Pub Date : 2023-07-03DOI: 10.1080/0458063x.2023.2224159
Michelle K. Baker-Wright
One of the things that drew me to the discipline of liturgical studies was the way in which scholars in the field modeled a deep commitment to pastoral practice and to understanding how rite and ritual plays out in everyday life. I was inspired by the way they formulated intelligent reflection and analysis with a mindfulness toward the spiritual welfare of actual people and communities of faith. Perhaps for these reasons, I have cringed to find that, in many denominational contexts, a tension still exists between the “academic” and the “pastoral,” with these terms often being pitted against each other in discussions surrounding job searches, pastoral practices, and styles of leadership. Sometimes the implication is conveyed that to be “academic” is somehow to be less concerned with pastoral facets of ministry and that those inclined toward the “pastoral” are more generous and attuned to the nuances of human experience. Or, in a reversal of hierarchies, the “pastoral” is conflated with a certain intellectual sloppiness, as if compassionate practice requires a suspension of critical analysis. Of course, I am oversimplifying a bit to make a point. But not as much as I wish I was. I have been thinking about this false dichotomy often as I have navigated a number of poignant, sometimes joyful and sometimes heartbreaking pastoral situations and rites. I’ve found that having theoretical grounding in the dynamics of how people engage ritual and symbol gives me a more patient and inquiring spirit. I am less inclined to see liturgical conflicts in congregational settings as contested sites of control and more as particularly saturated hermeneutical hot spots. Or, to speak more colloquially, the places where people fight for control over liturgical issues are places that matter for some reason. And discovering what is at stake for people is a pastoral map into their souls and spirits, provided we are willing to listen and observe. At its best, training in liturgy, sacrament, and worship informs and deepens pastoral care rather than being a boutique pursuit or an ephemeral exercise. I have found that phrases that once seemed intriguing but esoteric have offered robust theoretical frames to carry the unthinkable. One such phrase that comes to mind is Nathan Mitchell’s description of the “inexhaustible ‘excess’ that is always ‘pointed to’ or ‘hinted at’ by the symbol but never fully or finally disclosed.” I once sat with this for hours and analyzed it. It made much more sense to me recently when I officiated at a funeral for a young person whose life ended much too soon, when no words were adequate, and yet it was my job to find some. Every symbol seemed tasked with carrying the impossible weight of the grief of a community. This idea that symbols of hope and resurrection—a paschal candle, a pall, the flowers carefully and lovingly arranged by those who were bereft—could never fully disclose hope and love, but could indeed point to these in part, proved invalu
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Pub Date : 2023-07-03DOI: 10.1080/0458063X.2023.2224157
Emily Snider Andrews
It’s no secret: some outside its sphere find evangelicalism’s megachurch, contemporary worship problematic. Accounts vary, but at their center many criticisms dismiss it as a public expression of cop-out Christianity, the kind neglecting Scripture’s call to not be “conformed to the patterns of this world” (Rom. 12:2, CEB). In this view, contemporary worship and its corresponding faith-world embodies, at best, a superficial, feeling-based spirituality swayed by the latest, commercially-driven trends and, at worst, the corrupt excesses of our culture’s consumerism, individualism, and even narcissism—those aspects that Christians, it is assumed, should rally against. As this narrative is told, the cultural ethos of consumption would be unquestionably incongruent with the gospel’s message. There is no shortage of energy spent portraying evangelicals as those who have commodified their worship, guided by the desires of individual consumers rather than the Christian tradition, the common good, and much less Godself. Even so, those evangelical ecclesial contexts have emerged alongside the rise of consumerism as a dominant cultural ethos that have become known for their vibrancy in the twenty-first century. The evangelical megachurch, chiefly recognized by its contemporary worship, has emerged as a novel, yet enduring phenomenon thoroughly debunking notions of contemporary culture’s assumed disenchanted, secularized condition. As described in this essay, evangelical faith is tailored specifically to the same consumption culture that has been lambasted as antithetical to faithful Christianity, and yet is shown as generating a comprehensive way of being-in-the-world in which adherents understand their faith-world to be congruent with their “real life” world. By attending to consumer culture’s practices of marketing and branding, particularly through worship practices of