briefly in a receiving line. It wasn't a formal audience. He offered no express opinion on her situation. Because, as it turns out, the Liberty Counsel was blowing the event way out of proportion.

And the news media -- even our best news agencies -- swallowed the Liberty Counsel's version, hook, line, and sinker.

Cue the correction and clarification: NPR ran two consecutive stories after the Vatican announced the "meeting" was almost a non-event. Hindsight, it turns out, is much clearer. You can't draw a total conclusion about a person's policy from a single event, especially if that event is being framed entirely by somebody else's agenda. Francis met briefly with Davis in an impersonal, highly formalized setting -- but we only listened to how Davis and her lawyers framed the narrative. Because, as it turns out, Francis did have an official one-on-one audience, much like the one Davis described. But he met with a former student, a gay man, and that man's husband. They were welcomed via personal invitation, whereas Davis was contacted independently by the nuncio (Vatican ambassador) to the US.

Way back on the first day of the news cycle, Fr. James Martin, SJ, wrote a quick seven-point response to the unfolding story. Throughout, he urges caution in interpreting the events. He reminds us that the Vatican, not Davis, is the authority on the Pope's actions and intentions. That meetings take place but do not indicate specific endorsement of the individual. As Fr. Martin puts it:

Most of all, despite what Ms. Davis said, a meeting with the pope does not “kind of validate everything.” Again, the pope meets with many people, some of whom he may know well, others of whom may be introduced to him as a reward for long service, and perhaps others who will use a meeting to make a political point. Meeting with the pope is a great honor, but it does not betoken a blanket blessing on “everything” one does. Not to put too fine a point on it, but Pope Francis also met Mark Wahlberg, and that does not mean that he liked “Ted.”

So the next time there's a "this changes everything" moment with the Pope, whether it's along the lines of "Who am I to judge?" or a meeting with a partisan figure, let's all wait. See how things unfold. Remember that every event has to be understood in the full context of the who the Pope is, both as the Bishop of Rome and as a man named Jorge. No single event defines a papacy or a visit.

So, NPR and every other news organization out there, wait a moment next time. Put the events in full context. And please, for the love of God, don't let the Liberty Counsel control the narrative. 

"I'll Recite the Creed'

Pope Francis has made waves with his emphasis on social justice, peace, and proper stewardship. He's also received a lot of pushback -- from politicians, which is to be expected, but also from theologians.

As my colleague Fr. Lee pointed out, the Church's mission for social justice is rooted in our theology.

So when Il Papa was questioned about his perceived leftism, his response was spot on:

“Maybe I have given an impression of being a little bit to the left,” the pope said. “And it if [sic] necessary, I’ll recite the creed. I am available to do that, eh.” 

A Just Liturgy

One of my classmates from Candler, Father Lee, is one of the single most impressive priests I know: well-versed in Latin and Greek, an Anglo-Catholic who also sports thick glasses, a beard and tattoos, rides a motorcycle, and celebrates the Mass in Spanish when asked. He is the future of the Church, and the Episcopal Church is lucky to have him.

As a colleague, I am blessed by his insights into contemporary culture and theology. Recently, the Most Reverend Justin Welby, current Archbishop of Canterbury, proposed a major shake-up within the Anglican Communion. This news broke from Lambeth right around the time that Senator Bernie Sanders addressed students at Liberty University's weekly convocation. A few highlights from my colleague's reflections:

Bernie knows something we can’t seem to grasp: When, not if, but when Evangelicals wake up to issues of Economic Justice, it will be a cataclysmic shift in the American political landscape. One which the Republican party, as it stands today, will not survive.

I’m not sure the Mainline will survive it either. We’ve made justice issues our sine qua non, at the expense of a comprehensive theological vision to back it up. When Evangelicals start to get on board they will do it better than we do, and no amount of liturgical Millenials will be enough to make us compelling.

And later:

I’m starting to get my hackles up anytime I hear “It doesn’t matter how you believe, only how we pray.”

No. The Creed is a claim, not just of our belief, but of the truth of the reality of the Triune God, and the Church that serves that God. The central claim that we make is that God crossed the infinite gap between Godself and us, and became like us in order to save us.

 The Church is called to strive for justice, and unfortunately, we've allowed powers and principalities to distract us from that task. The predominantly liberal side has failed to engage with that call in any sort of meaningful theological sense, instead deferring to secular ethics. And the conservative side has failed to engage with the same call period. As Fr. Lee points out, we are called to be like the God who sides with the oppressed. This identity is rooted in a distinctly theological claim.

