Worship in the Unitarian Universalist Tradition |
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By Dr. Bruce T. Marshall
November 6,, 2011 Reading: What Is Worship? “Worship invites us to focus on the transcendental, the intimate, and the worthy. Worship helps us regain our grip on the fragmented, the obsessive, and the divisive. Worship reminds us that we—empowered by the love we receive and give—may challenge any idol of greed or violence which pollutes the human condition. We ask that you bring to worship something of what you receive: a capacity to heal, to think both critically and poetically, and to experience a growing sense of belonging, rootedness, and blessing. “Worship helps us regain a sense of ourselves. The slow dance of our bodily movements in daily life, the timbre of our voices when we sing together, the glint of joy in another’s eye…: these return us to our senses in a world that often seems devoid of sensual inspiration. For in worship, the sensual is one with the spiritual, the intellectual, and the emotional. Come, taste and see…” Mark Belletini Sermon This morning we continue the occasional series I have been offering this fall on Unitarian Universalist polity. This term, “polity,” refers to how we approach the elements of congregational life—and why. It is concerned with governance but also with the ways in which we do the work of the church at all levels. Thus far, we have identified the essential organizing principle of our congregations which is “congregational polity.” In congregational polity, the locus of authority is within each congregation, not in an external structure of authority, creed, or hierarchy. Then we considered ministry within this context: the paradox that ministers in our tradition have little institutional power—that’s reserved for the congregations. But ministers do have considerable influence in the life of a church. After that, we moved on to the nature of covenant. The central act of creating a Unitarian Universalist congregation is that of the covenant: a group of individuals coming together of their own free choice. Today, we turn to worship in the Unitarian Universalist tradition. Worship is the primary spiritual practice offered in most Unitarian Universalist congregations. Indeed, holding regular worship services is one of the three requirements of being a congregation recognized by the Unitarian Universalist Association. (The other two are to hold an annual congregational meeting and to keep records of membership.) Worship in the Unitarian Universalist tradition has its own particular style and method and intent. Our worship also has a history that takes us back to the earliest years of the Puritans who settled New England. This morning I would like to explore these foundations and how they affect us as we also consider how we do worship today here at Davies. I want to note that after the service, there will be a meeting of our Worship Associates—those Davies members who assist in our services. Part of that conversation will be about the roles of the Worship Associates. But there will also be an opportunity to talk about worship at Davies in general. Anyone who would like to participate in that conversation is welcome. It will be held in the Wing, room 5/7. ● ● ● “Worship” can be an uncomfortable word to many Unitarian Universalists. Indeed, in one congregation I served, the term “worship” was one of those we did not use. What we offered on Sunday morning was not called worship; it was called a program. The committee that had responsibility was called the “Program Center.” If that word happened to sneak into any of our interactions, there would be objections on the grounds that “worship” seems to presume that we are paying homage to something or someone, most likely God. In that primarily humanistic congregation, it seemed inconsistent to use a term that indicated worshipping a deity when that was not the belief of a significant portion of the congregation. But the derivation of the term, worship, suggests a less specific meaning. Our worship comes from an Old English word, weorthscippen, meaning to ascribe worth, to shape things of worth. At its core, worship is about what has worth to us, what matters to us; it has to do with tending to our ultimate concerns. These ultimate concerns might be spoken of in terms of a deity—or not. Either way, it’s “worth-ship,” that is, worship. The method Unitarian Universalists draw upon to express what we find to have worth has roots in the American Puritan Congregational tradition. We have already considered the influence of the New England Puritans on our form of organization—our congregational polity. So it should not be a surprise to find the same tradition influencing our worship. Let me point out a few ways in which there is a direct relationship with how we worship and that practiced by the New England Puritans. There are actually many points of connection, but I’ll limit myself to three. First: for the New England Puritans, the purpose of their worship was to interpret—to seek to understand—the word of God as revealed in the Scriptures. The point in the service where that occurred was the sermon. For the New England Puritans, the sermon was the main event of worship. It was through the sermon that they sought insight into the ways of God and how God interacts with the world. Today’s Unitarian Universalists have expanded our interpretation of “scripture” and the “word of God.” For the New England Puritans, “scripture” was the Bible, and the Bible only. While for us, we see signs of the holy scattered throughout our lives: in nature, in the writings of many traditions—both religious and secular, in the deeds of prophetic men and women, in the findings of science, in everyday human experience. For us, scripture is more wide ranging and fluid than it was for the Puritans. Our concept of the word of God has also changed. Maybe we find expression of what we regard as the highest in the classic biblical texts. But we might find it also in texts produced by other religions. Or maybe that same impetus to seek what is good and right comes to us in secular writings: ancient or contemporary. Whatever brings us to pause, to reflect, to consider our lives—whatever offers guidance that helps us determine how to live: all that addresses the realm that the Puritans would have called the Word of God. We have reinterpretted and expanded the concepts of scripture and the word of God, but the center of our worship remains the same as it was for the New England Puritans: the sermon. It’s the point in the service in which we seek to interpret