Always and Everwhere

An old Johnny Cash song, recording by Khris Kristofferson, paints a picture of a man, who, having used and abused himself on Saturday night, walks the street alone on Sunday morning. Has the time already passed when people at least felt haunted by Sunday, pursued in their conscience by a Lord who summoned them? The song has this striking line:

"And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down."

We have now drifted a long way even from this, from not attending but at least knowing that something is out of joint. Today Christians in large numbers, at least in our part of God’s vineyard, greet each and every Sunday as an open question. Will we go to church today? Given what competes for our attention, and given that the marketplace of purchasing and entertainment is poised for our presence, what decision, honestly, can we expect people to make. As long as we are asking, weighing Church in relation to other options, Church is sure to come out on the losing side, and the liturgy is to suffer greatly, and no less the spiritual health of those who confess the name of Christ. “God is not mocked,” St. Paul remarked, “that which we sow, we will reap.” And if little is sown in the way of religious observance, participation, and public prayer, we can hardly expect lives to be conformed to the gospel.

But the culture is moving, and the tolling of the church bell may seem an empty gesture. Now the mega-churches make gains, but primarily by an unabashed imitation of popular culture. They attract and hold people in ways not unlike a mega-mall, giving a bit of this and that, doing, in some instance very good work in Christ’s name, and proclaiming a saving gospel. But what they do is quite intentionally cut-off from the historical pattern of the Church’s worship. Simply, it is not what the church has done—almost—always and everywhere.

We, on the other hand, along with millions of other Christians, worship in a way and according to a pattern which is nearly as old as the Church. We listen to readings, carefully selected so as to provide a comprehensive overview of the bible, not simply the weekly selection of the presiding minister. Our preaching is rooted in both the readings and the time of the church year, again according to a well formed and ancient liturgical calendar. Our Creed is the most ancient ecumenical creed of the Church, said throughout the world both as an act of worship and as a safeguard of the Church’s teaching. We pray for everyone, the Church and the world. We celebrate the Holy Communion and receive Christ’s body and blood according to his own direct command. All of this is done because the Church in any period receives what has been handed on. And yet, as St. Augustine remarked, “the Church is ever ancient and new.” And so this form of worship can be and must be imbued with life and energy, commending itself to each new generation.

But the liturgy will not live and prosper apart from the living commitment of the members of the church. Notwithstanding the anecdotal evidence that Anglicans cannot be convinced that Sunday morning worship is, as the prayer book has it, "our bounden duty," I cannot concede or relent in calling this community to a full and consistent worship of God every Sunday morning. In the long run, habit is far more important than episodic visits. Christ wills to claim his Church and has paid a dear price in doing so. But, ultimately, it is not simply a matter of duty or obligation, although these maligned words could use some new consideration. For a Christian, worship is, as St. Bernard remarked, “the business of business,” it is the thing most needful because it is our encounter again with a living Lord. “Living” is perhaps the word. Christ lives in his Church, Christ is present when the Church gathers, Christ gives his life again in a new sacramental way every time the Church breaks bread in his name. Christ wills to gather us so that he may again appear and speak and nourish.