And I look at the dismissal which concludes every Divine Service: "Go in peace. Serve the Lord." This isn't just a means of telling people that the Mass is over but rather of sending them forward as a people hoping in and proclaiming the Resurrection in thought, word, and deed. We are sent out to strive for justice. We are an apostolic Church; yes, this means we share the faith of the Apostles, but also that we participate in their sending. The very word "apostle" means "one who is sent out." We, as the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church are sent into the world to proclaim the news of a Risen Savior and to live into the new reality.

Towards a Catholic Roman Church

I often tell people that I'm on the catholic side of the Lutheran tradition -- looking from Augsburg to Rome, or perhaps swimming in the Tiber.

I'm also asked why I'm a Lutheran instead of a Roman Catholic, given my passionately high view of the Sacraments and liturgy, my lofty ecclesiology, favor for Tradition in addition to Scripture, etc.

The easy answer to that question is that I'm married but still feel called to ordained ministry. Because those are (almost) mutually exclusive* options for Roman Catholics, I decided to keep my affiliation north of the Alps.

There are, though, other issues I care about which prevent me from crossing the Tiber: admitting all baptized Christians to the Altar, ordination of women, and treatment of LGBT Christians.

As much as I respect the current Bishop of Rome, and as much as I long to see the Protestant and Catholic traditions reconciled, I also recognize that these issues will continue to divide us.

There has been movement towards reconciliation, and we should celebrate that movement. The ELCA Presiding Bishop has met with Pope Francis at the Vatican, and she is committed to interdenominational dialog. (Of course, her husband is a priest in the Episcopal Church, so dinner with the family is an ecumenical event in her household.) Along with the "Joint Declaration on the Doctrine of Justification" and "From Conflict to Communion," these are hopeful signs.

As Il Papa prepared to arrive in Cuba and the US, a retired bishop in California stirred the waters by calling for women's ordination and an end to clerical celibacy. He asks not just for a papal declaration but fore a new council, a Vatican III. (For a more detailed explanation, check out the Jesuit magazine, America's article on the topic.)

With Bishop Quinn's op ed, NPR thought it a good time to remind their audience that some parts of the Catholic Church have already started ordaining women -- but that they have also been met with excommunication. Outside of the "independent" Catholic communities (an oxymoron if ever there was one, valid though their goals may be), the Old Catholic tradition -- those who broke off after Vatican I -- do allow married and women clergy, and they have gone through the same growing pains as the ELCA, PC(USA), and Episcopal Church over the issue of LGBT inclusion. (Unfortunately, they lack a strong presence in the US.)

What's it going to take? When can we hope for a truly catholic Church? Will Augsburg, Rome, and Canterbury ever reunite? (To say nothing of Geneva and the East.) Not until we are willing to recognize each other's clergy. If I may be so bold, the stumbling block on this issue is in Rome.

As much as I long for a full reconciliation between the divided Western Church, I must admit I do not see it happening in my lifetime.

There is one sign, though, of things to come for which I truly hope, one indicator that we are moving in the right direction, towards unity, which will precede all others, and may occur before I die.

Before any other move towards unity, we must -- and will -- come together around the Eucharist which will be open to all baptized Christians.

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*Priests in certain Eastern Catholic rites may be married. So may Anglican priests who become Catholic under provisions set up by St. John Paul II and Benedict XVI. These priests are fully in communion with the Bishop of Rome.

A Truly Catholic Liturgy: Sharing the Table

Part I of a series of reflections from the Wild Goose Festival
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I spent the past weekend at the Wild Goose Festival in Hot Springs, North Carolina. Wild Goose is a celebration of the intersection between progressive politics and spirituality -- largely from the perspective of post-Evangelical North American Christianity. It's the sort of place where people, without any small talk, immediately begin sharing their stories of hurt and, at times, abuse in the Church and how they've come to find love and acceptance within the same Church (though certainly within a different parish or denomination). It's the sort of place where people give away free food to their fellow campers, where bottles of bourbon are passed like the Pax, and where disagreements become charitable and edifying conversation.

As I prepared for the weekend, looking over the schedule of performances and presentations, I noticed an hour-long block scheduled for Saturday night: "7:00 PM -- Liturgy: Roman Catholic Mass, Justice Tent."

Immediately, I asked the question. With everything that I've heard about Wild Goose and the type of people who attend, would this be an open table? Would I, a Lutheran, be invited to share the Body of Christ? To drink from the Cup of Salvation?