and understand what is right and true and holy. Whenever today’s UU congregations are surveyed as to what’s most important to them in worship, just about all will give top priority to the sermon. Lots of other things happen in worship that people value, but it’s the sermon that makes it or breaks it. Same here at Davies. When this congregation was asked what is the most important quality you are seeking in a new minister: strength in preaching was at the top of the list. We want “stimulating sermons.” Like the Puritans of New England, we are people of the Word. A second point of connection can be found in the simplicity of worship both among the New England Puritans and for today’s Unitarian Universalists. The Puritans began in England as a protest against what they believed were the liturgical excesses of the Church of England. As it is sometimes expressed: “the smells and bells” of high church worship. The intricate rituals, the fancy robes of the clergy, the statuary filling the sanctuary, the pagentry, the intricate creedal structure, the ornate church buildings—all these, said those early protestors, all these detracted from the direct experience of the word of God. The Puritans sought to “purify” the faith, remove the stuff that had accumulated and focus on the basics. Simplicity, then, became a virtue. The buildings created by the New England Puritans for worship—their churches—were devoid of much in the way of religious symbolism. Today, there are some UU congregations still worshipping in structures built by and for the New England Puritans. But the buildings that have been created since that time—like here at Davies—retain that regard for simplicity. Consider this sanctuary here. Not a lot of religious statuary here. No stained glass windows. The chancel is essentially simple stage. Just about the only identifiable religious symbol is the Flaming Chalice, and when that was introduced throughout the UUA not so many years ago, it was fiercely opposed by some as a step down the slippery slope to empty ritual and symbolism that distracts from the true meaning of worship. Worship for the New England Puritans was similarly simple: a few hymns, a scripture reading positioned around the sermon—which is what we still find in most UU congregations. In the trade it’s called the “hymn sandwich” form of service: a hymn at the beginning, a hymn at the end, with the meat in the middle. We here at Davies have added another hymn to create what we might call a “hymn club sandwich.” Yet the regard for simplicity in worship stands. No one is going to see what we do as high church liturgy. This simplicity aims to protect us from distraction as we seek what is right and what is true in religion and in life; for us, simplicity grants access to what we regard as holy. This brings us to a third point of connection between us and our Puritan ancestors. As Unitarian Universalists we draw upon seven principles to articulate who we are and what we affirm as a religious people. We also have a statement defining the sources from which we draw, that is to say, our scripture. The first of these sources is (and I quote): “Direct experience of that transcending mystery and wonder, affirmed in all cultures, which moves us to a renewal of the spirit and an openness to the forces which create and uphold life.” “Direct experience of that transcending mystery and wonder, affirmed in all cultures...” That is to say, we believe that we can—that each individual in the world can—know directly something of that power residing at the center of existence that gives us life and inspires and renews and brings us hope. We affirm a single source of existence to which each individual has access. That affirmation is in our name, “Unitarian.” One God, one Source. When our forebearers in New England sought to simplify and purify worship, it was with the conviction that by removing religious clutter, they would have direct access to God. Today’s Unitarian Universalists have not strayed very far from that view. Many of us have come to view the traditional concepts of God as part of that clutter—but the underlying affirmation remains of a source of life and renewal to which we have access. Perhaps through reasoned exploration, perhaps through silence and refletion, perhaps through creativity, perhaps through service—we have access to the source of life. So three aspects of our worship that link today’s Unitarian Universalists with our New England Puritan ancestors: (1) the centrality of the sermon in worship, that is to say, the process of seeking to learn and understand. (2) the simplicity of the worship service, (3) the belief in a single source of life and truth to which we have access. ● ● ● Let’s consider our worship here at Davies. If visited by an anthropologist from Mars—or an anthropologist from the local Baptist Church, Catholic Church, Jewish Synagogue or Muslim Mosque—what might that anthropologist see and understand about our worship and what it expresses about who we are as a religious people? Our gathering for worship starts as kind of a milling around in the foyer. People greet each other, start conversations, church business is conducted. A few people might enter the sanctuary upon arrival, but most refrain from going in—until it’s almost too late. The ringing of the bell in the foyer signals that the service is about to begin and at that point, the adults and families of the congregation head for the sanctuary door, often continuing conversations that began in the foyer, passing by a sign that quotes Emerson to the effect that he likes the church to be quiet. Meanwhile, the Developmental Minister (me) who might not be a Biblical literalist but who is a literalist when it comes to time, has started the service at 10:30 sharp with a few words of welcome and the announcement of the opening hymn, which those in the sanctuary begin to sing. When congregation finishes that hymn and is seated, the mood begins to settle from the hubbub of gathering. The Worship Associate for the day—a lay member of the congregation—welcomes all who have gathered and says a few words describing Davies Memorial Unitarian Universalist Church: who we are and what is important to us. There is music which further quiets the congregation. Then the Worship Associates stands up again and says words that sound a lot like an invocation, that is, invoking the presence of what this congregation holds to be sacred. He or she lights the Flaming Chalice which usually gathers the attention of those who have gathered—including the children. There is a moment—a brief moment—of silence