Liturgy and Postmoderns

Liturgy and Postmoderns

By Amy F. Davis

“Where’s the reverence?” he asked, and I couldn’t answer. We were on a Hobie Cat in the Gulf of Mexico, and we were discussing the worship experience at the church he attended and for which I was interning. The service he frequented was located in the fellowship hall, not in the traditional sanctuary that was still on site. Termed the “Contemporary” service, he generally walked in, was greeted boisterously with hugs by the ushers, and sat down in a folding chair. The greenish-bluish carpet matched the cushions on the chair, and the stage was hardly raised above the audience. Wooden paneling covered part of the wall, on either side of the stage were screens on which the powerpoint slides were displayed (white lettering on blue background always), and behind the stage by the misplaced window were small, somewhat dingy banners saying something about the Holy Spirit. The service generally had announcements, the greeting of one another, four predictable contemporary songs, a sermon, and a closing song. The leaders watched the clock on the far wall to make sure the service concluded on time. My friend, out on bail and awaiting trial for drug trafficking, was looking for a bit of reverence for God in worship, because he had experienced it as a child. Having studied contemporary worship models in seminary, I thought the desire of the masses was for that which he was currently experiencing. Here was a twenty-something man, longing for reverence, and wondering where it was. I still couldn’t answer.

Had he entered the Russian Orthodox Church with me, he would have asked, “Where’s the community?” There, it was dark. The sanctuary, although infused with the smell of incense, was lit only by low red or blue candles in front of major icons. The candles waved in greeting as the door opened to the cold wind from outside, and they faintly reflected the golden paint that decorated the sanctuary all around. It was silent. The candle-seller at the door spoke in a barely audible whisper, and all followed his example, standing in silence, facing the front. There was no laughing, no greeting of one another, no noticing of those around; the purpose was to worship God, to look to the heavens, to be caught up into the predictable liturgy, to be isolated, not to express love to one’s neighbor. There was movement. In the middle of the front wall, a door opened, and it was light in the holy area there. The practically monotone a cappella chanting commenced, echoed by an unseen choir to the right. The priests’ glittering clothes were visible through the decorative gate, and the worship had begun. There were no clocks. Time was measured by what was happening liturgically, not by clocks; the focal moments were obvious, and worship continued. My Hobie Cat friend would have found reverence here, but no community. Would that have been enough to fulfill his idea of a worship experience?

Besides, should the church’s focus be to fulfill each congregant’s desire, or should it be simply, as a community of believers, to ascribe worth to God? No doubt that many will first hear an organized presentation of the Christian apologetic in the context of a church service. How can that message be packaged to attract the Postmodern and still provide a true experience of God? All aspects of the service must point to the truth of the gospel; in this sense all is apologetic. Postmodernism, with its emphasis on community, participation (experience), and story, dovetails with liturgy’s emphasis on the community’s rhythm, participation through all senses, and the church’s story of the sacraments, tradition, and the ancients. Robert Webber’s research has shown that “the strongest and deepest desire of the twenty-something worshiper is to have a genuine encounter with God.”[1] It is in that encounter that the friendship between Postmodernism and liturgy begins.

Postmodernism: a brief definition

Although this paper will focus mainly on the postmodern aspects of community, participation, and story, these three are not all that defines postmodernism. As a current movement in society, one may find aspects of postmodernism throughout all disciplines.

Insofar as science is concerned, rather than emphasizing an understandable, mechanistic (Newtonian) world, a dynamic, interrelated, complex and mysterious world is that which the Postmodern sees. Such sight results in both humility regarding human ability to know and greater environmental interest.[2] In communication, “we have become a world of graphics and symbols.[3] Regarding outlook, postmodern people are skeptical of the future, and tend to revere events and ideas of the past (not the recent past, but the ancient).[4]

In literature, deconstruction prevails because “meaning is not inherent in the text, . . . but emerges only as the interpreter enters into dialogue with the text.”[5] Meaning becomes real through experience and through the grid of personal interpretation. It is not necessarily an individualistic, modern interpretation, however, for it is based in community.

More importantly, an over-arching, permeating idea of postmodernism is its preference for alternative paths to knowledge and truth. Both emotions and intuition are equally as valid as reason to be methods to determine knowledge.[6] Rejecting the modernistic idea of absolute reason and knowledge, the subjectivity of the knower prevails.

Postmodernism has learned from its predecessor, modernism, and yet races both behind modernism to gain from the ancients, and also races ahead of itself, seeing no particular objective end to its epistemology. It is fluid, for attitudes may be similar from one person to the next, yet conclusions may not only be different, but also contradictory. Living in a postmodern world is fascinating.

Liturgy: a brief definition

In order to define how postmodernism and liturgy dovetail, one must understand the reason and depth of liturgy. It’s not mom and dad’s liturgy, yet ancient liturgy that is in view. It’s not only an order of worship on Sunday morning, but a way of life.

The word, liturgy is a combination of the Greek words, laos, meaning people, and ergon, meaning work. Thus, liturgy proper is the work of the people, meaning the laity’s every action.[7] One may think that the “service” in a “worship service” is that of the priest or pastor, when in reality it is that of all those involved. Therefore, liturgy is essential in any worship service; a non-liturgical service is a contradiction in terms. In “contemporary” services, “the program is simple and almost always follows a threefold pattern: music that puts the crowd in the right mood, a sermon oriented toward an intended accomplishment, and a response focused on the desired outcome. This pattern does not follow the biblical fourfold pattern of gathering, hearing the Word, celebrating at the Table, and going forth to love and serve the Lord.”[8] Every service is thus liturgical, yet only some follow what Webber terms as the biblical fourfold pattern.

