I called before going to this worship, wanting to get some idea of what to expect, for I had much to do that day. When I asked how long does your worship last, the lady who answered the phone told me “As long as it takes”. I was at first annoyed, until I realized I was speaking chronos and she was speaking kairos. I became thankful for the humbling of my spirit, for this was worship I was going to attend, not some sociologist’s experiment!
I got to the church, which is in downtown Kitchener, at noon. The worship was to begin at 12.10 pm. I had time in the quiet worship space to experience its magnificence. High ceilings, painted with frescos, abundant art and statues including statues of angels, an altar that resembled a multi-turreted castle, abundant touches of gold, stained glass windows and chandelier-style light fixtures created a space of grandeur. I noticed that only a few of the chandelier lights, those closest to the front of the worship space, were on, suggesting a focal area for those attending worship. I noticed the other worshippers kneeling. I positioned the kneeler and I too kneeled. It felt different to be on my knees in church; in this grand setting it felt right to be smaller and on my knees, for God felt big, grand and awesome in this space.
A worship leader, dressed in alb, came and retrieved communion-ware from a small cupboard nestled in the grand, multi-turreted altar. The priest, dressed in red for this was a Saint’s day, came forward to the communion table. The formal portion of worship began with a familiar gathering “The Lord be with you”. I felt the vestigial relationship of Lutheran praxis with Roman Catholic praxis, like a gossamer thread of connection.
It was difficult for me to hear; the large, mostly empty worship space generated an echo and the priest spoke in a manner that had the echoes of his words rolling, cascading, mingling with each other, more a flow of grand and thunderous sound than a coherent stream of decipherable words. I stopped trying to receive this worship intellectually and with a cognitive understanding of words, and I felt God in the huge space – space which often separates us one from another as believers. I felt alone, and I was able to worship in a different way in my solitude. The artwork met me in my solitude, and I experienced the presence of Jesus’ solitude, as He walked a journey only He could have known as the mortal-divine alone could know, whilst among the mere mortals. Sometimes this is our journey of faith – not something we can spell out for communal worship, but something that happens in the times of solitude.
Three readings were done; I could not find them in any common lectionaries.
Prayers were said, of which I knew very few. Even the Lord’s Prayer had some different praxis for it’s common recital in this worship – a praxis I did not know, so I prayed in my head and in my heart. The prayers were familiar to all the worshippers except me. I enjoyed their unified rumbliness, as they rolled around in the wide, tall space around me, in perfect unison, recited in almost a monotone: an expression of muscle memory of the soul of those who have known these prayers, probably as long as they have known themselves.
Partway through the service I realized that someone I knew through my work in ministry was seated a few seats back from me. She knew I was not Roman Catholic, and I thought she might come forward to join me, but she did not. There was no program to guide my understanding of what was going on. I participated in the actions of standing, kneeling, sitting, standing, kneeling not by guidance provided by the priest, but by watching the others.
Communion was served, and the priest ate and drank his portion first, before serving the congregation. He fed himself, and I thought he too is having a personal worship with God, though in a communal setting. I think, for me, communion is about us serving each other (as) the Body of Christ. When I eat or drink alone in commemoration of the body and blood of Christ, it is usually in my personal worship. This is why I thought the priest was having a personal worship with God.
There was a weekly bulletin I had picked up near the entrance, and I had glanced through it. On its cover page, in bold print, it advised “the Sacraments are available to registered, regularly attending parishioners only.” As such, I did not seek to participate in communion, and I was happy that I had been fed the day before at my home church. I was very happy for the abundant art, with which I communed, as I thought of the scriptures in the book of Ezekiel. When Ezekiel has his visions, I have trouble picturing all his descriptions in one dream setting. Sometimes God is like that – we cannot picture Him – but we try to capture Him in our words, our descriptions, our art, our structures. We do this, I believe, out of reverence and love for His glory – and we do the best we can. I saw that reverence and love in the abundant Roman Catholic art, statuary, and the elaborate carvings of the confessional chambers. I celebrated the love of Jesus in these works of art.
The peace was shared by people turning in their places and showing peace signs to the faces around them. Each person remained anchored in their place. There were about 35 people worshiping. Nobody sought to reach out physically to touch anyone else.
The priest put the host back in its little cupboard, and main worship was complete. A subset of the congregation moved to a corner together and began to recite Hail Mary and Our Father in unison. One chandelier remained on above them – lighting their appeals. I listened to them for about ten minutes, before I quietly left.
Mission & God in the midst: I definitely experienced God in the midst of the worship and the worship space. I did not leave feeling intellectually fed, to then bring God intellectually out into the world beyond the worship. However I was fed in the spirit, by the beauty and grandeur of the space and the art, and by the comfortable familiarity of the believers who worshiped without any apparent cues. So it was a spirit-fed me who left worship, to go out into the world, with a heart rejoicing in Jesus.
Welcome & hospitality: I did not experience these from the congregation or the readily visible worship materials in this worship setting. I experienced the presence of God though, and I felt welcome in His presence.
Pattern & Ordo: There was a definite pattern to the worship, known to everyone else there excepting me. Everyone knew when to sit, stand, kneel, pray and what to pray without any prompting. I reckon anyone unfamiliar with the pattern in this worship would not have been able to follow.
Closing reflection: We study worship, but it cannot be studied only academically if we are to use worship in ministry and in mission. In mission we will often encounter worship with which we are not familiar, to which we might not be welcomed or invited, yet within which God is still abundantly available to us, if we can get past our critical minds. We must learn to exist with reverence in the various worship places and practices of other believers, other constituent members of the Body of Christ. It is not always cognitive and intellectual appreciation and praise we must expect in worship. Sometimes it is an affirmation of our difference, and the knowledge in our hearts that it is not us who bind ourselves to each other, but God whose job it is to bind us together, when we open our hearts to be thusly joined. Thanks be to God for His omnipresence, omnipotence and omniscience J
I think of the impossible drawings of the artist Escher. Stairways that twist and intertwine impossibly