Pub Date : 2023-01-02DOI: 10.1080/0458063X.2022.2154527
R. S. Vosko
The Hebrew Bible contains a story of the Israelites’ liberation from Egyptian captivity. Discouraged by dangerous trials on their journey to the Promised Land they became angry with God. Many wanted to return to Egypt where, although enslaved, they had food and housing. Others stood still, tired and fearful of the future. A remnant, undaunted by the probability of hazards ahead, moved forward in search of liberty. A similar situation exists in many places around our world today where there is restlessness and unpredictability. Totalitarian governments are preventing powerless people from moving forward with their lives. Millions of children, women, and men everywhere are stuck; held in modern slavery of some form. In search of future opportunities their dreams have turned to nightmares. The scenario is the same in many Christian faith communities. Not sure of what the future holds for them some are at a standstill. They are fractured over intramural issues such as ministerial roles, scandals, socio-political divisions, dwindling congregations, and prayer book formularies. Even brave pastoral leaders are not sure how to move forward in the face of dire forecasts. The old road maps are worn out. While many Christian denominations throughout the United States are thriving, others are experiencing decline. Recent projections from the Pew Research Center “indicate the U.S. might be following the path taken over the last 50 years by many countries in Western Europe that had overwhelming Christian majorities in the middle of the 20th century and no longer do.” Although there will always be new converts to Christianity, the Pew study indicated that “religious commitment could steadily weaken from generation to generation if people continue to identify as Christian but are less devout than their parents and grandparents.” Many in the X, Y and Z generations no longer go to church. According to one study, “The secularization of culture may impact religious belief, with greater value placed on the immanent, observable, and directly experience-able than on a transcendent worldview where mystery and trust in the unknowable are accepted. Millennials, for example, believe they can be spiritual and socially conscious without the constraints of pontificating clergy and catechetical ennui. “Broken promises, fallen leaders and exposed corruption have led Millennials to feel alienated from oncefoundational institutions.” Organized religions are among those establishments. Researchers claim structural clericalism, a self-righteous form of entitlement, is at the core of the problem in the Catholic Church. As theologian Massimo Faggioli observed, tensions have erupted into “the storm that the Catholic Church is going through today – the battle between
《希伯来圣经》中有一个以色列人从埃及人的囚禁中解放出来的故事。在前往应许之地的旅途中，他们被危险的审判所挫败，对上帝感到愤怒。许多人想回到埃及，在那里虽然被奴役，但他们有食物和住房。其他人站着不动，对未来感到厌倦和恐惧。一个残余分子对前方可能发生的危险无所畏惧，继续前进，寻求自由。今天，在我们世界的许多地方也存在着类似的情况，那里存在着不安和不可预测性。极权主义政府正在阻止无能为力的人们继续他们的生活。世界各地数以百万计的儿童、妇女和男子被困；被某种形式的现代奴役。为了寻找未来的机会，他们的梦想变成了噩梦。许多基督教社区的情况也是如此。不确定他们的未来，有些人停滞不前。他们在内部问题上意见分歧，如部长角色、丑闻、社会政治分歧、会众减少和祈祷书配方。即使是勇敢的牧民领袖也不知道如何在可怕的预测面前前进。旧的路线图破旧不堪。尽管美国各地的许多基督教教派都在蓬勃发展，但其他教派却在衰落。皮尤研究中心（Pew Research Center）最近的预测“表明，美国可能正在遵循西欧许多国家在过去50年中所走的道路，这些国家在20世纪中叶拥有压倒性的基督教多数，现在已经不再这样了。”，皮尤研究中心的研究表明，“如果人们继续认同自己是基督徒，但不如父母和祖父母虔诚，那么宗教承诺可能会一代又一代地逐渐减弱。”许多X、Y和Z世代的人不再去教堂。根据一项研究，“文化的世俗化可能会影响宗教信仰，与接受神秘和对未知事物的信任的超验世界观相比，对内在的、可观察的和直接的经验能力的重视更大。例如，千禧一代相信，他们可以在没有教条主义神职人员和宗教厌倦的约束下，具有精神和社会意识。“失信、领导人倒台和腐败暴露让千禧一代感到与曾经的基础机构疏远。”有组织的宗教就是其中之一。研究人员声称，结构性神职人员主义，一种自以为是的权利形式，是天主教会问题的核心。正如神学家马西莫·法焦利所观察到的那样，紧张局势已经爆发为“天主教会今天正在经历的风暴——
