Mysterium Tremendum: The Awe-ful Weight of Sacramental Celebration

Part of the series Stewards of God's Mysteries, a series considering the theology and practice of lay sacramental authority.

- - -

Altar with Lectern in Foreground, Sacred Heart Chapel
Saint Benedict's Monastery, St. Joseph, MN

One common argument in favor of lay celebration is that a bad preacher can do far more damage than a bad celebrant. Therefore, if we allow lay persons to preach in public worship, why would we deny them the authority to celebrate the Sacraments?

There is a ring of truth to this. The Church long ago determined that Sacraments administered by scoundrels are still means of God's grace. Poor theology doesn't turn the Blood of Christ into poison, but poor theology can do great damage to the Body of Christ as expressed in the assembly of the faithful.

I deeply respect the emphasis on preaching. The pulpit should not be approached lightly. As important as sermons and homilies are, though, the Sacraments are infinitely more vital.

Let us consider more fully what we mean by ordination to Word and Sacrament. We go to seminary and take classes to learn and practice preaching. Preaching is an art upon which we can improve. We should be concerned with what is said in the Church's pulpits and exercise discretion when inviting guest and lay preachers. I'm not advocating for lowering the bar of preaching; on the contrary, I am completely convinced that we need a homiletical revival and a renewed emphasis on Scripture in our preaching. I've heard too many sermons in which well-meaning presbyters fail to consider the full implication of their words.

But we must recognize that ordained ministry is not defined by areas in which we risk doing harm. It's defined by the call of the Holy Spirit affirmed by the Church. And while we're on the topic of things in the ministry that can do great harm if done poorly: building management, pastoral care, faith formation, budgeting, and running a committee or staff meeting all carry with them the terrible truth that they can fracture the Church. We learn all of these things in seminary and "on the job." This is why we expect our clergy -- and indeed, most of our parish leadership, staff and non-staff -- to undertake some form of continuing education. Ministry involves quite a bit of risk, but that is not the threshold of ordination.

What sets the ordained presbyter apart is the Sacraments.* We cannot improve upon the Sacraments through classes or workshops. Sure, we might better be able to chant different sections, memorize specific prayers, grow more relaxed in the manual acts, and learn to think more carefully about the rubrics, but none of that makes the Sacrament itself better. Proclamation of the Gospel is the common vocation of all Christians, but presiding over the Sacraments is the specific domain of ordained pastors and bishops.

Everything else that we do -- be it preaching or pastoral care or even the budget -- flows from our authority as celebrants of the Sacraments. It is the Sacraments, those physical means of God's grace, that set us apart as the Body of Christ.

Yes, everything else we do has real-world consequences. Preaching and pastoral care and faith formation and budget work can all set a parish up to do well or ruin lives. But only the Sacraments bring God's grace to us. Only they have that sense of numinous awe, that weight of glory. It's not that these other aspects of ministry are unimportant; far from it. Rather, it's that the Sacraments are paramount.

*Again, I write this in recognition that deacons in other traditions are permitted to celebrate other Sacraments, especially Holy Baptism, and that UM deacons might even have the bishop's permission to preside at the Altar.

Stewards of God's Mysteries: On the Sacraments and Lay Celebration

Presbyter's stoles

It's a bit ironic that as the Church in the United States lives into its renewed emphasis on weekly celebration of the Eucharist, the number of ordained clergy is beginning to decline and local parishes are struggling to afford full-time pastors.

This is leading to some difficult conversations about how to fill these positions: do we change the requirements for ordination? Do we permit lay persons to celebrate the Sacraments in specific circumstances? If so, what's the mechanism for such licenses?

As it stands today, both my tradition of origin (the UMC) and the tradition in which I currently serve (the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America) permit lay celebration in particular circumstances. In the UMC, lay persons may be licensed as local pastors; with the bishop's approval, they are appointed to a charge and granted the title "Reverend." In the ELCA, the bishop may approve a lay person as a "synodically authorized minister" -- who is not considered a pastor. In both traditions, the lay celebrant is limited to their parish. Unlike a fully ordained presbyter,* these lay persons may not celebrate the sacraments outside the regular duties of their ministry to that single congregation.

Over the next few weeks, I'll consider some of the arguments for and against lay celebration.

With all due respect to my family and friends who have served the Church as lay celebrants, there is a better way. It better serves the Church catholic if we ordain all of our celebrants as presbyters.

- - -
*Definitions and snarky side notes:

• Yes, I know that both the United Methodist Church and the Episcopal Church prefer to style themselves as "The". I'm not going to do that because it's stupid.
• I know that charge, parish, and congregation are not, strictly speaking, the same thing. However, for sake of ease, I'm going to use them interchangeably.
• We don't seem to agree on what to call our parish pastors: are they pastors, priests, elders? I'm going to stick with the Greek and call them presbyters -- which is especially helpful when talking to "low church" folks and when comparing presbyters to deacons and bishops, who also fulfill a pastoral function.
• Instead of "licensed local pastor" or "synodically authorized minister," I will be using the term "lay celebrant" as it gets directly the heart of the matter I want to discuss.

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.

- - -

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.

A Divine Liturgy for a Fallen World

Jonathan Aigner at Ponder Anew highlights this quote from Robert Johnston:

Unwilling to address life honestly, our worship floats above the fray in irrelevance. Rather than recognize that pain is an important part of contemporary life, we anesthetize our existence. We fail to allow into our worship the dark side.

As is his wont, Aigner turns his attention to the shortcomings of contemporary worship, its tendency towards emotional manipulation, rock star adoration, and entertainment.

Johnston's words, though, call to mind a quieter but equally dangerous tendency within the "creative" liturgy movement. As the Emergent movement continues to disintegrate, one stream has continued in its attempt to marry a humanistic Protestant liberalism to a watered-down liturgy. As a result, we end up with Confessions that don't confess anything, Kyries that sound more like bad pop music than a cry for divine help (I'm looking at you, ELW Setting 8), and a refusal to sing hymns that are too "dark" or "heavy."

The problem is the exact same thing we see in the contemporary movement: a steadfast refusal to admit the necessity of lament, a denial of sin and evil, and a peppy self-help theology that focuses on Brene Brown rather than Christ.

We need to make room in the liturgy for "heavy" songs because the world is heavy. We can clap our  hands and sing "This Little Light of Mine" until the cows come home, but what comfort does this bring to the young widower or to the single mother on food stamps?

I've said it before, and I will say it again: the Divine Liturgy must confront the reality of sin in our world. It must confront us with our sinful prejudice and our unholy greed. It must find the words to express the grief of young black man who has lost count of how many times he has been stopped and frisked. It must offer TRUE repentance and reconciliation.

