A Simple Fact

Many years ago as a young adult I attended, for my first time, a liturgically-informed, protestant church.  What I liked about the prescriptive forms and scripted prayers was the ability to know what the pastor would say.  Best of all I was spared the extemporaneous public prayer with overt efforts to stir the feelings of the congregation: "Father God, we just ask for...and Father God, we just...and, O Father God...and we just ask that...  In the name of Jesus we pray (pause for effect), Ay-men!"

Ugh!  What a relief to have prayers that I could read in advance, assent to them, and thus pray with the pastor rather than fearing what might come out of his mouth.  When at last I made the final move to the Orthodox Church—liturgical to the hilt—I continued my habit of following along during service.  As the priest announced the prayers and supplications, I stood dutifully with my liturgy book, sub-vocalizing, and bringing the meaning to mind from the printed text, attempting, as it were, to project the movie into my mind in synch with the live soundtrack, the praying priest.  I could not conceive how it were possible truly to participate without doing this, until a simple fact dawned on me. 

In historical terms, it wasn't very long ago that the majority of parishioners were illiterate, which is simply to note that they exchanged information and wisdom through the spoken word, not the written.  Consequently I had to ask, what was I missing because of my inability to listen to, to hear, to experience the liturgy as it happens rather than having my attention focused on the printed text?  It was at that moment that I decided to learn.  I put away the book and let the service come at me, to happen around me, and to allow myself to be a spectator and participant.  This has changed my life.

I had at last entered into the worship.  All of me.  My former approach was a fancy form of weekly judgment, coming away happy only if no offending phrases flipped my switches.  But with new approach, I had given my trust to the Church, allowing myself to go along with Her wisdom, now long accumulated in the rubrics.  Having made this turn, the center of worship was no longer my self, arbitrating over all that's said.  The Holy Trinity instead came into sharper (unseen) focus through the words I heard, the movements I saw, the incense I smelled, the music I sang.  The Son of God became tangible in the things around me, especially in the center of the liturgy, the Eucharist.  Through an act of trust, I was, in this instance, freed from the confines of the printed page, its narrow focus and dulled hearing.  No longer in this setting would one member (the eye) inadequately overshadow all the others, relying too heavily on my own ability to decode and reassemble meaning.  Here, at last, God would speak for himself. 

And, "getting it" ceased to be a condition for receiving His great and rich mercy.