America - Day 15
"Draw near with faith - was never meant to be a metaphor" - this is what the Director of Ministry at St Gregory's whispered loudly in my ear as we began the eucharistic prayer. In other words - move your ass towards the altar - the magic is about to begin.
Worship at St Gregory's is unusual, even for America. It is impossible to be a spectator here. If you come through the doors of St Gregory's on a Sunday morning then you will be dancing, singing, praying out loud, listening, talking, touching, feeling and speaking the words of mystery - always, every time. And if you have a special day around you - such as a birthday, a marriage or a new job - then you will leave having had hands laid upon you and you will be blessed with prayer. And the hands will not be the priest's, they will be everyone's hands.
None if this is done in awkward solemnity - it's done with confidence and enthusiasm, by young and old. Queer, straight, bald, dreadlocked, fat, thin, standing, sitting, disabled or not, ill and not ill, men and women. I looked around at one point mid-service and saw a man sitting behind me with a large hand puppet, like a muppet, nodding and smiling it's way through the service. The man was sat next to his wife, holding hands, perfectly normally - apart from the puppet sitting there as well. Nothing and everything is normal here, nobody has an issue, including the pets which sit through the service next to their owners.
It begins in the sanctuary, around the altar. I thought I was late, as I walked in people were already singing - a cappella, no instruments. Others were standing around the altar chatting. And then I realised the singing was practice. The choir are not robed and they sit or stand with the people - we're led with the singing by a man who looks and sounds as though he knows what he's doing. He taps a tuning fork on his head to pitch a note before he leads us into each song. The priest and assistants are there too, making things ready on the altar, no microphones. A bell clangs and everyone is hushed. The priest shouts a welcome and the singing begins as we all walk, singing, to our seats.
Incense is burning on a table, the smell is pungent and the atmosphere misty. Bells are rung, a seven branched candlestick stands on there with a towering brass oil burner with it's wicks all alight. There are gestures but no men in beards or tall hats. The scene doesn't confirm to anything normal. It's Eastern Orthodox without the dourness, conservative charismatic but with robes and paraphernalia, American but orderly and the words are distinctly Anglican. But it works, for everyone here. There must be six people in robes, more women than men. This is not a big church, the building looks 1980's and there are around eighty people in here today. Robes are worn by lay and ordained alike. The colours are bright, brightness is everywhere. No black cassock and white surplice - but vibrant, swirling yellow, green, pink, blue and purple robes, head to toe. Sack cloth is around as well. When they move around, as they seem to do frequently, the worship leaders move round the congregation quickly and confidently, smiling with their brightly coloured robes swinging around them. The whole thing flows with order but with spontaneity as well - all of it is unexpected to me. The readings are heard, chants are sung, short, but long enough to be meaningful. Silence is kept. I was just thinking that ritual had replaced the breaking of the Word, when the priest began his sermon, sitting in front of us. He talked for forty five minutes - and it was an opening of the scriptures. No fairytale through make-beleive land. The parable of the sheep and the goats. The sermon was flavoured with Giraud, non-violent, probing, challenging. Judgement is a human condition - it is not of God. Jesus did not take the predictable part in the biblical judgement scene - to the frustration of human beings - 'who do you say that I am' he asked as he was accused. He refused to join the blame game, he would not judge his executioners. When he descended into death he cleared it out - nobody is left with guilt, nobody is left outside Salvation, this is everyone's party. There is no-one outside the economy of God, everyone is in. We, we judge ourselves to be in or out - this is not of God.
Like it or not, this is what we heard, and at the end of the service the priest held a Q and A for anyone who wanted to discuss his words, and this happens every week. I am exhausted thinking about the effort put into this - but it's good. Everyone is in, drawn in - you cannot be a bystander here, keeping your individualism intact. This is Christian community, everyone is in on it - in some way.
The prayers of the people follow, not read but said, by anyone who wants to pray. We sing the Lords Prayer......it is beautiful. We follow the priest and everyone to the altar, not shuffling politely but dancing and singing with arms on each other's shoulders. This is a community on the move. The children are centre. The prayers are said, the priest - his hands held high asks for God's blessing on the food. I move along, repeating the words silently, the words of the Eucharistic prayer that are on every priest's lips. My eyes are closed, but my heart and my mind are alive - my arms are wide, waiting for the welcome......here it comes and we share, everyone gives to everyone with a blessing. The body of Christ, the blood of Christ. And we're finished.
But for the thanks and the blessing of the days. And the last dance - this is the grand finale. Arms again on each other's shoulders, but the people are different and we're singing Alleluiah, moving round and round the altar in steps - two forward, one back, one round, lift right, lift left. I'm a novice, I don't know a thing, but these people know what they're doing. The drums raise the beat and then stop, silence.
Go in Peace....to Love and Serve the Lord - that one I know and I'm full. The coffee the chat, only in a Church can a stranger receive this welcome - for me.