the megachurch, evangelical identity is formed for both the individual devotee and the particular community. For adherents, this gives way to a lifestyle that makes sense of the cultural resources and experiences available to them, resulting in a faith that is accepted as relevant and vibrant. The worship-rooted lifestyle corresponds to a supernatural reality that is just as real and true as the natural one. To focus on how the evangelical megachurch’s adoption of consumer culture’s branding and marketing practices enables a vital faith in the twenty-first century, I will attend to the case of internationally known and market-oriented Bethel Church of Redding, California. At Bethel, worshipers engage liturgical practice as a lifestyle brand, one that shapes all aspects of life both inside and outside the Church, offering [re]enchantment to an allegedly disenchanted world. Understood in this light, liturgical formation at Bethel Church nourishes the whole life of the worshiper, who is revealed to be much more than a shopper-consumer. Furthermore, I explain
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Pub Date : 2023-07-03DOI: 10.1080/0458063x.2023.2224162
David Bjorlin
While studying for my Master of Divinity, one of the concepts that drew me to the field of liturgical studies was the idea that what we did in worship shaped our ethical lives. I wrote my master’s thesis on how the storied nature of the liturgy should help insert us into the story of God, and I relied heavily on the virtue ethics approach promoted by thinkers like Don Saliers, Alasdair MacIntyre, Sam Wells, and Stanley Hauerwas (among others). With the zeal of a new convert, I believed if we could just get our liturgies right (whatever that means!), we could and would fundamentally change the foundational narrative out of which worshipers make their day-to-day ethical decisions as humans. While I still believe there is a strong connection between liturgy and ethics and find the work of these thinkers invaluable, the last decade of divisions and destructive behaviors in our churches and nation have tempered my initial enthusiasm. I have both grown more suspicious of any simple one-to-one correspondences I formerly drew between the way we worship and the way we live our lives, and I have lost the convert’s enthusiasm that believed if we just crafted historically grounded and theologically rich liturgies, they would somehow work ex opere operato (in the simplistic and corrupted sense of the phrase) on the ethical lives of the worshiper. It now seems much more complicated than that. So, I want to use this edition of “Unmute Yourself” not to propose a bold new theological or liturgical framework, but to suggest, with the help of various thinkers, what I believe are a few of the obstacles that limit the ethical impact of the liturgy on the average worshiper. First, some necessary caveats. Save a time machine in which you could make the same congregation the control group and the experimental group, there is no way to prove the ethical impact of worship. Thus, even liturgies that appear to the outside observer ineffectual in shaping the ethical lives of the average congregant may very well be forming the worshiper on a deeper level than our superficial observations can register. In a similar vein, the Spirit of God is not limited by the forms of our worship. God’s Spirit has, is, and will continue to draw people to the life of Christian discipleship through even the most shoddy and ill-performed liturgies, if only to remind the liturgist that worship is first and foremost an intrinsic good rather than an instrumental one used to shape the ethics of our congregation. We do not worship to create good people; we worship to glorify the God who is worthy of worship. So, the obstacles that I suggest may inhibit the ethical impact of worship might be analogous to the way the Roman Catholic Church describes the grace conferred through the sacraments: validly performed sacraments will always confer grace because they are the gift of God (the true meaning of ex opere operato), but we can place obstacles between ourselves and the grace conferred that limit their e
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Pub Date : 2023-07-03DOI: 10.1080/0458063X.2023.2224720
J. Kubicki
For many Christians, the mention of Taiz e prayer or Taiz e music may recall a favorite Taiz e song or an experience of participating in a Taiz e service. For others, the actual experience of having made a pilgrimage to Taiz e, France may conjure up vivid memories of moving prayer events that included Taiz e music as an integral element of the worship service. At the same time, others may be completely unaware that some of the music sung by their local assemblies is part of a distinct collection known as Taiz e music. Since several hymnals and worship resources include Taiz e music as part of a collection of hymn offerings, congregations may simply identify the music as part of their local repertoire. This essay addresses the question of whether Taiz e is a brand. To answer