Via Huw I saw this post this morning on Kirkepiscatoid (don’t even ask me to pronounce it!) about a . . . well. . . ecclesiastical “spat” over a Gospel book. While I actively avoid posting on anything but OC/IC issues this caught my eye because it does touch on a theme we’ve had going here for over a year now – the role of technology in our community.

The synopsis of the story is this: an Episcopal community has a deacon who is legally blind. She can see if the text is large enough – and a laptop with the font set at 500% works just fine allowing the good rev. deacon to confidently fulfil her role in the Liturgy. Most of the regulars here at Boze! are probably sitting there thinking: great, so what’s the problem?

It seems that the problem is, well, that the “Gospel book” is not a “book” and that according to the canons of the Episcopal church – it must be a book. Or is that really the problem? I suspect that part of the problem is the natural conservatism of religion – the encroachment of technology, the “new” and possibly fad-ish into the “ancient” rites of the cult. This is a point worthy of discussion. Let me throw a few curious tid-bits into the frey and see what the cat thinks of it.

1)    The use of a “book” is uniquely Christian. That is to say that the book, or codex, was a “new” technology in religious settings, in the first centuries of the church, one that Christianity favoured over the scroll. Who’s to say then that faced with a new technology we ought not consider it as being preferable to the old (which we were responsible for introducing in the first place)?
2)    In our Eastern setting the Gospel book is an icon – and as such it is one of the most accessible relics. How does the possible introduction of a “new” technological replacement affect our sense of the symbolism, sanctity, and the inherently tactile nature of the “codex”? That is to say – would you kiss the corner of a laptop during the little entrance?

I have used my Palm on occasion to celebrate Liturgy – when for example I am travelling light, or when there have not been enough service books to go around. Aside from the occasional awkwardness of using an unfamiliar piece of kit it works fine, and has no observable negative affect on the liturgy. Huw has been building a prayer book that he uses via his iPhone. Churches of various traditions are making more and more liturgical resources available for use with various media including laptops, mobiles, and PDAs. Are prayers offered on commuter trains, plains, and in homes from these sources somehow less valid, or worse – heretical, and if so, why or how?

Every week during the liturgy we sing the cherubikon: “Let us who mystically represent the cherubim . . . now lay aside all earthy care that we may welcome the king of all invisibly escorted by angelic hosts . . .” How often have we sat and reflected on what it is we are saying here? What does it have to do with the Great Fast?

Oliver Burkeman wrote an interesting column in the Guardian a few weeks ago. Citing Thomas Merton, Burkeman observes that the overload, and stress we create in our lives through “busyness” and “multitasking” has become a twisted form of self harm, a “frenzy that destroys our inner capacity for peace.” But the “problem” is not merely created by our modern way of life – though to be sure, unchecked it does have a way of gaining overwhelming momentum, dragging us through the streets of chaos – rather we are actively responsible for it as well. Psychologists have argued that this maniacal busyness is not only a perverted, inefficient method of bolstering our individual self worth, but it s also an avoidance mechanism enabling us to not delve into important questions, and make needed positive change in our lives. And so, we “claim” to have no time for X since we don’t even have five minutes for ourselves.

During the Great Fast our “discipline” (asceticism) changes radically. Because of the traditional food customs – no meat, no dairy, etc. – we are cutting things out, setting things aside. We have to consciously think about the ingredients we use, and often find that we have to do more food preparation ourselves because of it. This requires “time” and patience. It requires a degree of focus, not just now, but three days from now – not necessary to open a box of M&S ready meal and pop it in the microwave. There is therefore a quality of time spent issue here. How much of our “busyness” is time spent in quality activity? How much time in our day to we fill with insubstantial “stuff” treating it all with the same sense of value and urgency? How much of it really needs to be in our day? What can be dispensed with, making room for reflection, silence, companionship, and a quality meal – the things that transform our living, enriching our sense of “being” in the moment, with Christ, and with one another.