Liturgy is not only an order of worship including the process of approaching God and then moving to one’s interaction with the world. It is also a way of life. Just as the world around us experiences seasons, so does the liturgical life. Evangelicals, however, are much better at celebrating the “Hallmark” calendar with Mother’s Day and Memorial day, while neglecting Advent, Epiphany, Lent, and Pentecost (Christmas and Easter are on both); throughout the year, we are always in one of these seasons.[9] The season of Easter lasts fifty days until Pentecost, which celebrates the developing early church until it cycles back to Advent. The Liturgical year extends the Christian’s worship from Sunday into Monday through Saturday; from a one-day celebration to a season.

Furthermore, liturgy is theology expressed in word and deed. The best hymns are the best theology, and many specific prayers in Sunday’s liturgy express the work of God through Jesus Christ.[10] Liturgy teaches powerfully, and the repetition inherent in it reminds participants of the truths of the gospel even when far from its celebration.[11] That is, when suffering in the hospital, many turn to elements of familiar liturgy like communal prayers or the Eucharist for comfort; when commemorating events like weddings and death, liturgy is the mark of importance.

Celebration of liturgy, however, reflects the current maxim, “If you’re gonna do it, you’ve gotta do it right.” Dead repetition is not liturgy. “Complaints about the obscurity of ‘traditional’ liturgy are really complaints about incompetent ritual.”[12] The postmodern call to liturgy is not to hollow ritual but to a living, vibrant celebration that connects congregants to one another, to an experience of God, and to the past, present and future story of Christ and the church.

Postmoderns, Community, and Liturgy

Community has become a catch-word for many today, both inside and outside the church. Businesses, schools, and villages concentrate on their particular community. Belonging is in view here, as is value and identity. “The postmodern worldview operates with a community-based understanding of truth.”[13] Jimmy Long, in Emerging Hope, points to the popularity of the show, Friends, to illustrate current hunger for a “family” within a community of people who care for each other.

“We should [as Christians] applaud and take advantage of the change we are observing among people as they reject the autonomous self of the Enlightenment era and embrace the tribalism of postmodern culture. At least they are moving in the right direction. We should be embracing this change because tribalism is much more closely aligned than the autonomous self to God’s intention of how we should function in relationships. God created us to live in community. . . What is biblical community?”[14]

Long’s final question cannot be answered here, but liturgy is to be one of the elements of biblical community. Long believes, “The most urgent apologetic task before us is to live our lives in community in such a way that those around us will come and ask, ‘Why are you different? What keeps you going? What is the hope in your heart?’”[15] He does not deny that Christians are called to give a verbal reason for their hope, yet it is in the act of community that the hope shall be found.

In further defining postmoderns’ desire for an encounter with God, Webber found that it wasn’t an individualistic encounter that is sought, but rather one that must take place within the context of genuine community.[16] In the village of Nyack, NY, where I live, the coffee shop is a place for people to meet with one another and to experience life together. All come there for more than just drinking coffee; they want to see people who live in their area, and to chat about current issues in the community as well as in the world. They read “The Nyack Villager” and Rivertown.” They take pride in their environment, and talk about improving it. Genuine community involves communication like this. Like Cheers, “You want to go where everybody knows your name.” Community is having a place where one belongs and is both known and accepted. It’s common experiences and common goals. It’s continuity and consistent interaction. It’s everything thought of when referring to the best picture of what family should be.

So, how does liturgy help in the idea of community? Admittedly, some liturgical conventions that have been experienced in the recent past seem not only boring, but also seem to discourage the idea of community. Some attend services at churches that “get the job done” in less than a hour; they get in and out, sitting in the back, without talking to anyone. It doesn’t have to be that way. At some churches coffee is available, perhaps to give the “community” feeling of the coffee shop. That might help, but community involves common experience and goals while one has a real and true encounter with God.

The human life has rhythm. Vacations, projects, parades, promotions, school, all reflect rhythm, and experiencing these together reflects the community in the workplace and in the family. This rhythm involves physical experience.

“Because we are embodied, we are gendered, sexual beings; we speak and express ourselves; we can view a painting and listen to a symphony; we can relate to otehrs in a community. Downplaying embodiment (emphasizing the soul over the body, the spiritual over the sensible) is to devalue these modes of being-in-the-world. Conversely, revaluing the body is to see the way in which these aspects of human beings are integral aspects of being embodied creatures.”[17]

Liturgy is a physical rhythm. Biblical Jewish life is a rhythm of working six days and resting on the seventh, to worship God, and to demonstrate the need for both work and rest that God has instilled in humans. In Israel, everything shuts down early on Fridays in order to prepare for Sabbath, and the fact that the community does it together makes it easy, and not a chore, to celebrate. This is the rhythm of the community. Biblically, life was ordered by the holidays, the feasts experienced together.

Liturgical life is rhythm. It’s the beat of anticipation between Easter and Pentecost, knowing that for the first 40 days, Jesus walked the earth and appeared to many. Then, he ascended, and the beat becomes both louder and faster as the coming of the Holy Spirit is anticipated. If a group of people lived this, talked about it, and celebrated it, that would give the common experience and goals that comprise genuine community. It’s the rhythm of life, the rhythm of liturgy.

Ancient liturgy is ecumenical. It’s before Roman Catholicism, Eastern Orthodoxy, and Protestantism. It’s the classical tradition, the core of Christianity. In the small town of Mattituck in Long Island, my mother remembers community dinners during Lent, when the congregants of all the area’s Christian churches would have dinner together at a different church every Wednesday night. Weekly dinners are probably not how liturgy will interact with community today, yet the principle is right and good. Community can occur in the remembrance of commonalities, and in the community celebration.[18]