The Divine Liturgy is a source of great hope -- but that hope only has meaning when it is brought out of the context of lament. The Mass is the Light of Christ shining in the world -- but that Light cannot ignore the Darkness of sin and Death.

The Eternal Functional Subordination Debate: Why It Matters

Something strange is happening in the Fundamentalist world. For a few decades now, Wayne Grudem and a few others have been teaching that God the Son is eternally subordinate to God the Father.

The argument is as such:
Because
a) The Father begets the Son, and
b) The Son economically submits to the will of the Father
Therefore,
c) The Son is immanently (eternally) subordinate/submissive to the Father

The position is termed "eternal functional subordination," or "EFS" for short, and for a time, it was coupled with the position that the Son did not exist from eternity. Its advocates also attempt to maintain that while despite such subordination, the Son is not less than the Father.

The position becomes even more convoluted because EFS advocates then take this bewildering attempt at Trinitarian theology and try to apply it to human gender relations. It has become a long and mind-boggling way of arguing that women should submit to men while also trying to maintain that women are not inherently inferior to men.

The major disconnect is that subordination is inherently inferiority. To say that the Son is eternally subordinated to the Father is to say that the Son is immanently less than the Father. It is true that the Father takes precedence in the order of being (that is to say, the Son and Holy Spirit are begotten and precede, respectively, from the Father). This so-called "monarchy of the Father," (spelled out by the ELCA and Greek Orthodox Archdiocese of America in this document; cf. para. 4) though, does not relate to obedience and submission. To suggest otherwise is to suggest that somehow the Persons of the Trinity have different eternal intentions or goals that the Son must relinquish to obey the Father. Or, using the terminology of the Athanasian Creed, would be to suggest that the members of the Trinity are not co-equal in majesty and glory.

(And, while we're at it, to say that women must submit to men is to say that women are inherently inferior to men. Of course, the claim is always just under the surface of Fundamentalist complementarian writing, but they refuse to acknowledge it. The Son is eternally begotten by the Father, and is consubstantial/of one being with the Father. In a lesser way, according to Genesis 2, Eve is made after Adam from a part of Adam's body; she is made of the same stuff. In Genesis 2 -- and notably, not in Genesis 1 -- Adam takes precedence in the order of Creation, but there is no reason to believe that Eve is therefore inferior to or must be submissive to Adam. Substance matters far more than order.)

For whatever reason, this debate exploded onto the scene during the summer of 2016. I won't go into the full details of the debate (there's simply not enough time), but you can read some of the main arguments as summarized by Scot McKnight here, as well as a longer rebuttal published on "Mortification of Spin" here and a snarky post "guest written" by John Calvin. patron of so many EFS advocates, here.

Interestingly, both complementarians and egalitarians sided against the EFS advocates. This is a minority position, even within the Fundamentalist/Complemenatrian/Pseudo-Calvinist camp.

The debate spread to the Evangelical Theological Society's annual meeting, where Bruce Ware (one of the EFS advocates changed his position to admit that the Son is eternally begotten after all. (Here's Southern Baptist Theological Seminary's article on the matter.)

There are a number of reasons to completely discount this position. I won't go into them in detail (again, there really isn't time -- these are debates that have already raged  and lasted for decades leading up to Nicea and later Chalcedon), but I will offer a brief summary:

1) The Creeds -- As to the position that the son is not eternally begotten (now, thankfully, cast aside), it is one of the key elements of the Nicene Creed. To confess otherwise is to venture into the Arian heresy. As to EFS, in general: the Nicene Creed confesses that Father and Son are consubstantial. There is no lesser deity in the Trinity. The Athanasian Creed spells it out further:

But the Godhead of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, is all one, the Glory equal, the Majesty co-eternal....
....And in this Trinity none is afore, or none other; none is greater, or less than another; but the whole three Persons are co-eternal together and co-equal.

The Athanasian Creed goes explains that the Son is only subordinate in the Incarnation -- that is, economically. EFS, then, is right out.

2) The Trouble with the Trinity -- Discussing the Trinity is remarkably difficult. There's a reason that councils were convened and otherwise noble theologians were deemed heretics. It's easy to get on the wrong track; as when traveling a great distance, changing your bearing by a few degrees can put you off course by hundreds of miles. Turn too far in one direction, accidentally end up becoming a tritheist or a unitarian. In over-emphasizing the distinction between the Father and Son (and, let's be honest, ignoring the Holy Spirit through and through), the EFS advocates start down the shockingly short path to tritheism. If the Son is subordinate, and therefore lesser, then what we end up with is a set of three gods rather than one God who exists in trinity.

3) "God is not 'man' said in a loud voice." -- The basis for EFS is the assumption that because human sons should submit to human fathers, therefore the Son submits to the Father. Despite all of Fundamentalist rhetoric about God's holiness, that God is so much further above humanity (rhetoric that, while taken in weird directions, is at least rooted in sound theological thinking), how strange it is then that EFS advocates are attempting to take a model for human relationships and read it into the inner workings of the Holy Trinity, that blessed mystery which exists beyond human understanding.

So...why does this matter? Why spend time giving a crap about an esoteric point of theology within the Fundamentalist world? By and large, the Mainline and Progressives have ignored this debate. A few have pointed to it as an entertaining side show, but few bloggers have actually weighed in -- as though Mainline and Progressive Christians don't really care.

A few things.

First, and this one is personal: Fundamentalists, including EFS advocates, spend so much time calling progressives heretics, claiming that we are not truly Christians for our openness to the findings of modern science, for the ordination of women and an egalitarian understanding of Church and family, for a willingness to discuss, let alone affirm, the role of LGBT+ persons in the Church. And yet when Grudem, Ware, and others leaders in the Fundamentalist world accept an outright heretical opinion, Albert Mohler does mental gymnastics to explain why they are not heretics. Mohler is one of the men who led the crusade against moderates in the SBC. At SBTS, he is venerated as the patron saint of Baptist fidelity, the champion of orthodoxy, and yet he is unwilling to turn his inquisition upon his friends. Rampant hypocrisy matters, and we should be prepared to call it out while defending our position in the Church.