{"title":"Moving Forward: Liturgical Transformations in the Roman Catholic Church","authors":"R. S. Vosko","doi":"10.1080/0458063X.2022.2154527","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1080/0458063X.2022.2154527","url":null,"abstract":"The Hebrew Bible contains a story of the Israelites’ liberation from Egyptian captivity. Discouraged by dangerous trials on their journey to the Promised Land they became angry with God. Many wanted to return to Egypt where, although enslaved, they had food and housing. Others stood still, tired and fearful of the future. A remnant, undaunted by the probability of hazards ahead, moved forward in search of liberty. A similar situation exists in many places around our world today where there is restlessness and unpredictability. Totalitarian governments are preventing powerless people from moving forward with their lives. Millions of children, women, and men everywhere are stuck; held in modern slavery of some form. In search of future opportunities their dreams have turned to nightmares. The scenario is the same in many Christian faith communities. Not sure of what the future holds for them some are at a standstill. They are fractured over intramural issues such as ministerial roles, scandals, socio-political divisions, dwindling congregations, and prayer book formularies. Even brave pastoral leaders are not sure how to move forward in the face of dire forecasts. The old road maps are worn out. While many Christian denominations throughout the United States are thriving, others are experiencing decline. Recent projections from the Pew Research Center “indicate the U.S. might be following the path taken over the last 50 years by many countries in Western Europe that had overwhelming Christian majorities in the middle of the 20th century and no longer do.” Although there will always be new converts to Christianity, the Pew study indicated that “religious commitment could steadily weaken from generation to generation if people continue to identify as Christian but are less devout than their parents and grandparents.” Many in the X, Y and Z generations no longer go to church. According to one study, “The secularization of culture may impact religious belief, with greater value placed on the immanent, observable, and directly experience-able than on a transcendent worldview where mystery and trust in the unknowable are accepted. Millennials, for example, believe they can be spiritual and socially conscious without the constraints of pontificating clergy and catechetical ennui. “Broken promises, fallen leaders and exposed corruption have led Millennials to feel alienated from oncefoundational institutions.” Organized religions are among those establishments. Researchers claim structural clericalism, a self-righteous form of entitlement, is at the core of the problem in the Catholic Church. As theologian Massimo Faggioli observed, tensions have erupted into “the storm that the Catholic Church is going through today – the battle between","PeriodicalId":53923,"journal":{"name":"Liturgy","volume":"38 1","pages":"66 - 73"},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2023-01-02","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"45900035","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2023-01-02DOI: 10.1080/0458063X.2022.2154553
L. Hoffman
We should take enormous pride in the liturgical revolution that has characterized the last half century. I count myself blessed to have been born into such a period and to have chanced upon a time and calling that put me in the revolution’s center. Think just of the most obvious signs of ferment we have lived through: the demise of ethnically Catholic or Lutheran or Jewish or even Episcopalian cultures; the very possibility of prayer in the shadow of the Holocaust; the feminist critique of an androcentric liturgy and entire religious cultures that men alone control; the emergence of LGBTQþ from the closet and the realization of gender’s fluidity; the steady advance of secularism and all those Pew reports on millennials and the “nones”; not to mention deconstructionism, postmodernism, postcolonialism, and (by now) everyday ordinary globalism—too many “isms” to count. Among my happiest moments are the many interchanges across faith lines with my Christian liturgical colleagues, as, together, we have defined, faced, or furthered these challenges. Two such moments stand out in my mind as examples of the path we have taken. Together, they illustrate an underlying ethical dilemma that still infects our liturgical project and beckons for our attention if the project is to reach fulfillment.