How full is your mental inbox . . . I mean truly how full is it? Now is the time – this is the season – to really, truly train ourselves to “lay aside all earthly care” and recieve the King of Glory.

**PS – yes, I’m behind a bit here . .  . . I’ve been .  . . “busy”

“. . . I will not reveal your mysteries to your enemies, nor give you a kiss as did Judas . . .”

We had a rather interesting conversation about this line in the prayer before communion this morning at breakfast. It is a reminder that Christianity is a “mystery cult” and begs the question – how is it so today? The conversation wandered down the path of speculation, we explored the link between this phrase and the responsibility to guard the sanctity of the Eucharistic assembly we all share (this lead to questions about who are Christ’s enemies then?); how does this square with the “orthodox” stance against classical Gnosticism, which claimed to pass on the true and secret teachings of Christ to initiates (“orthodox” teaching holds that all teaching was revealed to the whole ekklesia); how too does this sentiment connect with the Great Commission – to make disciples of all people?

At one point G asked – should we have things in the Liturgy that people do not understand? Hmmm . . . now this is a good question. My immediate response is that if it cannot be explained then no, it ought not be there. But then there is the point of leaving room for growing into understanding of an element, image, or idea.

Take it out because it might have been inconvenient, or incomprehensible at one point, might upset the balance of other images and ideas in the rite making them incomprehensible and before you know it – the weave of the rite is unravelled and you are left with nothing.

There is an interesting post at The Anglican Scotist which while I confess I’ve not finished reading it, and it is (obviously) related to a point of Anglican thought; and not being an Anglican I feel it would be rude to intrude; but it started me thinking . . . .

The basic question is related to a consequence of the Iraq war: “. . . if the Iraq war is not a just war, should participants in its violent acts be barred from the Eucharist under the rubric banning notorious sinners from the Altar?”

The post – talking about the ban of notorius sinners is well worth the read. But I’m interested in looking at this from an OC/IC context – so I’m slightly re-framing the question.

According to tradition, and indeed the Apostolic canons (can. 27) if an ordained person commits and act of violence he is to be stripped of his orders (but interestingly enough – not excommunicated because it is not right that someone be punished twice for the same offence). The logic here is that when struck Jesus did not strike back, when reviled he did not respond in kind, and when made to suffer he did not threaten his oppressors.

I mention this particular tradition for two reasons: first the logic behind the canon, that is the example of Jesus; and second, the clergy are indiviuals in authority and so their committing of an act of violence is an abuse of their authority.

Hmmmmm . . . . so here are a few things to consider:

1) In baptism we become the living image of Christ in the World (St. Cyril of Jerusalem Myst. Catech.)

2) We are a priestly people of God (1 Pt. 2.9)

Both of these images point out that we embody a calling to proclaim the goodness of the One who brought us out of the Darkness; to show mercy; to end the suffering of others (among other things).

Jesus’ message is one of persuasion – and not compulsion. This, I think is an oft overlooked element not only of our Faith, but also of our OC/IC heritage. The founders of our movement three centures ago stood fast in the face of powerful forces making the point that the power of the Gospel is in persuasion, and not in force.

If, through baptism, we are the living icon of Christ in the world, we ought to conduct our affairs striving to exemplify the message of the Gospel. Thus, we ought to seek to persuade and not compell, to relieve suffering, and not to cause it, to bring an end to violence and not to be the violent one.

Is it then right that one who has willingly committed acts of violence be admitted to communion?

This morning I stumbled upon an interesting post exchange at Rev. Thomas McKenzie’s place talking about worship . . . . it got me thinking about how we understand worship in our own OC/IC context. What do each of us bring to the experience; how is our unique brand of the Christian faith expressed in our worship?

Before I invite you to jump in an share your thoughts – I figure its only fair that I should drop a few ideas in your lap (my own play and exploration with his thread) to start with.