Second, and as importantly, orthodoxy matters. I'll write more about this in a coming post (this one has already turned out much longer than I expected), but let me offer a quick summary. Progressives have been far too quick to say that the only thing that matters is loving, but we have been unwilling to do lay theological groundwork about what Christ means when he commands us to love God, neighbor, enemy, and each other. Theology, for all of its complications, is vital to the Church. We cannot claim we are willing to ask difficult questions if we are unwilling to wrestle with how these questions might shape our theology. Otherwise, what's the point? If all we care about is a general sense of love and community -- noble goals, certainly -- but without a clear theological framework for what they look like, why not become secular humanists? It'd certainly be easier to preach on Steinbeck than Job. It'd be simpler to preach that the key to community is emotional vulnerability rather than Christ crucified and risen. This means, though, that we must be prepared to enter into debates over points of theology, to interpret Sacred Scripture and the Tradition and make arguments rather than "I feel..." statements. The EFS position is an attack on orthodoxy and women's rights
. If progressive Christians want to have a voice in the Church, we must be prepared to but forward an orthodox theology.

Epiphany: A Brief Word on the Forgotten Season

When writing my sermons, I often have "false starts" that don't lead anywhere. As I prepare to preach on the Baptism of our Lord this coming Sunday, I found myself reflecting on the nature of Epiphany. It's not a great introduction as far as homilies are concerned, but something I still found worth sharing.

- - -

We're at an odd point in our liturgical calendar. Advent is over. Christmas has ended. We aren't at Lent yet. No, we're in the season after Epiphany. And what do we know about Epiphany? This is not the big feast day of our year – especially after the intense celebration of Christmas. Add to that our confusion of Epiphany – in the West, it developed into a celebration of the Magi, an event popular culture has rolled into Christmas day. As such, Epiphany and its surrounding events tend to go completely unnoticed. Unlike Christmas or Maundy Thursday, most Protestant congregations don't hold a special service to celebrate the Epiphany of our Lord.

By comparison, our sister and brothers in the Orthodox Church make a big deal out of Epiphany (which they know under the name Theophany). Their celebration follows the more ancient pattern and combines the visit of the Magi, our text for today (the Baptism of our Lord), and Christ's first miracle at the wedding in Cana of Galillee, turning water into wine.

This shift in perspective is important – even vital. We think of Epiphany as an end -- the end of the Christmas season (if we even make it that long), moving on to the long wait until Ash Wednesday. Time to sit on our hands and wait for a more interesting season. But if we celebrate Epiphany -- fully celebrate it, with midweek services, and a feast of its own, and bring back ALL of the readings -- if we focus on the Magi AND the Baptism of our Lord AND the Wedding at Cana, it becomes something entirely different. It's not an ending – it's the beginning of Christ's public ministry.

Husbands, You Will Benefit From Your Wife's (and Other Women's) Theology

Lottie Moon
Baptist Missionary
Egalitarian Icon?

Some odd stuff is going on over at the SBC and within fundamentalist circles. There's the ongoing struggle over "Calvinism" (by which they mean only a Calvinist view of Divine Election) between Southern Baptist seminaries and leaders. There's the debate over eternal subordination within the Trinity. And then there's the odd move within the circle of ESV translators to say that Eve's desire will be "contrary" to Adam (a translation choice they moved to make permanent before backtracking).  So many of these debates have taken aim at a single issue: feminism. Women's rights are in the crosshairs. Even in the debate over subordinationism, the issue isn't the Son's obedience to the Father; rather, it's an attempt to make an argument from the inner workings of the immanent Trinity to the inner workings of human marriage (more on this in a later post).

Many of these odd debates and massive breaks from tradition are part of an attempt to argue that women are lesser than men. For the likes of Grudem, Piper, and Mohler, it is no longer enough to claim that Scripture forbids women from preaching or serving as elders and deacons; rather, they are attempting to reshape all of theology in the image of 1950s suburban America. In the new Fundamentalist understanding of gender, men are men only when they rule over the household, and women are women only when they stay at home to produce dinner and children.


The Fundamentalists are playing a dangerous game. While they confess with their lips that men and women are created as equal, their theology undermines this at every turn. In turn, their theology gives way to rampant abuse. With all of their language of men as protectors, they fail to stand up to the abusers hiding in their congregations. Look no further than CJ Mahaney and Sovereign Grace Ministries. Mahaney refused to take action to protect women and children in his parishes, and he is welcomed with open arms -- and a quick dismissal of his critics -- to address Together for the Gospel. This wasn't some tiny, no-name congregation with an "under-the-radar" scandal; that would have been despicable enough. Rather, this was a scandal at the heart of the complementarian movement, and it was largely ignored.

Consider The Gospel Coalition's attempt to argue for male superiority from the first three chapters of Genesis:

In Genesis 2:15-17 he speaks to Adam, commanding him to “cultivate” and “keep/guard” the Garden of Eden (v. 15). God forbids Adam from eating from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil (v. 17) and warns him that disobedience leads to judgment. The word of God comes to Adam before Eve is even created (v. 22). This suggests that Adam, as Eve's leader, was tasked with conveying God's commands to her.

The article goes on to suggest that God interacts with women (Eve) through men (Adam), while the serpent attacks men (Adam) through women (Eve). This convoluted argument has led some theologians in these circles to argue that Adam's original sin was listening to Eve rather than eating the forbidden fruit:

Adam as head must take responsibility for the fall. God commissioned him to rule and subdue all creation. Ironically, a reptilian creature and a piece of fruit brought down the man who was meant to rule them. In the process he failed at leading his wife.

And then the reverse must also be true: that Eve's sin was her failure to submit to Adam's authority. Grudem himself makes a similar argument in Biblical Foundations for Manhood and Womanhood, suggesting that independent women become "usurpers" (cf. p 39). While self-styled "complementarians" say that Adam is at fault for failing to fully lead, their arguments arrive at the logical conclusion that Eve's sin was to disregard her husband's authority rather than acting contrary to the command of God.

Building on this complex understanding of pre-original sin within the Fall, the SBC Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission's Ronni Kurz boldly proclaims: "Husband, your wife will benefit from your theology." His gist:

Imagine Adam standing up at the beginning of the dialogue and saying, “Eve, no. We know that God, who gave us each other and the garden, is our satisfaction and delight. We lack nothing when we have him.” While we’ll never know if this hypothetical situation would have changed the outcome, the moral of the story remains: husbands should seek theological awareness—and obedience to that knowledge—for the good of their marriages.
...
Husbands, your wives need you to deeply know the Lord and his ways. She needs you to have thought critically about the gospel. She needs you to have sat in awe at the depth of Christ and be ready with all your might to show and lead her to the truth. She needs your theology.

Now let me be perfectly clear: I affirm the title, that wives benefit from theologically sound husbands. But I also affirm that husbands benefit from theologically sound wives, and parents benefit from theologically sound children.

