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.

The Eucharist and Social Justice

The prolific Lutheran liturgist Frank Senn offers these reflections on Corpus Christi:

Going back to my college years in the early 1960s, I recall how liturgical renewal was inseparable from social renewal, and the sacrament of Holy Communion was central to both. From the beginning—all the way back to the problems in first century Corinth—the Lord’s Supper was social dynamite, bringing masters, clients, and slaves together at the same meal. In the civil rights movement of the sixties we came to realize that those who ate and drank together at the Lord’s table should not eat and drink separately in the cafeterias. Likewise, those who were baptized in the same font should not have to swim in separate swimming pools.

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.

Praxis: Faith Inspires Justice and the Care of Souls

Over at Covenant, Episcopal seminarian Matthew Burdette writes on the place of theology in theological education as seminaries and seminarians push ever further towards the "practical":

A useful illustration of this dynamic is the centrality given to pastoral care, the current conception of which is a 20th-century innovation. Prior to this time, pastoral ministry was generally conceived of in moral and sacramental terms, rather than in therapeutic (and therefore medical) terms, which is currently dominant. It has become a widespread requirement for ministers of different faiths to undergo the training of Clinical Pastoral Education, or CPE, usually in the context of hospital chaplaincy. One of the stretching and beneficial characteristics of CPE is that ministers work with ministers of other faiths, as well as offer pastoral care to people of other faiths. Beneficial as interfaith learning is, a question does loom over the whole process: If I can offer the same pastoral care to a patient as the imam, and if I think that pastoral care is at the center of ministry, then what is the significance of those doctrinal matters that separate me from the imam?

The question is a serious one, and my own suspicion is that there is a correlation between the pervasive focus on this model of pastoral care and the implicit Unitarianism espoused by many clergy in mainline Protestantism. The same question emerges from the focus on social justice. When a parish’s or cleric’s social vision is indistinguishable from a party platform, and when the Church’s message is said to find its telos in that social vision, one must wonder why anyone should bother with the religious baggage. Again and more pointedly: When pastoral care or social action are assumed to be the goal of theological education, then the particular matters of doctrine that are the content of the Christian faith become irrelevant and distracting; focusing on them deters from what theology or ministry is allegedly about.

...The presumption that theological education is for some practical end is perhaps also related to widespread biblical illiteracy and poor catechesis. It is difficult to prioritize teaching the Christian faith when the implicit assumption is that its content is inconsequential.

I couldn't agree with Burdette more. Just as "Intro to Worship" is about more than just what color stole to wear and the proper way to bless the assembly, so to should our classes on conflict transformation and pastoral care more than crash-courses in community organizing and family systems.

As I've said before, so many young clergy and seminarians are passionate about social justice and pastoral care but neglect any sense of theological framework. Instead, many of my colleagues -- wonderful and loving people that they are -- try to wrangle a Christian identity out of progressive social actions. In this view, the Church would function just as well without God -- perhaps even better if we get to catch up on sleep on Sunday mornings.

The Church's rediscovered passion for social justice and pastoral care -- even among younger fundamentalists! -- is commendable. Good will come of it. But this new passion is not enough if it is not based in belief in the Triune God.

The Church is called to work for justice and to care for souls, but those vocations flow out of our sacramental identity. We are the Body of Christ. Here we stand. We can do no other.

"Special" Eucharists: Against Novelty in the Liturgy

During the series on the paschal candle, I wrote about the difference between "special" and "unique." Something becomes special when it has meaning over and above what would normally be ascribed to a similar item, event, location, or what-have-you, whereas something is unique when it is less common. By way of example:

Woodcut of Holy Communion
Wittenberg, 16th c.

• A meal with the whole family might be more special than grabbing a burger at the drive-thru while rushing to an afternoon meeting -- even if the family meal is a nightly occurrence.
• Hopefully, rushed fast food meals eaten hastily in the car are a unique experience, happening very rarely. Presumably, that rather stressful lunch would not hold any special significance.
• A meal with the extended family is understandably special and unique -- reserved for a few holidays during the year.