One thing that I found odd in this exchange is the idea that worship is a moment when we, in the words of Phil Wilson “step away from ourselves and focus completely on God and the wonderousness of His presence.” At first I thought I understood this – then I realised that I did not understand it the way he understood it (I think?) and then. . . .

What is “worship” to me?

One element that is certainly there – and that I think both men pointed to directly and indirectly is that worship is doxological. A quick look, for example at the various Eucharistic prayers used across the sacramental tradition confirms this. But what it also confirms – and I’m not sure I’m seeing this in either correspondant – is that at that heart of the communal life of the sacramental community is Christ in the Eucharist, and in that moment as we are giving thanks to God for all things, Christ is showering us with his Grace. Worship is about the relationship we share with Christ.

Rev. Thomas points to a statement of a Pentacostal friend of his that “ I am a spirit, I have a soul, I live in a body” – he rejects this idea, as do I, and for similar reasons (I think) stating that we cannot step away from ourselves in the moment of worship. I would take this farther. First there is the problem of dualism/Gnosticism whereby the body is “merely” a shell, and has no sacred value, or (in the extreme) is actually intrinsically evil. Our doxology is offered for the whole of God’s creation – the bread, the wine, the hands that made them, and the sweat that produced the raw materials. In the first moments of creation it was wholly sanctified – in the mechanics of the Incarnation that sanctification was renewed. Just as in the Incarnation we understand Christ to be a “whole person” who is both flesh and spirit, we too, who are Christ in the World, when we worship, do so as “whole” persons, and not as divided selves.

Because we worship as a “whole” person then, that “act” of worship is an experience, one that involves the body as much as it involves all the other elements of our being – worship is all consuming. In writing this I’m recalling the hymn: “come let us worship and fall down before Christ, Oh Son of God, Risen from the Dead, save us who sing to you. . .” In this one phrase worship involves the mind, the spirit, the tongue, and the flesh as we cross ourselves and bow deeply in reverence and awe before the presence of Christ.

Worship has everything to do with the experience of our “whole” selves.

Rev. Thomas says something that took me completely by surprise – “Worship is sacrifice. I am giving up something of value, mainly my essential self expressed in a wide variety of liturgical ways. I might find this event emotionally satisfying, but I might not. In fact, worship may case me to suffer. That doesn’t make it less worship.” I’ve had to sit with this for a while. My immediate reaction was something akin to “whoah horsey!” But now I’m wondering if it is merely that I would have used a different vocabulary to say the same thing . . . so here’s my shot at it, and Rev. Thomas if you’re reading this tell me if we’re on the same page or no. . . .

The doxological character of worship is not done in a vacuum. Thanksgiving – is always realised in connection with a relationship. Thus, an act of worship is an act of communion – when in that moment we find ourselves united wholly with the divinity.

Our relationship with Christ is one of realisation of the fullness of being human, loved, and yes “in formation”. To my mind nothing is sacrificed here – only gained. I do not loose my self-awareness, rather in that moment I become more at one with who I am as one striving to realise the fullness of my baptismal call – to be a living image of Christ in the World. I do . . . . as my mother would say “drop the act” that is in the moment of worship I drop the many protective layers, facades, and barriers we erect during our daily experiences that give a false sense of who we really are, close us off to others, and to Christ. Here, I’m thinking of the cherubikon: “Let us who mystically represent the cherubim, now lay aside all earthly care that we may welcome the king of all. . .” These false senses of self – are a hinderance to worship, an impediment to our relationship with both the person of Christ, and the “body of Christ” – to surrender them, and hopefully one worship moment at a time, to eventually abandon them entirely is not a “sacrifice” but a moment of liberation from sin.

Rev. Thomas makes an important point when he says: “When I worship, my question should not be ‘did I have a good experience, did I enjoy it?’ Rather, I should ask, ‘was it faithful, was it true, was God blessed?’ And, if it is then God has been worshipped and I have the opportunity to be satisfied with that.” I do not disagree with him here, but I think I would take it in a slightly different direction. The Apostle teaches us to pray always. Prayer does not always need verbiage to be realised – the point of the teaching then, is that we strive in everything we do, every word, and deed, to be in communion with God – we consecrate that moment to God – life itself consciously lived is worship it permeates all aspects of our life.