Fundamentalists in the complementarian camp would have us believe that women have little to offer to the Church, that they need defending and guidance because God did not bless them with the full imago Dei. Somehow, in the complementarian world, women lack something that men have. The complementarian position is, to paraphrase Orwell, that all people are equal, but some are more equal than others.

This could not be further from the truth.

First, they apply a twisted heremeneutic. They ignore Genesis 1, in which male and female are created together on the sixth day, in the image of God, as equals and the capstone of all creation. This poor exegetical method also assumes that by being created at the end, from Adam, that Eve is somehow inferior rather than seeing men and women as bookends of creation. And, lest we forget, Adam is formed from such mundane material as dirt, whereas Eve is created from something as noble as Adam.

(There is plenty more to say about scriptural arguments, and written by people far more experienced than I. As a starting point, head over to the Christians for Biblical Equality website.)

Secondly, though, and more importantly, let us consider the real, lived value of women in the community of faith. And since Kurz is playing fanciful games of "What if the Fall didn't happen?" let me propose my own sceneario: Imagine if, rather than Adam standing up (as Kurz suggests), Eve had said to the serpent, "Uh. No. Nice try, but the Lord has commanded that I not eat of this tree. The Lord has provided a garden for my beloved and I, and I will put my faith in God the Creator rather than in a creature." Boom, problem solved. No Adam necessary.

But since, hypotheticals aside, sin has entered the world, let us consider the role of women in Scripture: Miriam and Deborah led the people of Israel. The Blessed Virgin Mary brought Christ into the world -- and without asking her betrothed for permission. Mary Magdalene was the apostle to the Apostles. Phoebe and Junia led the early Church.

Saint Clare of Assisi

Throughout history, women have been vitally important to the Church. Helena and Monica shaped the thoughts and devotion of their sons, Constantine and Augustine. Consider the import of Clare and Julian and Teresa. Where would the Church of England be without the reign of Elizabeth I? Think about Lottie Moon and Mother Teresa.

From personal experience, I cannot tell you how important the voices of women have been in shaping my thought. Women in ministry -- professors, seminarians, and clergy -- have brought forward issues I never would have considered. Even in areas of disagreement, women have pushed me to clarify my own thought and, in cases, convinced me of my own shortcomings. Some of the most innovative parishes are those being led by women in clerical collars. The entire Church catholic has benefited from their vocation.

My wife, through her own inquisitiveness, research, insight, and brilliance, has pushed me to deeply wrestle with issues I would have never given a second thought without her prodding. She is my most valued sounding board, editor, and reviewer; my preaching would suffer were it not for her. My wife, a dedicated and faithful laywoman, points out issues that I, after a decade of education in religion and theology and work in ministry, have never considered.

I have benefited from her theology, and I have benefited from the theology of women across the ages. Women are leading the Church, from the Pulpit and the Altar and from in the pews. Women have much to offer -- not just for the benefit of men, but for the entire Church. This argument isn't just about what women can do for men. Men most certainly do benefit from strong women. Rather, this is about what God is doing through Creation and the Church. It's about the vital role women have in the Body of Christ and the role of the Church as an in-breaking of the restored Creation.

The Holy Spirit is at work across the Church, sending us to call all people to God; and She has given women a strong voice.

Russell Moore and SBC Infighting

Shortly after the election, I mentioned, in passing, the Fundamentalist failure to decry Donald Trump's racism and religious bigotry. One name stood out among the rest: Russell Moore, the president of the Southern Baptist Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission. Think of him as the SBC's chief lobbyist.

Moore was the most prominent Fundamentalist voice criticizing Donald Trump -- and he was largely alone. Moore was among the few willing to criticize the president-elect not only for Trump's adultery but also for his verbal attacks on women, people of color, immigrants, and Muslims.

Moore stood alone as most of his colleagues caved in: Wayne Grudem, Jerry Fallwell, and Richard Land (Moore's predecessor at the helm of the ERLC).

Now Moore is facing the predictable back-lash.

The Religion News Service is reporting:

[...]The Wall Street Journal reported some of Moore’s critics are considering withdrawing support for the Southern Baptist Convention’s Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission, which Moore has led since 2013. 

The Journal quoted Robert Jeffress, senior pastor at First Baptist Dallas and a Trump supporter, who said members of his church don’t believe the ERLC “represents our church’s beliefs.” 

Some SBC members fear Moore’s stances will limit their access to the new administration. And Louisiana Baptists have asked their leaders to study recent actions of the ERLC, though the convention’s executive director, David Hankins, called defunding the agency “a last resort.”

Moore, for his part, is apologizing if Baptists thought he was attacking their faith (a marginal courtesy he has not extended to those of us who support LGBT rights).

Evangelical columnist Jonathan Merritt's take on the controversy is well worth reading in full, but here's the gist:

Apparently, funds should go toward mission efforts unless they can buy Baptists access to the president. 

Many Southern Baptists believe Trump represents their best hope at social dominance, or at least social renewal. They naturally want someone who is well-positioned to capitalize on their political agenda, not someone sitting in the bleachers watching it from afar. But unlike these Southern Baptists, Moore will not trade his principles and positions for a seat at the president’s table.

 I disagree with Russell Moore on no shortage of issues, but I applaud his bold willingness to stand up to the political hungry voices of his own denomination.

Lex Credendi: Liturgy is Not Enough

Last month, I wrote about the identity-bearing narratives used by white nationalists, especially co-opting certain elements of Romanticism, to build up a mythology of white male superiority. I suggested that the Church has a better narrative and better rituals which expose the violent lies of white nationalism:

The Church has better rituals than the racists. Ours are Good, True, and Beautiful. Our rituals are means of grace, by which God is present in our midst. The Holy Spirit hovers over the water in our baptismal font. Our Risen Lord meets us on the Altar Table. 

When the Church celebrates the Divine Service of the Holy Eucharist, we re-tell the grand narrative that God created the world and has redeemed humanity from our own demonic actions. We re-live our forgiveness and reconciliation, we greet each other as equals with a sign of God's peace, and we are re-membered into the one everlasting Body of Christ. And then we are sent forth in peace to serve the Lord.

I stand by what I said. The Sacraments, and the liturgy by which we celebrate them, are means of grace, and through them, God is continuing to redeem the cosmos.

Upon further reflection, though, I feel I must concede an ugly truth: racism lives on, even in liturgical traditions. The most pressing example is Dylan Roof, the terrorist who martyred nine black Christians in Charleston, SC. Roof was raised in a Lutheran (ELCA) congregation -- and one just a few miles from Lutheran Theological Southern Seminary.