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Pub Date : 2023-01-02DOI: 10.1080/0458063x.2022.2154515
HyeRan Kim-Cragg
My liturgical homeland includes Korean Roman Catholicism and Presbyterianism as well as Canadian Methodist and Reformed traditions. I teach at a Canadian theological school that was founded by the ancestors of the United Church of Canada, who had a vision for church unity between Methodist, Presbyterian, and Congregationalist congregations in 1925. My offering in this article projecting the next fifty years of liturgical scholarship and worship practice emerges out of these limited experiences, rooted in ecumenism, honoring different theological traditions and liturgical practices, while seeking to be whole. My vision of worship is that it is always reforming as it calls a healthy and vibrant body of Christ to witness God’s work in the world. I begin by highlighting the contributions of the Liturgical Renewal Movement (LRM), initiated by the Second Vatican Council which inspired many Protestant worshiping assemblies. It is fruitful to ground our discussion in a review of the past contributions before we venture a word about a future liturgical renewal. I name three contributions here, which inform concerns for liturgical studies. Raising these concerns will serve as an attempt to chart trajectories into the future of liturgical studies and worship practices. In conclusion, I will identify one major obstacle to overcome.
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Pub Date : 2023-01-02DOI: 10.1080/0458063X.2022.2154512
S. Burns
I write from Narrm, as the land is known by local First Peoples—the Wurundjeri of the Kulin nation. It was “settled” as Melbourne, often designated “the most liveable city in the world,” though the Wurundjeri may be among those who dispute that designation, given that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander [ASTI] people are “proportionally... the most incarcerated people on the planet” and remain “the poorest, sickest, and in every way most disadvantaged members of contemporary Australian society.” In 1803, the convict ship Calcutta sailed nearby, and some of its crew were the first known Europeans to have set shore, on October 16. They were fifteen years later than others who had landed far away in Sydney Cove, among whom was the chaplain with the First Fleet, Richard Johnson, who presided at the first Christian service in the Great South Land on February 3, 1788. We know that Johnson had the 1662 Book of Common Prayer (BCP) with him and that the pages with the order for holy communion were “torn from turning.” The Bible most likely arrived on land inscribed on the bodies of various convicts, many of whom sported tattoos—for example, “Fools mock at sin” (Proverbs 14:9) and “Prepare to meet thy God” (Amos 4:2). For his part, Johnson had an illustrated King James Version (KJV), and among the goods carried on the ships were 100 KJVs, 400 New Testaments, 200 copies of the Sermon on the Mount, and 500 Psalters. While some early convicts used at least some of these scriptures to make cards for gambling and for rolling cigarettes, Johnson found a psalm for the first sermon on land: Psalm 116:12, about “the Lord’s bounty.” The chaplain onboard Calcutta, Richard Knopwood, chose another psalm for his sermon, which was part of the first Christian worship near Narrm. He opted for Psalm 107, and focused on the last part, on “understanding the loving mercy” of the Eternal. Knopwood’s choice may have been influenced by a vignette in the long story psalm about “they that go down to the sea in ships” (v. 23). We know something about the early days of settlement around Melbourne because of the extant writing of the second-in-command on Calcutta, James Tuckey. This includes his notes on encounter with and opinions about the naked (barring face-paint), unarmed (at least at first), yet “hostile” and “savage” local people. They were, Tuckey wrote, not just “stupidly devoid of curiosity” but lacking in a sense of right and wrong and altogether “disagreeable neighbours.” Some, he added, were so “abominably beastly, that it required the strongest stomach to look upon them without nausea.” Worse still, Tuckey’s writing also records killings. His diary provides some evidence about the first wave of deaths in what within decades decimated the local population. When First Peoples were not in the firing line, they were felled by diseases brought by the colonizers—
{"title":"A Postcard from Narrm","authors":"S. Burns","doi":"10.1080/0458063X.2022.2154512","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1080/0458063X.2022.2154512","url":null,"abstract":"I write from Narrm, as the land is known by local First Peoples—the Wurundjeri of the Kulin nation. It was “settled” as Melbourne, often designated “the most liveable city in the world,” though the Wurundjeri may be among those who dispute that designation, given that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander [ASTI] people are “proportionally... the most incarcerated people on the planet” and remain “the poorest, sickest, and in every way most disadvantaged members of contemporary Australian society.” In 1803, the convict ship Calcutta sailed nearby, and some of its crew were the first known Europeans to have set shore, on October 16. They were fifteen years later than others who had landed far away in Sydney Cove, among whom was the chaplain with the First Fleet, Richard Johnson, who presided at the first Christian service in the Great South Land on February 3, 1788. We know that Johnson had the 1662 Book of Common Prayer (BCP) with him and that the pages with the order for holy communion were “torn from