In our OC/IC context I wonder – do we often invest too much energy in fiddling with the rites and rituals that punctuate our worshipful lives so as to make statements of one sort or another? And in so doing – do we not loose sight of the doxological character of worship? If worship is about the wholeness of our being – if it naturally demands the participation of our whole self – ought we not to question the wisdom of creating worship forms that are more about scoring political or “ekklesiological” points with “an audience” than they are about being true to the faith?

Likewise what are some of the positive contributions we have to share with other traditions about the nature and mechanics of worship – our small communities, and eclectic theologies do shape the way we experience and express worship – lets talk about those and celebrate them not only among ourselves, but also with others.

Last week we were in Paris for a much needed get away. While there we visited the Cluny Museum which is dedicated to medieval (mostly ecclesiastical) art and artifacts. The museum is well planned and does have some fantastic pieces – ivories, the famous “lady & the unicorn” tapestries, and a great collection of medieval enamel work (a current interest of mine as I’m learning how to do it myself). Unfortunately, for both of us, after the 50th pot bellied carving/statue of the Virgin one simply wants to escape! This, from a Marian scholar, is I think rather telling (grin).

Along our escape route we found “this” (pictured) amongst a rack of other waffle irons. If you’re still puzzled – “this” is a medieval host-maker. I’ve always been fascinated by the history of the Western tradition’s manufacture and use of these characterless, tasteless, insubstantial, bone white discs of dried glue. This is the first time I’ve seen a medieval example of the method of host production.

As you may have guessed I am not a flat-jesus (nor for that matter a flat-earth) believer. Yes, it is true we are an Eastern community, so our bread will be leavened; but, and this is a big but, even if you come from a Western community – don’t you think that the leavened/unleavened bread of the Eucharist ought to be “REAL” bread? I do!

When you go to your local church supply to buy your pink or tope box of “ghostie toasties” (usually enough to last any OC/IC community for six months!) have you never thought of how these tasteless, pasty, discs are made? Monastic elves perhaps – sitting in their dank caves under the city cutting out cardboard circles? Enslaved women and children in a S.E. Asian sweat shop maybe? No no . . . a MACHINE! It is the most impersonal, in hospitable process possible. Even if there’s a smiling monk or nun pushing the button – it is still a machine. Am I the only believer who finds this . . .contradictory to the whole ethos of “Eucharist”? I doubt it very much. But, we have inherited the ubiquitous ghostie toastie and so few question it. “It is how we have always done it.”

There is another issue here which is worth a moment of reflection: the money spent on your pastel box of Christ Crispies goes to support another church – probably a church that looks upon our communities with haughty disdain. Do you really want to contribute to their coffers, when they do not respect our tradition, as we respect theirs? Granted it is not that much money, but the point is symbolic – as is the Eucharist.

The other day – when I opened the proverbial cathedral door and invited you to ask whatever thoughtful questions you had about things OC/IC – John Plummer posed a long standing, but very worthwhile question – what makes us indie folk distinctly different from the other churches? I have a long list – and am sifting through them to pick, what I think are the choicest ones – but herein lies an important example. The oft heard line “It is how we’ve always done it” – holds no water in our communities. Why? The answer is simple – if you, or your congregation is using this line – they have NOT (yet) appropriated an indie identity – but are still thinking with a Roman, Anglican, or [insert your favourite Christian-ism here].

One of the most distinctive characteristics of our OC/IC community is that we are absolutely freed from the tyranny of the “that’s how we’ve always done it” crowd. Anyone who has had enough experience amongst the “big-tent” crowd will know instantly how much of a hinderance to good ministry, and how demoralizing this crowd can be. Most of our local communities have less than 20 people, and many of them have only been “members” for a few years. Obviously this has its negative points – but the biggest positive is easily presented with the example of the Eucharistic bread.