More broadly, the Roman Catholic Church still has its dark corners. During the 2016 campaign, a leaked e-mail from a Democratic operative claimed that many GOP members were Catholics because they were "attracted to the systematic thought and severely backwards gender relations" and the Roman Church is "the most socially acceptable politically conservative religion." And while I know too many progressive faithful Catholics to believe that the Catholic Church is "politically conservative" (rather, like the entire Church, Catholicism defies human political binaries), there is a disturbing truth to the leaked letter.

Consider Rudy Giulliani and Newt Gingrich, Catholics who treat the Church as a useful political tool but seem to be unconcerned with any of the Church's teachings on fidelity in marriage, the death penalty, or care for the poor.

More to the point, though, consider Milo Yiannopolous, a leading voice against women's rights and Islam. (To the point of my previous post, he took on the name of the German composer Wagner.) Yiannopolous claims to be a practicing Catholic.

More terrifying examples abound on the fringes of Rome, in movements that have been excommunicated. Antisemitism runs rampant in the "traditionalist" Latin-only organizations like the Society of Saint Pius X and its own break-away group, the Society of Saint Pius V.

Things get even weirder when you look at some of the Facebook pages dedicated to Eastern Orthodoxy. Mixed in with the videos of the Divine Liturgy and pictures of monks are dire warnings about the scourge of Islam, praises of Putin and the new Russian nationalism, and other troubling signs of European ethnic supremacy.

Certain groups embrace Catholicism and Orthodoxy not only because they are "socially acceptable" but because they play into the mythos of white nationalism. A small faction co-opts the beauty of the liturgical tradition and the violent medieval and Renaissance history of Rome and Constantinople.

Crusaders Entering Constantinople
Gustave Dore, 19th cent.

We've seen this before: 19th century British Romanticism saw both a recovery of the Catholic liturgy alongside a glorification of images of crusading knights, both as ways of bolstering British colonial attitudes. Neo-gothic parishes and cathedrals soared alongside stylized depictions of King Richard the Lionheart. Crusade language is not uncommon. They play up the imagery of Constantinople -- and Kiev and Moscow -- as the last lines of defense against the "Turks." They play up the imagery of a Holy Roman Empire fighting a holy war against invaders -- from Eastern Europe, from North Africa, from the Levant.

In short, there is a terrifying move to use the beautiful solemnity of the liturgy as a veneer for racism, to radicalize young men in the Church.

I have long been an advocate for the phrase lex orandi, lex credendi -- the law of prayer, the law of belief. What we say and do during the Mass shapes our faith. I still hold to this. But it is not enough -- or, more correctly, we need to follow through with the second half of the saying.

All too often, we settle for aesthetic liturgy devoid of any sense of orthodoxy. We leave our praxis at in the pews and at the Altar, rather than going out to live in the world as the Body of Christ.

To expose the powers and principalities that would corrupt the Church and its liturgy, we must be clear in our theology. We must be willing to label sin and evil, to point them out. We must be able to point to the Creeds and Scripture, do a doctrine of Creation, that dismantles racism. We must be able to explain what it means when we continually quote the First Epistle of Saint John, that "God is love." Those of us with the unenviable task of climbing into the pulpit must be willing to address the horror of sin, evil, and death -- not as obstacles to holistic living, but as forces that oppose God. Teachers must be catechists, willing to dissect what it means to "renounce the evil powers of this world which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God" and to "put your whole trust in [Christ's] grace and love."

And then, we must be willing to actually go in peace and serve the Lord. The dismissal is not some polite suggestion. It's part of what makes us an apostolic Church: that we are sent out to prepare the way of the Lord. It's not vain repetition -- unless we fail to heed the commandment.

If we fail to believe what we do, we risk treating the Divine Service like a facade, a hollow structure used to hide the ugliness underneath. God has given us the Sacraments as means of grace to transform that ugliness, not hide it.

Pfatteicher's Dissent

Throughout my series, I've suggested that expressing continuity between Advent and Lent is desirable. Philip Pfatteicher, Lutheran liturgist extraordinaire and among my academic heroes, disagrees.  Here's his thinking from the Manual on the Liturgy for the Lutheran Book of Worship:

The traditional color of Advent purple, the royal color of the coming King. The preferred color in the Lutheran Book of Worship, however, is blue, which has a precedent in the Swedish Church and in the Mozarabic rite. Blue suggests hope, a primary theme of Advent. In any case, the Advent parakeets should not be the same as those used for Lent, for the character of the two seasons is quite different, and the only symbol common to both seasons is the Lamb of God.

No word on if his reasoning pertains exclusively to symbols embroider on the vestments and paraments (such as a Star of Bethlehem for Advent and the Spear of Longinus for Lent) or if his thinking extends to even simple vestments free of added emblems.

Color and Adiaphora

I have repeatedly chalked liturgical colors up to a matter of adiaphora. At the end of the day, I'm not terribly concerned.

Have I spent the better part of a week researching and writing about liturgical colors? Yes. Because I'm a nerd.

Am I going to excommunicate anyone over it? No.

Still, I don't believe adiaphora is synonymous with "unimportant." Those charged with caring for sacred things should always think carefully about everything. The seemingly trivial decisions we make have resounding implications.

In the words of Paul Strodach, from his liturgical commentary A Manual on Worship:

Use of Liturgical Colors, and hangings and vestments in such colors, are not arbitrary or recent invention or innovation. They are the development of church sue and expression through many centuries. There is a definite purpose in their employment: it is to teach through the eye. They are symbolic, and by this means the worshiper receives constantly and silently an external comment or lesson which calls to mind the period of the Church Year through which he is passing, in which he is worshiping, and the great facts of redemption memorialized. Such a contribution is very helpful: it adds its individual not to the great harmony of the worship in which he is engaging.

Prepare the Way: Penitence in Advent

Perhaps the largest point of contention for the Great Blue/Purple Debate is the function of Advent. Is it a time of preparation or of hope?

I addressed this briefly in my post on Monday, but allow me to build on what I said.

If we consider the texts assigned in the RCL and the preceding lectionaries, we see a decided emphasis on penitence as part of preparation. Yes, Isaiah has a good deal to say about hope and renewal, but John the Baptist is there, too, calling us to repentance.