On to my calendar it went, and I looked forward to it all weekend. When people in my group asked me what I was planning on doing that night, I excitedly told them, "Oh, there's a Catholic Mass tonight."

And then they asked me the other question. "You won't be able to take Communion, will you?"

"I don't know. I mean, officially, no. But if there's ever going to be an open table, it's going to be here."

With no small amount of skepticism, my friends saw me off on Saturday night. I found the tent and stood around awkwardly while people filed in. We moved some chairs around to encircle the make-shift Altar as the priest prepared the chalice and paten. We sat as he welcomed us and said the words I'd been waiting for: "This is an open table."

The liturgy started, and I knew the words (with, granted, a few minor changes in phrasing). I could participate.

And then we got to the sermon. The priest read the Gospel and told us he had nothing to add. It was a festival of teaching, and he wanted to know what we had heard among the tents and tables. What were we picking up in this place that we would carry back to our parishes. People shared in the communal homily.

We celebrated the Eucharist. The priest prayed the Canon, we offered our Amen, and the paten was passed, from person to person. And then the chalice. We were all serving each other at the Altar. We were all the Body of Christ.

When the Sacrament got to me, I shared with my Roman brothers and sisters. The five-hundred-year schism between Rome and Augsburg was, for a moment, healed. Through the Eucharist, we participated in a proleptic vision of God's Kingdom. There was neither Greek nor Jew, male nor female, slave nor free, Protestant nor Catholic. We were united into one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church. As the grains of wheat, once scattered upon the hill, were gathered to become one bread, so too was the fractured Church united.

After, we were dismissed in peace to love and serve our Lord.

I wandered down to the Episcopal tent and joined in praying Compline.

Gloria in Excelsis Deo.

The Church Is Not Glocal -- It's Catholic, Pt. III

Part Three of Three
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One of my mentors, a pastor whom I greatly respect and admire, once passed off a change in denominational polity as "mere semantics." With all due respect to my mentor, semantics are vital to understanding who we are. The difference between different words is a difference in how we think about ourselves. Having bishops instead of presidents may seem inconsequential, but it is a mark which separates the Church from the Lion's Club. Having a diocese or synod rather than a region distinguishes the Body of Christ from a nation or a business.

Let me be clear. Bishops and diocese are not what makes us the Church. We are the Church because we are an in-breaking of the coming Kingdom of God, called and united by the Holy Spirit, baptized into Christ's Death and Resurrection, and upheld as the Body of Christ through the Blessed Sacrament. If our steeples crumbled, our vestments rotted, and our lexicon vanished, we would still be the Church. A rose by any other name, as it were.

But our language should further differentiate us. We participate in God's creative act by giving names, by altering the fabric of our culture.

Language is a key part of culture. It distinguishes one people from another. People I interact with know I am from Georgia because I occasionally slip out a "y'all" or an "ain't." When I visited London, they knew I was an American because I was surprised when my meal came with "chips" and not a bag of Lay's. In Germany, they knew I was an anglophone because I paused before ordering a Bratwurst, searching for the words.

Language not only differentiates between cultures but also frames the way we think about certain subjects. For instance, Oxford historian Chris Wickham once remarked that the christological debates which so occupied the East, with Greek's multiple terms for varying modes of being, made less sense in Latin, and so the West largely ignored the subject. Or, more broadly, think of the debates which rage over vocabulary choice and even punctuation. We make sense of each other and the world through our language.

To quote Toliken, "[E]ach langauge represents a different vision of life."

Wall Street has a term for the intersection of the global and the local, the universal and the particular: "glocal." Wikipedia offers this history of the term:

The term first appeared in the late 1980s in articles by Japanese economists in the Harvard Business Review. According to the sociologist Roland Robertson, who is credited with popularizing the term, glocalization describes the new outcome of local conditions towards global pressures. At a 1997 conference on "Globalization and Indigenous Culture," Robertson said that glocalization "means the simultaneity -- the co-presence -- of both universalizing and particularizing tendencies."

How does a multinational corporation succeed in a new market foreign to the corporation's origin? By commodifying the local culture. And so, at Dunkin' Donuts in South Korea, you see bean paste donuts. Next door at the McDonald's, you see burgers with kimchi.

Let me say here that this process is not inherently bad. One of the best Italian dinners I've ever had was at a culinary school in Daegu, South Korea. Some of the best barbecue I've ever had was a Korean-fusion place (with kimchi cole slaw) in an Atlanta suburb. The process can be reversed in which local businesses utilize new, international tastes rather than multinational companies taking advantage of local idiosyncrasies.