turning.” The Bible most likely arrived on land inscribed on the bodies of various convicts, many of whom sported tattoos—for example, “Fools mock at sin” (Proverbs 14:9) and “Prepare to meet thy God” (Amos 4:2). For his part, Johnson had an illustrated King James Version (KJV), and among the goods carried on the ships were 100 KJVs, 400 New Testaments, 200 copies of the Sermon on the Mount, and 500 Psalters. While some early convicts used at least some of these scriptures to make cards for gambling and for rolling cigarettes, Johnson found a psalm for the first sermon on land: Psalm 116:12, about “the Lord’s bounty.” The chaplain onboard Calcutta, Richard Knopwood, chose another psalm for his sermon, which was part of the first Christian worship near Narrm. He opted for Psalm 107, and focused on the last part, on “understanding the loving mercy” of the Eternal. Knopwood’s choice may have been influenced by a vignette in the long story psalm about “they that go down to the sea in ships” (v. 23). We know something about the early days of settlement around Melbourne because of the extant writing of the second-in-command on Calcutta, James Tuckey. This includes his notes on encounter with and opinions about the naked (barring face-paint), unarmed (at least at first), yet “hostile” and “savage” local people. They were, Tuckey wrote, not just “stupidly devoid of curiosity” but lacking in a sense of right and wrong and altogether “disagreeable neighbours.” Some, he added, were so “abominably beastly, that it required the strongest stomach to look upon them without nausea.” Worse still, Tuckey’s writing also records killings. His diary provides some evidence about the first wave of deaths in what within decades decimated the local population. When First Peoples were not in the firing line, they were felled by diseases brought by the colonizers—","PeriodicalId":53923,"journal":{"name":"Liturgy","volume":"38 1","pages":"11 - 17"},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2023-01-02","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"42900298","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2023-01-02DOI: 10.1080/0458063X.2022.2154517
Marcia McFee
For many reasons, places and ways of worship change throughout time. The artifacts communities leave behind—stone henges, burial passage tombs, baptistry ruins, roofless and glassless medieval church edifices, abandoned chapels retrofitted for B&B’s, and, more recently, church property broken and shared as a sacrament of affordable housing—testify to the impermanence of what we try desperately to believe is timeless. The human need to find meaning and mark sacred place and time, however, is indelible. And we will keep doing this as long as we are humans, for this is as much who we became as the development of our upright posture.
{"title":"Metamorphosis Moment: Ritual Artistry and the Work of the People","authors":"Marcia McFee","doi":"10.1080/0458063X.2022.2154517","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1080/0458063X.2022.2154517","url":null,"abstract":"For many reasons, places and ways of worship change throughout time. The artifacts communities leave behind—stone henges, burial passage tombs, baptistry ruins, roofless and glassless medieval church edifices, abandoned chapels retrofitted for B&B’s, and, more recently, church property broken and shared as a sacrament of affordable housing—testify to the impermanence of what we try desperately to believe is timeless. The human need to find meaning and mark sacred place and time, however, is indelible. And we will keep doing this as long as we are humans, for this is as much who we became as the development of our upright posture.","PeriodicalId":53923,"journal":{"name":"Liturgy","volume":"38 1","pages":"40 - 45"},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2023-01-02","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"44484653","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":0,"RegionCategory":"","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2023-01-02DOI: 10.1080/0458063X.2022.2154519
Kristine Suna-Koro
The language of crisis in liturgical theology and practice in the Western context is not a mere figure of speech. In the second decade of the twenty-first century enormous contradictions and fissures permeate all terrains of life. The late postmodern fragmentation of reality, veracity, and common experience is reaching hyperbolized dimensions—a hypermodernity of fragmentation and inequality. At the same time, a broad range of postcolonial and decolonial currents insistently unveil the metastasizing persistence of the coloniality of being, power, knowledge, and feeling. For liturgical theology and practices of worship in the West, this global entanglement of crosscurrents plays out not only during the present-day geriatric phase of Christendom (as a distinct religio-political regime) but also during a gradually solidifying moment of “after” Christianity (as a self-evident religio-cultural regime). In this context, we can ask whether liturgical theology is experiencing (yet another) Tenebrae moment, another moment of anxious twilight–a crisis? If so, as Nicholas Denysenko has recently argued, then we still need to ask: Whose crisis it is really? In the North American—and more broadly, Western—context, what currents are churning up trouble in the pews and for the practice of liturgical theology? Most importantly, what avenues might liturgical theologians discern as vital for thinking through this crisis? I believe that every crisis can be an apocalyptic, revelatory, and potentially transformative gateway toward more vibrant worship and more life-giving theological endeavors.