that question, we have to look at the history and intention of the founders and compare Taiz e with earlier understandings of a brand as a mark, stamp, label, or trademark. The story of Taiz e begins with Roger Louis Schutz-Marsauche. Brother Roger was born in Provence, fifteen miles from Neuchâtel, Switzerland in 1915. He first came to Taiz e during the Second World War. He was searching for a place where he could live the Gospel with others. His desire to follow such a lifestyle was inspired by his research on early Christian monasticism at the University of Lausanne. Roger hoped to retrieve some form of traditional monasticism for Protestantism. He was drawn to France because its defeat during World War II awakened in him both sympathy and a desire to assist those ravaged by the war. These impulses eventually led him to purchase a house in Taiz e in 1940. There he originally housed Jews and other war refugees. Eventually, other men, attracted to leading a life of prayer, joined Roger. In 1949 seven of them committed themselves to living a community life together. The first brothers came from various Protestant denominations. Roger’s original inspiration to embrace a monastic life of prayer developed over time and eventually became the community known as the Brothers of Taiz e. A dominant feature of the spirituality of the brothers was their zeal for reconciliation. Promoting Christian unity grew out of this more general focus. In fact, their own ecumenical makeup embodied that intention and was also evident in their active engagement in ecumenical efforts, not only at Taiz e but also with leaders of the various Christian churches throughout the world. From the beginning, the brothers of Taiz e have embraced their vocation to be witnesses to a mutual Christian and human unity that overcomes all barriers. By 1996, the community included nearly 100 Protestant, Roman Catholic, Anglican, Lutheran, and Reformed brothers from twenty-five different countries on four different continents. Brother Roger’s aim was to create a monastic community that might be “a parable of community” among divided Christians. In fact, the brothers were guests of Pope John XXIII at the Second Vatican Co
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Pub Date : 2023-07-03DOI: 10.1080/0458063X.2023.2224189
Nelson Cowan
Our very brief story begins on a typical day in Jacksonville, Florida, in 2010—hot, humid, with a chance of scattered showers in the afternoon. I was deciding what I wanted to eat for lunch, so I pulled my vehicle into the drive-through at Chick-fil-A and ordered my usual: a fried chicken sandwich, waffle fries, and sweet tea. I then ate the meal and enjoyed it. That’s the end of the story. I told you it was short. The simplicity of this scenario changed drastically in 2011. Chick-fil-A gained the national spotlight when its president, Dan Cathy, defended the company’s monetary donations to organizations supporting "biblical marriage" (i.e., one man and one woman). Between the news cycle commentators, op-ed columnists, bloggers, and social media pundits, Chick-fil-A went from a well-respected fried chicken powerhouse to an ethical quandary for some, and a rallying cry for others on both sides of the proverbial fence. The chicken sandwich was no longer just a chicken sandwich. The ubiquity of social media and its algorithmic echo chambers fueled the controversy. Even today—many years after Cathy’s public comments—the Chick-fil-A brand is treated with adoration from political and theological conservatives and with suspicion from liberals and progressives. In 2019, Chick-fil-A modified its charitable giving strategy to focus on education, homelessness, and hunger. In doing so, they ceased donations to groups scrutinized by the media such as the Salvation Army and the Fellowship of Christian Athletes. However, despite their best efforts to pivot in response to controversy, for many, Chick-fil-A remains a tainted brand. Among critics and questioners of Chick-fil-A, the topic of how to respond ethically proved to be a dividing point. In 2018 (and updated in 2022), Noah Michelson, Editorial Director of HuffPost Personal, penned the article “If You Really Love LGBTQ People, You Just Can’t Keep Eating Chick-fil-A.” A large photo of a spread of Chick-fil-A food adorns the article, with the biting subtitle “queerphobia never tastes good.” In no unclear terms, he contends that LGBTQ persons and allies need to choose where their loyalties lie—“with your community or with your stomach.” Marie Whitaker is not as hard-lined, offering her thoughts in the NBC News article, “I’m black and gay and I still eat at Chick-fil-A.” She summarily quips, “The next time I treat myself to the chain’s sinful but tasteful fried chicken and white bread, I will give triple the money I spend to the marriage equality effort.” In a similar pivot, Executive Director of Baptist News, Mark Wingfield, refused to boycott the restaurant, instead suggesting readers redirect their frustration by boycotting politicians who work against the rights of LGBTQ people.