Why do you use “Ghostie Toasties”? Seriously – and if you are answering “that’s what we’ve always done” then please go back to your original church. If, on the other hand – you answer, “I don’t know” or “I’ve never thought about it” then I invite you to keep reading – leave a comment – and possibly take your ideas on this back to your community. Here too is a distinct characteristic of our OC/IC communities: One individual’s thoughtfulenss can have a positive impact on the faith experience of the entire community – on very short notice – the moment of inspiration – is not lost or supressed as it often is in the “big-tent” community.

Why not use real bread? The question is not about using leavened vs. unleavened bread – rather it is about the substance, and the symbolism of that substance. A distinctive characteristic of our OC/IC community is that we are not bound by the rules and customs of Rome, Canterbury, Constantinople, Moscow, Alexandria, or (increasingly) Nirobi. So, why not go to your community and ask – what is the value in continuing to NOT use “REAL” bread? If the answer is “tradition” or “that’s what we’ve always done” then I strongly suggest you either encourage a thoughtful discernment process to answer the question – or find a more thoughtful and engaged community.

Let me take a moment and offer some reasons I believe all OC/IC communities ought to use “real” bread, and not the ubiquitous “Christ Crispies”.

When you consider the symbolism of the Eucharist what comes to mind? Many would say hospitality – and I think that nestled among the many layers of this complex symbol of our faith hospitality is an important image – one that has recieved quite a bit of scholarly attention in the past ten years or so. It is also the “conceptualisation” of Eucharist that often gets in the way of real and substantive dialogue, and union in OC/IC communities. “Why?” simple, because one group will not sit at table with another, because rather than celebrating our shared heritage, many in the current movement, joined for all the wrong reasons – as a reaction against a position in their home churches – if you are one of these folks – please, I am begging you, GO HOME!

Now lets think about hospitality a bit more deeply. Hospitality is about relationships – familiar and freshly emerging. Relationships are about care for, and interest in the “other”. One need not look far in the Gospel Narratives to see how Jesus taught us the importance of this message.

Relationships build and shape community, and community establishes a sense of identity. How better to develop a thoughtful understanding of belonging to, and identifying with a community, than to know that one of the most central symbols of that community, the symbol that strengthens the bonds of relationship within that community, is produced in the community, by its own members.

Hospitality, is about relationships – not just any relationship, but personal face to face relationships. Knowing the face, the voice, even the touch of the one who made the bread is an experience of relationship that cannot be replicated by mechanical means. The Eucharist is about the very personal relationship we share with Christ. Moreover, in our sacramental context, it is about our appropriating (initially through baptism) a “Christ-likeness” and with it, our going out into the World cultivating “Christ-like” relationships with others – the stranger, as well as the familiar other sitting before us.

Real hospitality is substantive – it says to the other, “welcome” in such a way as to be an unforgettable experience. Should not the Eucharistic elements be a part of conveying this “substance”? When we reflect on the message of the Gospel – that (I hope) feeds our every action – do we not agree that this teaching, this example is substantive? If not – then perhaps you ought to consider another faith all together.

Finally, in the ancient tradition, the offerings of the community, the bread, wine, wax/candles, cloth were brought into the worship space and the deacons chose, of the bread and wine, the most appealing samples, and from them the celebrant chose the one that would be offered – the offering in thanksgiving, that is the most representative of all the offerings of the community. You can still see remnants of this practice today in many E. churches, particularly in Coptic churches. What is done with what remains? This becomes the community’s offering to others – the poor, the shut ins, those who do not have enough bread. The elderly, the infirm, the lonely, those who live on a fixed income and “subsist” on the nasty mechanically aerated bricks of gluten called “bread” in today’s supermarkets, their day would be brighter if presented with home-made, bread and a friendly face.