"Draw near with faith - was never meant to be a metaphor" - this is what the Director of Ministry at St Gregory's whispered loudly in my ear as we began the eucharistic prayer. In other words - move your ass towards the altar - the magic is about to begin.
Worship at St Gregory's is unusual, even for America. It is impossible to be a spectator here. If you come through the doors of St Gregory's on a Sunday morning then you will be dancing, singing, praying out loud, listening, talking, touching, feeling and speaking the words of mystery - always, every time. And if you have a special day around you - such as a birthday, a marriage or a new job - then you will leave having had hands laid upon you and you will be blessed with prayer. And the hands will not be the priest's, they will be everyone's hands.
None if this is done in awkward solemnity - it's done with confidence and enthusiasm, by young and old. Queer, straight, bald, dreadlocked, fat, thin, standing, sitting, disabled or not, ill and not ill, men and women. I looked around at one point mid-service and saw a man sitting behind me with a large hand puppet, like a muppet, nodding and smiling it's way through the service. The man was sat next to his wife, holding hands, perfectly normally - apart from the puppet sitting there as well. Nothing and everything is normal here, nobody has an issue, including the pets which sit through the service next to their owners.
It begins in the sanctuary, around the altar. I thought I was late, as I walked in people were already singing - a cappella, no instruments. Others were standing around the altar chatting. And then I realised the singing was practice. The choir are not robed and they sit or stand with the people - we're led with the singing by a man who looks and sounds as though he knows what he's doing. He taps a tuning fork on his head to pitch a note before he leads us into each song. The priest and assistants are there too, making things ready on the altar, no microphones. A bell clangs and everyone is hushed. The priest shouts a welcome and the singing begins as we all walk, singing, to our seats.
Incense is burning on a table, the smell is pungent and the atmosphere misty. Bells are rung, a seven branched candlestick stands on there with a towering brass oil burner with it's wicks all alight. There are gestures but no men in beards or tall hats. The scene doesn't confirm to anything normal. It's Eastern Orthodox without the dourness, conservative charismatic but with robes and paraphernalia, American but orderly and the words are distinctly Anglican. But it works, for everyone here. There must be six people in robes, more women than men. This is not a big church, the building looks 1980's and there are around eighty people in here today. Robes are worn by lay and ordained alike. The colours are bright, brightness is everywhere. No black cassock and white surplice - but vibrant, swirling yellow, green, pink, blue and purple robes, head to toe. Sack cloth is around as well. When they move around, as they seem to do frequently, the worship leaders move round the congregation quickly and confidently, smiling with their brightly coloured robes swinging around them. The whole thing flows with order but with spontaneity as well - all of it is unexpected to me. The readings are heard, chants are sung, short, but long enough to be meaningful. Silence is kept. I was just thinking that ritual had replaced the breaking of the Word, when the priest began his sermon, sitting in front of us. He talked for forty five minutes - and it was an opening of the scriptures. No fairytale through make-beleive land. The parable of the sheep and the goats. The sermon was flavoured with Giraud, non-violent, probing, challenging. Judgement is a human condition - it is not of God. Jesus did not take the predictable part in the biblical judgement scene - to the frustration of human beings - 'who do you say that I am' he asked as he was accused. He refused to join the blame game, he would not judge his executioners. When he descended into death he cleared it out - nobody is left with guilt, nobody is left outside Salvation, this is everyone's party. There is no-one outside the economy of God, everyone is in. We, we judge ourselves to be in or out - this is not of God.
Like it or not, this is what we heard, and at the end of the service the priest held a Q and A for anyone who wanted to discuss his words, and this happens every week. I am exhausted thinking about the effort put into this - but it's good. Everyone is in, drawn in - you cannot be a bystander here, keeping your individualism intact. This is Christian community, everyone is in on it - in some way.
The prayers of the people follow, not read but said, by anyone who wants to pray. We sing the Lords Prayer......it is beautiful. We follow the priest and everyone to the altar, not shuffling politely but dancing and singing with arms on each other's shoulders. This is a community on the move. The children are centre. The prayers are said, the priest - his hands held high asks for God's blessing on the food. I move along, repeating the words silently, the words of the Eucharistic prayer that are on every priest's lips. My eyes are closed, but my heart and my mind are alive - my arms are wide, waiting for the welcome......here it comes and we share, everyone gives to everyone with a blessing. The body of Christ, the blood of Christ. And we're finished.
But for the thanks and the blessing of the days. And the last dance - this is the grand finale. Arms again on each other's shoulders, but the people are different and we're singing Alleluiah, moving round and round the altar in steps - two forward, one back, one round, lift right, lift left. I'm a novice, I don't know a thing, but these people know what they're doing. The drums raise the beat and then stop, silence.
Go in Peace....to Love and Serve the Lord - that one I know and I'm full. The coffee the chat, only in a Church can a stranger receive this welcome - for me.