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Pub Date : 2023-07-03DOI: 10.1080/0458063x.2023.2224723
Kate Williams, Daniel Kantor
It was heavy in my hands, that first hymnal. Growing up in rural Iowa, many pew resources were disposable, their tattered edges clinging for dear life to their temporary spine, waiting for their periodic replacement. But that first GIA hymnal I received––Gather Comprehensive, Second Edition––felt anchored, confident, meant to last. Its thick, maroon-colored cover was built to endure the wrath of restless toddlers and hasty page turns. Its opaque paper held a canon of treasured tunes both ancient and new, but perhaps the most beautiful content of these pages was yet to be created. These impressions would be captured over years and years by those who held this book in their hands—their tears of joy and sadness that made permanent splotches and puckers between the staves of music, the smudge of ashes that fell from their Lenten foreheads, the dog-eared pages of someone’s favorite melody, the remnants of oils from hands that traced the embossed cover, the smell of incense that seeps deep down into the binding. I was fourteen then and, of course, I couldn’t know that my life’s work would bring me under the very roof that created these beautiful books. Since I began working at GIA Publications in 2016, I’ve gotten to know just how much work goes into creating a resource of such significance—committees who discern the contents over months and years of dialogue, engravers who are the stewards of clarity and style, licensing and permissions editors who are the custodians of the copyrighted materials, proofers who demand accuracy and consistency, outside censors and readers who confirm the theological and liturgical reliability of texts and rubrics. The printing process itself contains a whole new vernacular previously unknown to me, one of “signatures,” “blue lines,” “headbands,” and “case binding.” But none of that fancy language, not one individual nor the sum of each step in the long publishing process said as much to me about what the book was about or what it was for or what it could mean than the book itself. Not the songs or the editors, not the text or the music, not the proofers or permissions. Just the book. The weight of the book. The weight of the symbol I held in my own two hands. It said “Here. This is important. Now it’s yours.” The weight of that symbol has followed me all throughout my life—through college and my teaching career, through each church job no matter how partor full-time. It follows me here to GIA because I know how important it feels to hold a symbol in your hands, to be entrusted with it. I know the impact it has on the rest of your life’s work. And I know the power it has to communicate who and whose we are––that we are beloved and valued in the Creator’s eyes. I have a palpable sense of the responsibility and privilege of being made in God’s image and likeness, of remembering the feeling of first knowing that I could belong to something, to someone—all of that from just a book.