So if "glocalization" is not inherently bad, why do I resist the term so vehemently?

When we talk about the Church, we have a language for describing and making sense of what it means to be within the Body of Christ. We have a way of thinking that differentiates us from the international companies and non-profits and which sets us apart as the ecclesia. And so, when we talk about our concern for the local and the universal, we have a term for it. We are catholic. We confess to believe in one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church -- not a glocal Church. We have our own way of thinking about what we do, and if we start borrowing from Wall Street, then we risk becoming a multinational non-governmental organization rather than the catholic Church.

Adopting business terminology to describe the nature of the Church means that we are letting business, rather than Scripture, the Tradition, or Jesus, frame the debate around what it means to be the Body of Christ and what it means to worship the Risen Lord.

The Church Is Not Glocal -- It's Catholic (Interlude: Reconstruction)

Part Two and a Half of Three
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How might the catholic liturgy emphasize the multicultural character of the entire Church?

As I've mentioned in my previous two posts, the liturgy does this inherently. In the Divine Service, we read from the same Scripture, pray the same prayers, sing the same hymns,* confess the same Creeds, share in the one Baptism, and partake of Christ's Body, the same we have since the apostles (with, granted, some development, especially in the fourth through sixth centuries). The liturgy of the Church catholic transcends temporality, ethnicity, and linguistics.

But suppose a parish wanted to underscore this multiculturalism? What would I recommend instead of the "glocal" service we used at Synod Assembly?

Two suggestions:

First, if a parish is already multicultural or multi-lingual, then using the native languages and rituals of its members should already be the norm. At Candler, where we had students from various parts of Europe and Africa as well as a large number of South Korean students, readings and hymns were often done in the languages of our student body. Every week, the worshiping body was encouraged to pray the Lord's Prayer in their native tongue. O how marvelous it was to hear Portuguese, Korean, German, and countless other languages all at once! One of our Systematic Theology professors, a German Lutheran, frequently presided at the Eucharist during our Friday service. He would offer the Aaronic Benediction auf Deutsch. We all knew exactly what he was saying and could fully share in the beauty of this ancient blessing in a modern language.

In the context of Synod Assembly, then, this would mean inviting members from around the Synod to lead the liturgy in Swahili, Spanish, Korean, German, and the numerous other languages we utilize in worship -- not just for the readings (which we did), but for the prayers, blessings, the Sanctus, and the various other parts of the liturgy.

Secondly, for parishes which are less diverse, incorporate multiple languages into major feast days, especially for Pentecost.

At Pentecost, we celebrate the Holy Spirit's work among us, uniting us into the Church. Everybody on that day heard the Gospel in their native tongue, and the destruction caused at Babel was undone. How appropriate, then, to incorporate multiple languages in worship during this feast?

Here is my humble proposal, along with a few guiding principles:

First, ensure that readers are as near to fluent as possible for their assigned readings. Native, fluent, or at least conversant, is preferable. Small mistakes in linguistics can be funny or they can be horribly offensive.

Second, if feasible, unite with another parish which worships in another language. O swap pastors for the Sunday. If your parish hosts a community which worships in a different language, hold a single service. If there are multiple small parishes worshiping in different languages, try a common service. In doing so, the service actually becomes multicultural rather than multi-linguistic.

Third, never do something in a foreign language that leaves most worshipers out in the cold. Provide a translation. If you're going to read a text or preach in Swedish, make sure that the Korean church you've invited can actually follow what you're saying. The point of this service is to unite the languages, as at Pentecost, not to confuse them, as at Babel. Remember what St. Paul said about speaking in tongues.

Fourth, add a note in the bulletin which identifies each language and explain why it's being used. Why Spanish? Why Korean? Why Urdu?