Furthermore, the origins of Advent -- shrouded in the fog of historical distance though they are -- hint at penitential origins. From Bishop J. Neil Alexander's entry on Advent in The New Westminster Dictionary of Liturgy and Worship:

Fifth- and sixth-century evidence shows a variety of penitential observances in Gaul and Spain lasting as many as six weeks. Some have sought the origin of Advent in the practice of Epiphany baptism by noting parallels to the shape of Lent. Others have called attention to sixth-century synodical documents and episcopal decrees that enjoin the faithful to penitence from the feast of Martin of Tours to the feast of Epiphany. Still others have taken note of the fast of the tenth month of pagan Rome and suggest that Advent may have begun as a response of the church in the continuing memory of the pagan winter fast.

Missing from Bp. Alexander's account is the parallel of the long season of fasting that leads to the Orthodox celebration of the Nativity. The good bishop goes on to remind us that there is no consensus concerning the origins of Advent. Still, their does appear to be unity among the theories -- and our Orthodox kindred's analogous fast -- of a penitential Advent.

Paul Strodach sums up the role of Advent -- and Lent -- beautifully in his brief explanation of the color:

Violet, the color of royal mourning, is scheduled for periods of preparation and penitence.

To reiterate my conclusion from Monday, I am less concerned about the color than the function behind it. Wear blue if you want. But please -- PLEASE -- do not neglect the dual function of both penitence and hope as we prepare for the Advent of our Lord.

Black, Violet, and Blue

Pope Cope

In digging around some of my liturgical textbooks, I came across Martin Dudley's entry on liturgical colors in The New Westminster Dictionary of Liturgy and Worship (which, in my humble opinion, should be a required text for anyone involved in liturgical planning). He remarks on the connection between blue, violet, and black vestments:

Black, violet, and blue seem to be interchangeable in the medieval palette, and black was used in Jerusalem in Advent and on Christmas Eve instead of violet and was also assigned to feasts of the Blessed Virgin Mary. This is perhaps part of the development of blue as Mary's colour, as found in Cologne.

Those who argue for certain Marian overtones -- or at least a connection between the colors of Advent and Marian feasts -- do have some room to argue from Tradition, my own misgivings notwithstanding.

Later in the entry, Dudley points to differences between purple: purpureus indicates the "red-purple" and violaceus a "blue-purple." Such distinction does survive today in the General Instruction of the Roman Missal, if memory serves.

Which brings me to a point of minutiae: I tend to call the liturgical color "purple," but properly it is called "violet." From Pfatteicher's Commentary on the Lutheran Book of Worship:

The drafters of the Commons Service Book  and the Service Book and Hymnal knew the tradition out of which they came and so specified "violet" as the proper color for Advent and Lent, translating  violaceus of the Roman rubrics. The name, in Latin and in English, was intended to describe a blue-purple. The editors of the Lutheran Book of Worship, bowing to prevailing popular practiced, used "purple" to describe the color rather than "violet," but the book encourages the use of blue, listing it first.

Work to Do While We Wait: In Praise and Defense of a Purple Advent

One of the fastest ways to start a light-hearted argument in a Lutheran church is to bring up the blue/purple debate around Advent.

Disclaimer: Results may vary. Author is not responsible for any threats of excommunication which may be incurred. Warning: Do not attempt on ELCA Clergy Facebook page as the debate may escalate quickly. Do not taunt Happy Fun Ball.

Knowing that I'm treading into unduly controversial waters, let me throw a couple of cards on the table:

• My background is in the United Methodist tradition. Growing up in the 90s and 00s, purple was still the preferred color for Advent. Purple for Advent brings back a lot of nostalgia. (Also, good Lord, am I old enough to have nostalgia?)
• I'm convinced that the term adiaphora was coined specifically to resolve debates about liturgical colors. I can think of few things that matter less. Yes, colors have meanings attached to them, but these attachments are incredibly diverse. We'll come back to this, but suffice it to say that the liturgical colors aren't on the back side of the Ten Commandments. This is not a hill I'm willing to die on. In the end, if you want to send your altar guild on a shopping spree to buy a full set of blue vestments and paraments, go right ahead.
• It's adiaphor, but I'm still passionate about it.
• I favor simplicity when it comes to vestments and paraments. Which is to say, vestments and paraments should be free of large, elaborate illustrations and words. (Looking at you, Gaspard.) In the same line of thought, the fewer sets needed, the better. If you can get away with using one set for two seasons, do it.
• I'm not even going near the use of a rose candle and vestments for Gaudete Sunday. I don't know why some people detest the rose candle so much, but they do. They're wrong, but they do.

So...what color should we use for Advent?

My first instinct is to look at the Tradition. What colors have we used in the past, and why?

Unfortunately, this is not an easy question to answer -- partially because there wasn't a universal custom. Certain proponents of blue will point to the Sarum Rite, and some of the more liturgically savvy proponents of blue prefer to call it "Sarum Blue" -- but the Sarum Rite actually calls for black during Advent AND Lent (hints of a connection we'll revisit later on). I've also seen that the Swedish Church used blue, but I haven't found a firm source on this -- not that I've looked very hard.

As an aside, I have read that different dyes fade to different colors, and so the black vestments in common use may have faded to different colors based on what type of dye was used. Thus, in certain areas, the black Advent and Lent vestments faded to blue, and in other areas, where a different dye was in use, they faded to purple. I like this explanation, and you can read a variation of it here.

The one problem with the above explanation is that it fails to explain for the new-found distinction between Advent and Lent. Some parishes would use blue, others purple. Sure, that makes sense. But when and why did they start using different colors between seasons?

As far as I can tell, the primary color during the first half of the 20th century was purple. Across the board, in Roman Catholic, Episcopal, Lutheran, and Methodist parishes. Across the US, and presumably Europe as well. And then, suddenly, the Lutheran Book of Worship tossed a hand grenade into the fray, listing blue as the preferred color for Advent. To be fair, I don't think they realized how passionate some parties would become about the liturgical color.

That timeline, by the way, is probably why it has become such a hot-button issue. Advent and Christmas are times when the liturgy gives way to nostalgia. For congregations that adopted the change quickly, they've been using it for nearly forty years. Even late adopters have been going on twenty. That means that we have two generations of people working in ministry who have firm associations of the blue Advent of their childhood, the same way I have firm memories of the purple from my own youth. Neither of us wants to admit that our childhood pastor could have been wrong.

Tradition struck out. What about the colors themselves, can light can they offer?

Colors and their meanings are remarkably fluid. Green, the color we associate with new life and growth, is also associated with envy. You rarely hear about a blue blood with a blue collar job. Pink and blue, the "traditional" distinctions for baby girls and boys, were reversed not long ago.

The main point I hear is that blue is the color of hope.

Prove it.