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Pub Date : 2023-01-02DOI: 10.1080/0458063X.2022.2154513
D. Turnbloom
Liturgical studies are not easily defined. It is a field that avails itself of many disciplines (e.g., theology, history, ritual studies, sociology, etc.) and many methodologies (e.g., ethnography, archaeology, critical theories, etc.). As such, the future of liturgical studies will unfold on many frontiers. The goal of this essay is to focus on one frontier that could benefit from renewed attention: teaching liturgical studies to undergraduate students. If the field of liturgical studies is going to continue to grow and evolve the way it has over the last fifty years, then I believe the undergraduate classroom must preoccupy us as much as the seminary classroom or the doctoral seminar. As seminaries close and humanities departments are steadily reduced to groups of instructors whose primary role is teaching introductory courses in a core curriculum, it will be beneficial to see this moment of crisis as an opportunity for exploring different ways of teaching. Too often, undergraduate education relies on what Paolo Freire called “the ‘banking’ concept of education.” Students are presented with curated information which they are expected to understand and memorize. The good students are the ones who are quick to comprehend the information, but the best students are the ones who also show fascination and appreciation for what the instructor has offered them. To borrow the terminology of post-colonial theorist Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, the best students are the ones who most readily transform into the type of reader that is implied by the texts that have been chosen by the instructor. “In the [literature classroom] the goal is at least to shape the mind of the student so that it can resemble the mind of the so-called implied reader of the literary text, even when that is a historically distanced cultural fiction.” In the liturgical studies classroom, this curated information often consists of liturgical rituals and rubrics, the history of their development, and commentary on the meaning of those liturgies provided by authoritative (often clerical) voices. According to Spivak, this form of pedagogy serves as a technology of colonization. The students’ success depends on their ability to become like their instructors, learning to love the authorized content of the course. In Freire’s words:
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Pub Date : 2023-01-02DOI: 10.1080/0458063x.2022.2154509
N. Denysenko
What is special about Orthodox Liturgy? The mainstream perception of Orthodox Liturgy is that its antiquity is its main feature. Orthodox Liturgy displays colorful images and attractive sounds. The combination of vast spaces, beautiful yet austere iconography, resplendent chants, incense, and graceful ritual movement feels old and resistant to modernization. Converts to the Orthodox church describe the liturgy as apostolic, an anchor, or a safe haven from the troubles of the world. The Liturgy is quite quotable—the Cherubikon invites faithful to “lay aside all earthly cares,” a verse that confirms the otherworldly quality of Orthodox Liturgy. Liturgical historians might take a different approach and point to a handful of figures or historical periods that profoundly shape Orthodox Liturgy. Liturgical scholars tend to cherish hymnography because it is the repository of the Greek patristic tradition of homiletics. Others refer to the anaphoras of John Chrysostom and Basil of Caesarea as the finest expressions of Christology and Trinitarian theology in the Liturgy. A lifetime of participation in Orthodox liturgy as a child, altar server, choir director, and deacon has shaped my perspective. I am convinced that the greatest gift of Orthodox Liturgy is inexplicable. It evades the finest homilists and eludes theologians. This gift can be sensed, experienced, and, most of all, received, but all explanations fall short. The gift is the infinite presence of God reaching out to us, touching us, and piercing our hearts. It is a taste