Unfortunately, our culture has tended to conflate these two meanings. While I'm sure that Catholics and Orthodox Christians have made the same mistake, it seems to me to be a decidedly Protestant problem.

As weekly celebration of the Eucharist has become more common in the Episcopal Church and the ELCA following the height of liturgical renewal in the 20th century, many laity and clergy have objected that regular Communion makes the Sacrament makes it less meaningful.

Apparently doing something too often makes it "less special." 

To paraphrase the Rev. Dr. Ted Hackett, I would hate to be married to one of those people.

The Sacraments are special. This is most certainly true.

That is, the Sacraments have meaning beyond normal water, bread, and wine. They are special, though, not because of how rarely we celebrate them but because of a divine promise. Baptism is "special" because God has promised to unite us into the Body of Christ in our Lord's death and Resurrection through water and the Divine Word. The Eucharist bears meaning because Christ has promised to be present.

Paraphrasing another Candler faculty member, nothing we can do makes these Sacraments more or less meaningful. Their value is an act of divine grace; sacramental meaning is not derived from how rarely we celebrate them.

And while such resistance to the sacramental pulse of Christian worship is waning, another (equally harmful) emphasis on "specialness" is creeping in.

In many communities, there is a new push to bring in "special" elements to make "meaningful worship experiences."

A seminary might use champagne for the Eucharist on Easter.

One community might change wines in accordance with the liturgical seasons to highlight different emphases -- darker, heavier wines for Advent and Lent, a sweeter wine for Easter.

A parish might use a different, more "exotic" bread for World Communion Sunday. 

In a congregation where the bread is usually store-bought, they might have students bake a "special" bread for their first Communion.

While canon lawyers might argue over the validity and licitness of champagne or leavened breads, and I am interested -- if not entirely convinced -- by those arguments, that is not where I take issue.

Rather, I'm concerned with the attempts to make the Eucharist "more special," to bring out meaning other than the Body of Christ made present.

The Eucharist is and always will be the Church's participation in the Body of Christ, a lifting up of our hearts as we offer to God our thanks and praise. Every time we celebrate the Sacrament is a communion with the entire Church of God throughout all ages past and all ages to come. While we may speak of one Divine Service at 8:30 and another at 11:00, or one Mass on Saturday evening and another on Sunday morning, we truly celebrate only one Eucharist.

Any attempt, therefore, to highlight one eucharistic celebration over another -- to make the Sacrament on one Sunday appear different from the Sacrament on another Sunday -- is to obscure the essential unity of our worship. While the readings and prayers and paraments may change, God's means of grace remain the same.

Where is the harm? In trying to call attention to one over the others, we obscure the importance of all others. By using "special" bread, we call into question the meaning of every other Sunday when we use ordinary bread. By using "special" wine, we call into question the unity between the Sundays when we use other vintages -- or just the giant jug of Manischewitz. When we lift up one particular celebration over all others, we leading our parishioners to believe that the average Sunday is somehow lacking: that God is somehow less interested in plain bread or cheap wine.

God, of course, will show up in the Manischewitz and in the merlot, in the wafer and the fresh baked bread. Grace abounds. But we must be mindful of how our parishioners -- and we ourselves -- perceive the elements. We should do nothing to suggest the Eucharist is somehow "better" one Sunday.

If you are going to use fine wine, use it every week. Every time we gather is cause for the "good stuff."

If you are going to have your parishioners bake the bread fresh, do it every week. Every time we celebrate the Sacraments we should approach them with the joy of our first Communion.

God's Sacraments mean more than we will ever understand, are more special than we will ever know. Our task isn't to make them novel but to celebrate them with abundant joy. When we celebrate the Eucharist on the Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost, we approach the same risen Lord that we celebrate during the Great Vigil of Easter.

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.

- - -

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.