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Pub Date : 2023-07-03DOI: 10.1080/0458063X.2023.2224718
Hyemin Na
Better World, an international development NGO with UN Economic and Social Council (ECOSOC) status, helps “global neighbors suffering from poverty, disease, and disasters to make better villages around the world.” They take holistic approaches to working with locals to nurture healthy socio-economically and environmentally sustainable communities. The “village” language takes cues from Park Jeong-Hee regime’s modernization initiative “Saemaeul” (New Village) movement of the 1970s that promoted the industrialization of poverty-stricken rural villages of Korea. The NGO takes steps toward fulfilling their hope of a better world one village at a time. Partnerships with local government and village constituents unfold through the umbrella of “Clean Village,” “Healthy Village,” and “Wealthy Village” programs. According to their website, Better World has assisted 98,734 persons through their Clean Village programs that assist with waste management, fostering access to public hygiene, and developing sustainable energy solutions. The Healthy Village program aided 86,227 persons by constructing medical facilities and resourcing prevention medicine as paths toward elevating levels of public health. The Wealthy Village programming addresses housing needs, finances road, and bridge infrastructure, and provides occupational training. The sensibility of the word translated into English as “wealthy” aligns closer to “abundant” and “flourishing.” Over the course of its 10 years of existence Better World considered the people of 22 villages in 18 nations their neighbors and held them in the sightline of love. Better World NGO held its 10th Anniversary Celebration Worship Service in 2020. Preaching on the Good Samaritan story (Luke 10:33–37), Rev. Jae Hoon Lee, head pastor of Onnuri Church in Seoul, Republic of Korea, and Representative of the NGO, reiterated Jesus’ teaching regarding the nature of neighborliness. According to Lee, the scribe as well as the contemporary elites of today intellectualize the issue of extending compassion. “Who is my neighbor?” the powerful ask. Yet recognizing a neighbor in need is not a matter of proper intellectual discourse; it is a matter of the heart. Addressing those gathered to celebrate the accomplishments of Better World, Lee emphasized that those who only deliberate categories will fail to recognize another as a neighbor. In their gatekeeping, they will fail “not because they don’t know who their neighbor is, but because they lack love.” Lee continued by sharing a saying: “Love, instead of stirring our hands to action, will first open our eyes.” According to Lee, the power of love lies in the opening of perception. Lee explained that the work of the NGO would be impossible without love. It is through love that “we orient ourselves to those we don’t see, those who are—for us [Koreans]—at the ends of the earth. Of course, through photography and videos, we see them in limited ways, but without living there, there are
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Pub Date : 2023-01-02DOI: 10.1080/0458063x.2022.2154507
Melinda A. Quivik, Andrew Wymer
When the Liturgical Conference board realized that the North American Academy of Liturgy (NAAL) was approaching a celebration of its first fifty years, the board decided to mark the event by looking at where liturgical scholarship and practice had come in that time and what might be the direction of future work. Accordingly, the board set out to publish two issues of Liturgy focused first on the past and secondly on the future. The first issue was a retrospective on the unfolding—the changing worlds—of liturgical scholarship and practice over the past 50 years. This is the second issue: a prospective reflection on the future possibilities and trajectories of worship scholarship and practice over the next 50 years. At each annual meeting of the NAAL in recent memory, five banners have stood behind the podium at which we conduct most of our communal work and fellowship. These banners portray the rising sun—an homage to the logo of the NAAL—behind two trees that, appropriate to our winter meetings, are devoid of leaves. The cover image of this issue pays tribute to this familiar visual, yet we selected it, as well, because it visualizes trees that rather than being in hibernation—or dead—are bursting with the lush and long-awaited greenery of spring. This visual provides an apt metaphor for much of what we encountered in this issue marking the fiftieth anniversary of NAAL. When these two issues were originally planned, we had a very clear sense of one issue (vol. 37, no. 4) being historical in focus and the second issue (vol. 38, no. 1) being future-facing. In this issue, we encounter the complex interweaving of the past, present, and future. In the first issue, authors engaged the past but often with a vivid awareness of and concern for the present and future, and in the second issue, authors who were tasked with imagining the future were still very concerned about the past and present. As the image on the cover is intended to remind us, even as we look forward with hope and expectation for the ongoing renewal of liturgical scholarship and practice, it is certain that the past has brought us to where we are today and set us on still unfolding trajectories. The concept for this issue was first tested in a focus group held in May 2021 that was funded by a grant from the Styberg Preaching Institute. The editors drew together a small but diverse array of liturgical scholars and practitioners—many of whom subsequently agreed also to write for this issue. This focus group was a generative time of sharing why liturgy matters within our individual contexts, reflecting on the strengths and weaknesses of current liturgical scholarship and practice, identifying needed shifts in the study and practice of liturgy, and identifying obstacles to change within the field. This conversation provided us with rich content from which emerged some of the essays comprising this issue and through which we were able to provide initial generative questions for additional aut
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Pub Date : 2023-01-02DOI: 10.1080/0458063x.2022.2154514
W. S. Haldeman, Stephanie A. Budwey, Jason J. McFarland, Lis Valle-Ruiz
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