of the life for which we were truly created, and not merely the finite experience of time, space, and place, but the vision of partaking of the day without end promised to us. Many experts and ordinary laity have attempted to describe this experience, and they grasp for meaning. It is often called a journey, one taken together in the company of others, to the final destination. Certainly, such experiences are not detached from the human rituals that communicate love. The presentation of the bread and wine is the offering of a gift. The antiphons and hymns are songs of love and longing. The penitential rituals and gestures of reverence are appeals to clemency and mercy. These ordinary human acts express a relationship with a God who pours out love and mercy. Two particular qualities of Orthodox liturgy that stand out and can be “felt” are the absolute otherness of God and love for humankind. Orthodox liturgy excels at expressing wonder and marveling at God—not only in the lectio selecta of responsorial psalmody but also in non-textual, non-verbal ways. God is almighty, but not only that; God is beyond our imagination, yet approachable. This last apophatic expression is also a useful paradox—the uncontainable one whose light the disciples could not behold on Mount Tabor becomes a vulnerable infant, born in poverty to a teenage mother in a cave. The one who created humankind in the divine image and likeness approaches mortal flesh
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Pub Date : 2023-01-02DOI: 10.1080/0458063X.2022.2154518
J. Ottaway
An analogy will help to describe how the current Pentecostal scholars have engaged their tradition’s worship. In the eighteenth century, numerous artists lived in Rome whose vocation (and source of income) lay in making visual recreations of the ancient city and in restoring its newly uncovered artifacts. Despite Rome’s importance as the seat of papal authority, it had survived since the fifth century as a vast and sprawling ruin occupied by a population 3 percent of its previous size at the pinnacle of the Roman Empire. In the eighteenth century, the transformation of history and archaeology as disciplines, as well as ongoing scholarly debates about the authority of antiquity, generated a new and lively interest in how ancient Rome had looked. The artists who served this need had to be proficient archaeologists. They needed to ensure that their historical recreations were faithful depictions of what had been. Archaeology helped artists to understand the layout of the ruins, the way in which these buildings would have functioned, and the techniques and decorative motifs that would have informed their construction. However, archaeology by itself was not enough. Artists also needed to be architects. Architecture enabled artists to create functional three-dimensional depictions of the buildings that accomplished the creative conjectural leaps necessary for converting the existing ruins into functional blueprints. One of these artists was an architect called Giovanni Batista Piranesi (1720–1778), a prolific producer of historical recreations throughout his career. It was not for his historical images that Piranesi is best remembered though. Instead, Piranesi’s most enduring legacy came through his 1745 creation of a collection of fourteen images that depicted an imaginary prison. This collection was called Carceri d’invenzione (commonly referred to as The Prisons). The prisons that Piranesi envisioned were colossal in scale. From the vantagepoint of the viewer, the prisons’ innumerous staircases, archways, vaults, walkways, beams, and pillars stretch out endlessly. The purpose or function of these prisons are, however, unclear. “The staircases lead nowhere, the vaults support nothing but their own weight and enclose vast spaces that are never truly rooms... Below them, on the floor, stand great machines incapable of doing anything in particular, and from the arches overhead hang ropes that carry nothing.” It is the grandiosity of scale juxtaposed against its oppressive purposelessness that gives The Prisons the power to haunt and intrigue. Piranesi’s Prisons were a unique artistic vision for this period. While architectural fantasists had previously existed, none had explored a single symbol at such depth nor had used architectural scale to generate drama to the extent accomplished by The Prisons. However, while The