As to the liturgy itself:

• Invocation and Confession: Latin
• Assurance of Pardon: Native language of most worshipers -- It is fitting that this part of the liturgy, the Good News of forgiveness and reconciliation, be understood by all in attendance. If the pastor is capable, repeat it in the native tongue of all in worship. If conducting a bi- or tri-lingual service, repeat in both or all three tongues.
• Kyrie: If possible, in Greek or Latin. If not, petitions in the native language of most worshipers, response in Greek. Or, 
• Gloria: Latin
• Collect: Salutation in Latin (Dominus vobiscum and Oremus), prayer in native language of most worshipers
• First Lesson: Prominent language in the area, with a translation for those in worship. In Atlanta, for instance, this might mean reading a text in any number of foreign languages. Other places, this might mean Spanish.
• Psalm: Latin, Greek, or Hebrew, sung by the choir -or- a setting for the Psalm in a local prominent language
• Second Lesson: Prominent language in the area, and again with a translation.
• Gospel Lesson: Native language of most worshipers. If two or more parishes have come together for a multi-lingual service, then read the lesson in as many languages as are present.
• Homily: Native language of most worshipers. I know of a small bi-lingual parish in Germany that translates the homily from German into English and provides a physical copy to those who need it. If there is someone capable of providing an accurate translation, then by all means, do this.
• Nicene Creed: Invite each person to confess their faith in their native tongue.
• Prayers of Intercession: Native language of most worshipers, but either a) respond with the Greek Kyrie eleison or invite each worshiper to respond "Lord have mercy" in their native language.
• Offertory Hymn: An offertory hymn taken from another place, perhaps across the globe. Sung in its original language.
• Eucharist: In the native language of most worshipers, with the Sanctus taken from another culture. There are many beautiful settings written in Russian, for instance. It is fitting that parish give thanks to God through the Eucharist as they are able -- in their native language.
• Lord's Prayer: Invite each worshiper to pray in their native language.
• Agnus Dei: Another language, perhaps the same one used for the Sanctus
• Distribution: If possible, have those serving at table distribute the Bread and Chalice in their native tongue.
• Distribution Hymns: Appropriate hymns taken from other cultures and sung as they were written.
• Benediction: In its original language. If the Aaronic Blessing, then Hebrew. Others may be done in Greek or Latin. Or, a language significant to the parish and denomination. For instance, there are many Lutheran churches which were founded as Swedish, Norwegian, or German. A return to the parish's roots is more than appropriate.
• Dismissal: Spanish. An odd choice, but as it is a descendant of Latin, it demonstrates the continued development of languages from the time after Pentecost to the present day. It underscores the continued development of the liturgy from the languages of the Mediterranean to the global diversity of the Church today.

Now, Ite, missa est. Deo gratias.

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*I'm thinking of the Psalms, the Gospel Canticles, and the Sanctus and Agnus Dei. Other hymns, of course, demonstrate the great diversity of Christ's Church across history and varying cultures.

The Church Is Not Glocal -- It's Catholic, Pt. II

Part Two of Three

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Yesterday, I wrote about cultural commodification in the name of "multicultural" worship. Today, I want to think through the disservice we do to ourselves through the same process. In our attempts to incorporate new cultural material into the liturgy, we often replace important parts of the liturgy with something unrelated. It's as though Monty Python took over the liturgy...

The tendency is to remove specific parts of the liturgy, such as the Gloria in excelsis or the Sanctus (which might be the most frequent victim), and replace them with generic hymns. I've already mentioned the "Hispanic Creed." During the same service at the Assembly, we replaced the Sanctus with a similar(ish) Swedish hymn:

You are holy, you are whole.
You are always ever more than we understand. You are always at hand.
Blessed are you coming near. Blessed are you coming hear
To your church in wine and bread, raised from soil, raised from dead. 

You are holy, you are wholeness,
You are present. Let the cosmos praise you, Lord!
Sing hosanna in the highest!
Sing hosanna! Sing hosanna to our God!

At issue here is not the use of a Swedish hymn (though, again, sung in English) but substituting the Ordinary forms of the liturgy for that which is neither Proper nor, to borrow a term, Extraordinary.

Now, when I use the terms Ordinary, Proper, and Extraordinary, I am borrowing from the Rev. Dr. Clay Schmit's Sent and Gathered, a book on "missional" worship. In the catholic liturgy, the Ordinary is that which is used week in and week out in the Divine Service. Certain things never change:

• We gather in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
• We begin the Eucharist with the Sursum Corda and sing the Sanctus.
• We follow the Eucharistic Prayer with the Lord's Prayer.
• We sing the Agnus Dei.

Then, there is that which changes based on the season or given feast/fast -- the Proper. That is, parts of the liturgy are proper to the day and the season:

• We pray a Collect based on the themes of the liturgical calendar.
• We read different lections based on the time of year.
• The Preface in the Eucharistic Prayer changes based on the same calendar.