No, seriously, I want someone to show me an article from the history of art or theology that connects blue and hope -- and before the great Purple/Blue Advent shift. I've seen and heard this article numerous times, but nobody has ever backed up the claim with anything. What makes blue the color of hope? Do we only think this because it was a way to make sense of the new, blue frontal on the pulpit?

If blue is the color of hope, sure, fine, we have a place to start a conversation. But saying it's so does not make it so. It's okay if you want to start a new tradition, but don't make up facts to support your position.

A smaller group points to the connection between blue and the Blessed Virgin Mary. Fair enough, I'll buy that as a foundation, but I have two points of contention. First, given the prevalence of the Lutheran Book of Worship in starting this debate, I would find it difficult to believe that Marian devotion played a significant role. Believe me, as an Evangelische Catholic, I would love to see a renewed devotion to the Blessed Mother, but I doubt that it was a driving force for Lutheran liturgical decisions. Secondly, Mary plays only a small part in Advent; she doesn't show up until Week IV.

Both sides lay claim to the royal connections to their colors, and both sides are correct. From Rev. David Hansen's blog, linked above:

Yes, blue is the color of royalty -- but so is purple. Both colors of fabric were very expensive in the days before chemical dyes, because they required such deep, rich colored berries. If you lived around the Mediterranean, chances are your royalty wore purple -- because those were the berries (or other natural dyes) in wide use. If you lived in Northern Europe, chances are your royalty wore blue -- because those were the berries available.

Purple and blue have royal associations, and thus both are appropriate for our expectation of Christ's advent.

Advocates for a blue Advent this year also point to the penitential implications behind purple. And they're right! We use purple during Lent, and priests and pastors wear purple when visiting the hospital and hearing confession.

So really, it comes down to this: Do Advent and Lent have anything in common? Does Advent have a penitential aspect to it?

Yes. Absolutely, yes.

The liturgical calendar has a sort of symmetry about it. We mark two seasons of purple, in which we wait with proleptic anticipation for that which has happened and will happen, in penitence and hope, for Christ to show up -- in Bethlehem and Jerusalem and at the Resurrection of the Dead. The two purple seasons are followed by the two white and gold seasons, when we celebrate Christ's triumph -- his birth, and then when he returns as the First Born from among the dead. And then each of those seasons are followed by the green of ordinary time.

As we anticipate both the Nativity and the Parousia, we are called to reflect on our own shortcomings. Christ came as a savior and redeemer, and will return as a savior and redeemer. As we await both the Triduum and the Resurrection of the Dead, we are called to reflect on our own shortcomings.

Our Orthodox sisters and brothers understand this; they mark their equivalent of Advent with a full fast.

Using purple for Advent reminds us of the inherent connection between the seasons of the Church year while also reminding us that there is work to be done while we wait.

If our only goal is to differentiate between Advent and Lent, then we are going down the wrong path. Some would dismiss the penitential aspect of Advent -- as though that's the only meaning purple has -- while insisting that Advent is about hopeful preparation. But this misses the mark. Both seasons are about preparation, and preparation requires both penitence and hope. Both seasons call us to an introspective penitence while also joining in the hopeful expectation of Christ's coming in glory. In Advent, we prepare for the Feast of the Nativity, when Christ entered our world, and for Christ's return. In Lent, we prepare for Holy Week, the Triumphal Entry, the Passion, and the Resurrection, and for our Lord's return.

Put up blue, if you want. But please, don't deny the essential connection between Advent and Lent.

Scattered Thoughts on Eucharistic Praxis: Expanding on Frustration

My previous post was born out of frustration after three days of participating in Eucharistic liturgies done poorly -- or rather, in ways which seem to neglect the supreme importance of the Church's sacramental celebration. Certainly, Christ was still present in the elements; grace abounds. But our practice, while entirely dependent upon God's grace, should not be performed sans care or thought.

Likewise, my frustration should not be tossed out as a glib offering without proper explanation of why I find certain practices so troubling.

--  --  --

1. It is indeed right and salutary to provide an alcohol-free element. It is not right for that option to be cranberry juice.

The Vine and its fruit are important images for the Church. Throughout Scripture, the Vine is used as a way to understand God's relationship to Israel and the Gentiles -- that we are branches grafted upon the Vine. Likewise, Christ claimed to be the Vine -- not the bog (or the berry bush, for those of you out there using Blackberry Manischewitz). The central symbol is not just that Christ is a fruit-bearing plant, but that he is a particular type of plant.

In rushing to do good -- to provide for the inclusion of the entire Church in the Eucharist -- we should not ignore the symbols of our faith.

2. Your bread should not be heavily flavored, as with garlic. Your bread should definitely not have parmagiano cheese dust on it.

There are some recipes for Communion bread which call for small amounts of honey. What makes garlic cloves or cheese powder so different?

For starters, the honey (much like the salt or sugar) is thoroughly mixed into the bread in a way that minced garlic is not, and certainly in a way that cheese powder does not.

More importantly, though, is that the recipe used for the bread should not distract  from the centrality of the bread. If one uses honey, it should not make the bread so sweet as to taste like cake. Cloves of garlic, olives and other fruits, and cheeses distract from the bread itself.

With both the bread and the wine, one is forced to ask, "Can Christ be present in cranberry juice or bits of garlic clove? Can Jesus show up in parmagiano cheese?" Certainly. I suspect that Jesus is fully capable of showing up in the coffee and donuts we share in the fellowship hall after the service and in the beer and pizza I enjoyed frequently during seminary. Let's hope that the Triune God is present at all of our meals. But this is not a question of God can do. It's a question of where Jesus told us he would show up: that on the night in which he was betrayed, he took bread and wine, and said that are his Body and Blood given for us.

3. The appropriate response upon receiving the Host and the Chalice is not, "Thank you."

Please, don't thank me. In the Eucharist, neither the celebrant nor the servers (ordained and lay) are the major actors. I do firmly believe that the celebrant and servers play some role in the Sacrament -- but then again, so do the laity who faithfully participate in the celebration. The entire point of the Eucharist is to give thanks to God rather than mortals.

So instead, either respond with, "Thanks be to God," or even more appropriately, "Amen" (which literally translated means "surely" or "certainly" -- as in, "This truly is the Body and Blood of our Savior.")

4. When you receive, actually receive -- with open hands. I am not about to move the Host back and yell, "Psych!" nor am I Mr. Miyagi training you to snatch a pebble from my hand.