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Pub Date : 2023-01-02DOI: 10.1080/0458063X.2022.2154521
Lisa M. Weaver
In the early 2000s, I had a conversation with the late Rev. Dr. Granville Allen Seward, who was at that time pastor emeritus of Mount Zion Baptist Church in Newark, New Jersey. It was during one of his annual visits to Trinity Baptist Church in The Bronx (my home church) as the Ash Wednesday preacher. The conversation with him took its usual post-preaching, post-service format: always brief, always theological. Good Baptist that he was, there was often a Scripture or a line from a hymn that were quickly recalled in service to his responses. I don’t recall what I said or asked him, but I will never forget his response: “Oh, I’m just trying to serve this present age, my calling to fulfill.” I have sung “A Charge to Keep I Have” countless times. Yet, this time the words “to serve this present age” were halting. The words had a visceral effect. It was as if I heard the profundity of those words, that phrase, “to serve this present age,” with an exhortatory-like invitation to do the same. That day was a pivotal marker in my life as a minister and a scholar because ever since then I have lived, worked, served, taught, researched, and written with the question that that phrase provokes: how does what I am doing, saying, and writing serve “this present age?” At every age and stage, the church has had to wrestle with the challenge of its present age. It has had to live in the tension of reverence and relevance: reverence for its past, its traditions, its theology, and its ecclesiology while being relevant to the people in its charge and care at the time. This has not always been done well, but this has always been a challenge present on the church’s doorstep. The question of how to “serve this present age” would be relevant today even if there had not been a global pandemic. Periodically, institutions and communities give reflection to where they have been and where they are going in order to plan for their future. The Second Vatican Council of the Roman Catholic Church is one example of this. The Coronavirus pandemic has made this question even weightier and more urgent. The pandemic has quickly, with next to no transition time, changed the way people around the world live, learn, work, and worship. Changes in how people accomplish ordinary tasks include changes in the ways that churches have had to conduct their ministries. One of the most familiar challenges that churches have historically faced has been people’s resistance to change, exemplified in the common response: “we’ve always done it this way.” The pandemic wrenched open the hands of traditionalism, wrested away the idol “we have always done it this way,” and smashed it. Clergy and congregations did not have the luxury of holding on to their practices and preferences because people
21世纪初，我与已故的格兰维尔·艾伦·苏厄德(Granville Allen Seward)牧师博士进行了一次交谈，他当时是新泽西州纽瓦克锡安山浸信会(Mount Zion Baptist Church)的名誉牧师。那是在他每年一次去布朗克斯的三一浸信会(Trinity Baptist Church)(我的家乡教堂)做圣灰星期三牧师的时候。和他的谈话采取了惯常的讲道后、礼拜后的形式:总是简短，总是神学式的。虽然他是一个虔诚的浸信会教徒，但经常会有人很快地回忆起一段经文或一首赞美诗中的诗句，以帮助他做出回应。我不记得我对他说了什么或问了什么，但我永远不会忘记他的回答:“哦，我只是想为这个时代服务，完成我的使命。”我已经唱过无数遍“我有一份责任”。然而，这一次，“为这个时代服务”这几个字是断断续续的。这句话有一种发自内心的影响。我仿佛听到这句话的深意，这句话，“为今世服务”，带着一种劝诫般的邀请去做同样的事。那一天是我作为牧师和学者一生中一个关键的里程碑，因为从那以后，我一直带着这个短语引发的问题生活、工作、服务、教学、研究和写作:我所做的、所说的和所写的如何服务于“这个时代”?在每个时代和阶段，教会都必须与当今时代的挑战作斗争。它必须生活在敬畏和相关性的紧张关系中:敬畏它的过去，它的传统，它的神学，它的教会学，同时与当时它所负责和照顾的人有关。这并不总是做得很好，但这一直是摆在教堂门口的一个挑战。即使没有发生全球性大流行病，如何"为当代服务"的问题今天仍具有现实意义。各机构和社区定期反思它们的过去和未来，以便规划它们的未来。罗马天主教会的第二次梵蒂冈会议就是一个例子。冠状病毒大流行使这个问题更加沉重和紧迫。这场大流行在几乎没有过渡时间的情况下迅速改变了世界各地人们的生活、学习、工作和礼拜方式。人们完成日常工作的方式发生了变化，教会开展事工的方式也发生了变化。教会历来面临的最常见的挑战之一是人们对变革的抵制，常见的反应就是:“我们一直都是这样做的。”大流行拉开了传统主义的手，抢走了“我们一直这样做”的偶像，打碎了它。神职人员和教会不能奢侈地坚持他们的做法和偏好，因为人们
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