Rev. Schmit adds to these basic categories that which is proper to a given place -- the Extraordinary. For instance:

• Various paraments and vestments might reflect the symbolic language of a given culture -- we see these distinction between East and West.
• Certain rituals may be idiomatic to a local parish or group. Ed Philips told my Intro to Worship class once of a parish where the congregants sat after the dismissal and watched the acolyte extinguish the candles. There was nothing particularly theological about this act at first; it was just a way of appreciating the child's service in worship.
• Musical settings are entirely culturally dependent. Instrumentation, rhythm, and other aspects are determined by local influence.

And here is the rub. Adopting various Extraordinary forms of worship from other cultures may emphasize the inherently multicultural nature of catholic liturgy (again, assuming that we do so in cultural sensitive and informed ways). But we must also keep in mind the Ordinary. (I must admit, I likely have a broader definition of the Ordinary than Rev. Schmit.)

Catholic worship does certain things. In the Creed, we confess a common and shared faith. In the so-called "Hispanic" creed, we confess what a handful of authors believed and forced on us without warning. There is no time to reflect on what we are being asked to affirm, and we are being asked to confess something which is not held in common with the entire catholic Church. If we were to confess the Apostles' Creed in Spanish, we would be affirming the Christian faith as handed down from the earliest Church. Instead, we are confessing an incomplete (though, thankfully not heretical) quasi-faith.

Likewise, when we replace the Sanctus with something else, we are no longer joining in the hymn of the entire Church and the hosts of heaven. The Sanctus, as it has been received, echoes the cries of the angels Isaiah saw around the heavenly throne and the shouts of those who greeted Jesus in the streets of Jerusalem. Even when we make small changes (such as "blessed is the one who comes in your name,") we are steering away from that which the Church holds in common and, despite our best intentions, actually becoming less inclusive.

The hymn becomes less inclusive because it cease to be what it is: the hymn sung by Christians across the generations. The hymn shared between the Church and the celestial choirs. The cries of the angelic hosts ministering to God in Heaven. The shouts of Judaeans greeting the triumphal Davidic King and Messiah. The hymn which has been utilized by the Church for this purpose since the fifth century. The hymn which unites us all.

And so the hymn we sung instead of the Sanctus, while a decent enough hymn in its own way (if not a bit cheesy), and more than adequate for use in worship, is not up to the task of replacing the Sanctus.

By way of example, imagine two scenarios:

You are at the Olympics, and your nation's athlete has just taken gold. The athlete approaches the podium and she is handed your nation's flag. They place the gold medal around her neck and begin to play...a national folk song. Now, this song is not necessarily bad. In fact, it might even be quite beautiful. But it is not the anthem of your nation -- not the song that unites people from every corner of the land, the song that you grew up singing before sporting events and on national holidays. It serves a different purpose and undermines the moment of national unity during the medal ceremony.

Or...

You are at a parish council meeting and the session is about to begin. The council president suggests that the meeting should open with the Lord's Prayer, printed on the agenda. And so everybody reverently bows their head, looks down at the agenda, and begins to pray, "Almighty God, unto whom all hearts are open...." Again, this is not a bad prayer -- quite the contrary. But it is not the Lord's Prayer, that which Christ commanded the disciples to pray.

Our liturgy has taken on a specific shape and has a certain narrative flow to it. The various elements serve specific functions which contribute to the overall narrative of the liturgy. After the readings and the homily, when we stand to confess our faith, it is the common Christian faith of the entire Church catholic which we are affirming. When we join in that glorious unending hymn, it is the common song of angels and humans that we are singing. In various tongues, rhythms, and styles, these elements must remain catholic.

There is room for change and development in the liturgy. There is room for freedom. But this freedom must be acted upon carefully, deliberately, and intelligently. Even within the Eucharistic Prayer, that most vital and sacred of Christian traditions, there is room for variety and change. But these changes must be acted upon with great care. The Anamnesis, our remembrance of Christ's Passion and Resurrection and our stated reason for offering our thanks and praise, can be re-worded or expanded, but it can never be for anything less than God's salvific acts culminating in the incarnation, life, death, and resurrection of our Lord Christ.

The Creeds may be re-translated, spoken, sung, or chanted in a variety of different languages. But they must remain the common confession of faith handed down across the years and held in common by the entire Church.

The Sanctus may be set to a different tune, the language may be updated, it can be translated in to different languages, but it can never be anything less than the unending hymn that the Church shares with the host of heaven.

So, if we are going to utilize languages and songs from various cultures, we must do so in a way that is sensitive -- both to the culture from which the material is lifted and to the catholic liturgy into which it is being placed.