Much like prayer, there are a number of ways to reverently receive -- with open hands, via a spoon (as is the Orthodox tradition), or directly on the tongue (a practice maintained in certain Catholic circles, but which I have also seen performed in Lutheran parishes). And, like positions of prayer, it is difficult to say that there is a "right" way to commune. However, there are ways which are more reverential. Snatching is most certainly less reverential in that it treats the Sacrament like a buffet line.

Moreover, those serving at the Altar are doing just that -- serving. This is a sacred duty that many of us undertake with great care as it is an opportunity for us to live into Christ's call that we be "servants to all."

Finally, there is a practical aspect. If the Host is locally made bread rather than the thin, flat wafer, grabbing it from the server can lead to crumbs. Crumbs at the dining room table are annoying; crumbs at the Lord's Table are disrespectful of the Body of Christ itself.

5. I know. The plastic cups resemble shot glasses. That does not mean, however, that you must "toss it back."

I'll be honest: this one is more of a pet peeve. There is something, though, that strikes me as disrespectful when a communicant slings there entire head back as though the Precious Blood were a shot at a bar. I am the first to say that we need to stop using the "thimbles" for the Sacrament (and my goal for every parish I serve is to move them away from the practice). But if we are stuck with the shot glass/thimble method of distribution, we can at least treat it as reverently as possible.

As with receiving the Host, there are certain actions that are more dignified than others. Simply tilting the cup to the mouth is more dignified than throwing one's entire head back while communing.

-- -- --

Our practices are important -- not because they are pleasing to God or do anything to justify us, but because they form us into a people who show our awe and thankfulness towards God. In doing so, we open ourselves to the work of the Holy Spirit in a manner similar to reading Sacred Scripture or giving alms to those in need.

In adopting more faithful practice, we cooperate with God's work through the Sacraments and allow for our continued sanctification.

Scattered Thoughts on Eucharistic Praxis

1. It is indeed right and salutary to provide an alcohol-free element. It is not right for that option to be cranberry juice.

2. Your bread should not be heavily flavored, as with garlic. Your bread should definitely not have parmagiano cheese dust on it.

3. The appropriate response upon receiving the Host and the Chalice is not, "Thank you."

4. When you receive, actually receive -- with open hands. I am not about to move the Host back and yell, "Psych!" nor am I Mr. Miyagi training you to snatch a pebble from my hand.

5. I know. The plastic cups resemble shot glasses. That does not mean, however, that you must "toss it back."

Frankly, I'm a bit surprised any of this needs to be said.

Paschal Candles: Why Not Every Sunday?

As is so often the case, one of my seminary classmates has pushed me to think longer and harder about this topic (thank God for faithful colleagues).

She asks:

Ok, for the sake of argument, didn't Martin Luther say that every Sunday is a "little Easter"? So, why not light the Paschal Candle every Sunday? We celebrate Christ's passion and resurrection with each Holy Eucharist. Thoughts?

Bishop J. Neil Alexander (former Bishop of Atlanta, current dean of the School of Theology at Sewanee, and, like me, an alum of LTSS) discusses this in one of his books, Celebrating Liturgical Time. Essentially, his point is that while every Sunday is a "little Easter" and that the theology of the Resurrection permeates every Divine Service throughout the year regardless of seasonal and thematic overtones, that we still mark Easter proper with special distinction -- pre-Paschal fasting during Lent, the Triduum, the Vigil, extra acclamations, and the like. These distinctives set Easter apart as a sacred time among sacred times. Some of these markers (in this case, the Paschal candle) carries further into the rest of the year.

It's similar to the point Phil Pfatteicher makes about the "priesthood of all believers" -- that all Christians are baptized into the ministry of offering prayers and participation in sacramental worship, but the Holy Spirit and the Church call deacons, presbyters/priests, and bishops to ordained ministries of Word, Sacrament, Service, and Order (to be as broadly ecumenical as possible). The call to ordained ministry does not negate the ministry in which all Christians share, but rather furthers it. Just so, the year of "little Easters" culminates in the holiest time of holy times -- the Paschal Feast.

I suggest that it is good and proper to maintain certain distinctive elements, including the Paschal Candle, but not to such a degree as to make them "off-limits" throughout the rest of the year. The Paschal Candle, then, functions as something of a Resurrection exclamation point, making certain feasts stand out through the year.

By way of comparison, imagine if we took "Alleluia" to such an extreme -- that we used it all throughout Easter, but then excluded it from our Christmas liturgy, or if we did not abstain from it during Lent.

All of that being said, there is an argument to be made for using the Paschal Candle throughout the year, and frequent usage does not rob an item or action of its "specialness" or its meaning. We can probably count this one as adiaphora.

Light Your Paschal Candle This Sunday

All Saints' Day is this Sunday. Be sure to light your Paschal Candle.

It's a surprisingly controversial statement, to be sure. The official guidance from the US Conference of Catholic Biships is that the Paschal Candle is extinguished at Pentecost, and then removed (completely) from the Sanctuary unless for Holy Baptism or for a funeral.

In his seminal Manual on the Liturgy for the Lutheran Book of Worship, Philip Pfatteicher holds to the same position: that the Paschal Candle should not be used outside of the Great Fifty Days (with the exceptions of Baptisms and funerals), and it should never be used as the Christ Candle in the Advent wreath.

Guidelines from the Episcopal Church and the ELCA speak volumes by their silence: no other time outside of Easter, Holy Baptism, and funerals are addressed.

There is a certain logic to this: Easter is the marker of the Resurrection, and so the use of the Paschal Candle at funerals makes sense. And Baptism was, at one point, possibly, maybe kind of restricted to the Vigil. Using the Paschal Candle at "off-season" Baptisms makes sense as a way of emphasizing the continuity between the Sacrament as it is celebrated at the Great Vigil and throughout the rest of the year.

But it is exactly this connection to Resurrection that makes the Paschal Candle such an important symbol for use on All Saints' and All Souls' Days services. In her Altar Guild and Sacristy Handbook, S. Anita Stauffer points out that "the Paschal Candle is a resurrection symbol" (p. 19; ironically, she does this while discouraging its use during Evening Prayer).

The light marks our hope in the Resurrection of Christ. We cling to this hope on the first two days in November. We pray for the Faithful Departed specifically because we hope that Easter will lead to the Resurrection of the Body. We hope that the light which pierces the darkness of Holy Saturday will pierce the darkness of our sorrow. We hope that the promises made in Baptism will hold true through the grave. The light that pierced the darkness at the funeral is also the light in which we hope on All Saints' and All Souls'.

All Saints' and All Souls' are the Easter season erupting into the Ordinary Time of early November.

And maybe, just maybe, our liturgy is dynamic enough to accommodate our faith.

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.