What is distinctive about our communities? Three, five, or twenty, size does not matter, but with this one act of hospitality, of open fellowship, of care for others, a tiny handful of thoughtful people can make a substantive difference for others. It’s about relationships, its about personal interaction, its about the substance of our faith. Here we have it – with a few simple steps we have brought out one of the truest meanings of the Eucharist: encouraging, nourishing, our own self understanding as the living ikon of Christ in the World; just by thinking about, and possibly changing, the mechanics of how we offer, our Eucharistic offering.

It’s time we abandoned the ghostie toastie, and made our own bread!

I was re-reading Chris Tessone’s post “Does the Eucharist Endanger Privilege” and its comments this morning and was struck by the idea of “models of the Eucharist”.

Our perception of the meaning and efficacy of the Eucharist is a distinctive element of our OC/IC identity. During the Reformation this was a contentious issue between the Roman Church, the emerging Lutherans, and the Calvinists. Their respective models and theologies became distinctive characteristics of each group. I have noticed over the past few months in various forums the various “models of the Eucharist” expressed by my co-religionists. In previous posts (Sifting & Filtering) I have talked about my belief in the necessity of a process of sifting in the OC/IC/ISM miasma. Perhaps exploring “eucharistic models” is one way this might be accomplished – just as it was amongst the Protestants during the Reformation?

In any event, I have noticed a characteristic about existing mentions of people’s working models of the Eucharist that raises a flag of alarm for me; and that is the “use” of the Eucharist in conjunction with a political or social ideology. It seems to me that we have a widespread problem in the OC/IC community of replacing theology with political and social ideology. We need not look far to see how many OC/IC communities define themselves not in theology and spirituality – but in political and social ideology: women’s ordination, abortion, ordination of gays, minority issues, even the ideologies of an idealised past (which never existed) as is often represented in the more “conservative” and “traditionalist” OC/IC groups.

Assume for a moment that my observation is correct (I’m not 100% certain it is myself). We can now look at the highly fractious nature of the wider community and understand why there are 100s of “synods” rather than say a couple dozen. Political ideologies are visceral, emotive, and fractious. A political bloc may shake hands one day, and poison one another the next. Throughout my many years of active service in the community I have seen this exact model replicate itself over and over again. Bishop X is pro-women, pro-gays, but priest Y has decided that Bishop X is wrong, and so “arranges” to be consecrated and lo yet another “synod” is born.

Where is the theology?

Returning to the point of origin, I recently witnessed a conversation that drew in the participants’ working models of the Eucharist. Each side began lobbing their model at the other, “using” the symbol of Eucharist as a weapon to justify their position. What struck me in these exchanges was the complete lack of theological development and argument – theology was replaced with political ideology; and once again division, rather than understanding held sway amongst our ranks.

The sacraments are not weapons in our arsenal they are complex symbols that affect and describe our identity as sacramental Christians. What are the core theological elements that compose the symbol we call ‘eucharist’? In order to develop this in our OC/IC context it is necessary to first explore the meaning of the incarnation (the two are inexorably interlinked with one another), not a political ideology; moreover the incarnational theology of the Eucharist, lends itself well to the next contributing factor – the theology of community. Again it is “theology”, the voice and conscience of faithful Christian communities, and not politics or social agenda that describe this component.

Only after we have developed a model of the Eucharist grounded in theology – our theology – should we then venture to pronounce on important social issues. Too often in our community we see the reverse happening – I think that this is very limiting – it creates a model of Eucharist which, due to the narrow range of interest of political ideologies, restricts the development of the person receiving. The sacraments are timeless, and unlimited in the way that they inspire our discernment, theology, and action as sacramental believers, political ideologies on the other hand, are fickle and can be easily swept away, sometimes with a decision by a single person!

The Eucharist stands at the heart of our sacramental faith. From the communal celebration of the Eucharist springs all the other activities of the church – the living embodiment of Christ in the World. Developing a well grounded theological model of the Eucharist is I think one of the best ways that we can distinguish ourselves as a community of faith with a conscious self identity.