following by singing and signing and children coming to the front as the whole congregation—most from memory—sing Spirit of Life. At that point something changes, and it feels a little different here in the sanctuary. It feels that the congregation has entered what might be called, “sacred time,” when the congregation opens itself to considering things of worth. By this time our visiting anthropologist should be scribbling furiously. He, she, or it (if the anthropologist really is from Mars) already has a lot to work with. What has just occurred? What has this congregation revealed about itself? I submit that we have already revealed at least two central features about who we are as a religious community. Both these are important, but sometimes they are in conflict with each other. For one, we at Davies are a community—an extended family. We value the personal ties among us. In many traditions, the congregation gathers in silence, in reverence, in acknowledgement that this is how we step onto holy ground. Not so at Davies. When we come together, it feels like a family and sounds like a family and looks like a family with adults and children interspersed throughout the congregation. And as with most family gatherings, it takes a while for us to settle down, it takes a while for the commotion and the noise to abate. But it does. There is a centering that occurs in our service, and that reveals a second aspect to worship here at Davies. Our coming together is not a meeting, it’s not the convening of a social club, and it’s also not only a family gathering. There is also a sense of something deeper going on. Maybe the anthropologist notes a change of mood as the Flaming Chalice is lit. Or maybe it’s during the music. Or in the silence. But certainly by Spirit of Life. By this time its should be evident that this community also gathers to seek and affirm the ineffable, the mystery at the center of existence, the force of life and love. Other traditions might call this God; we tend not to. But the intent is similar. “Gathered here in the Mystery of the hour,” as today’s opening hymn puts it. “Spirit draw near.” The Joys and Sorrows segment continues these two themes. On the one hand, this is the sharing of important parts of our lives with family. And as was pointed out yesterday at the Davies board retreat, sometimes people who are new to us—visiting for the first time—they might also share a joy or sorrow. There is a sense of family that at its best reaches out and includes all who are here: you do not have to be a blood relative. But our Joys and Sorrows is not just about family. It also assumes the nature of sacred story. This is where we reveal our deepest concerns, the things that matter to us—be they large or small. It’s a form of scripture. Where others might read from an ancient text, we share the texts of our immediate everyday lives. And somehow it matters to do so in this faith community. It places our stories in a larger context of faith and affirmation. There follows the Time for All Ages, which is not just for children. It’s for the whole community—all ages. And then right before the offering, the children and their teacher are sung out of the sanctuary. The offering seems to announce a transition to the serious stuff, that which is no longer appropriate for children. I have a very old memory of being in church as a child. This was my home church, the Unitarian church in which I grew up. For some reason I was in the sanctuary that day, not in Sunday School, and I was nervous about having to sit still for what I assumed would be a very long time. I was old enough to read so I followed the order of service, which moved along at quite a snappy pace. Nothing was all that long, and we made it through almost two thirds of the printed order of service. I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. As I read ahead, I noticed something coming that I didn’t quite know what it was. It started with an “s,” ser-mon: didn’t mean anything to me. But it only took up one line in the order of service so there couldn’t be that much to it. Right before we got to that “ser-mon”—and I remember this quite clearly—the organist who was seated in the chancel, behind the minister, reached up and clicked off the light that illuminated her music. She got up, walked down the steps from the chancel, took a seat in a front pew, as the minister stood up and went to the pulpit. I thought, “Uh-oh.” And sure enough: everything ground to a halt as the minister went on and on and on, confirming my worst fears about being trapped on a hard pew with nowhere to go. With the perspective of age and with the revisionist thinking necessary now that I am the one occupying a pulpit, I can view that experience somewhat differently. It comes down to the simple act of the organist reaching up to click off the light and then joining the congregation, facing the minister, available to listen, to receive. As a child, that signaled to me that something had just changed. It was true then; it’s true now. Here at Davies and in UU congregations all over. When we reach the sermon, and the minister or the speaker of the day begins, something equivalent to that organist clicking off the light and joining the congregation occurs: this is why we gather. This is where we pause to seek the word of God—or whatever we seek that draws us here. This doesn’t mean that all these sermons are going to be good. Many won’t be any good at all. But in that moment before the sermon starts—the anthropologist will note—something occurs. There is an anticipation that links us to generations extending back to the early American Puritans. This is the locus of value; this is why we are here. After the sermon here at Davies, we sing the final hymn of the morning’s sandwich and then move into community time. Community time signals that we’re back into the world. Where Joys and Sorrows are part of our sacred story, announcements are about church business. Nothing wrong with business, but it’s different from the encounter with Mystery that can be present in other parts of the service. Some people find that change to be too abrupt; something gets lost in the process. Others find in our announcements a celebration of the humanity of our endeavor. According to one servey, announcements are part of the service in 92% of our congregations, and I would guess that each and every one of them struggles with how to do them in a way that affirms the community and doesn’t distract from worship. Then our own worship concludes with what I think is a lovely ritual. “From you I receive, to you I give, together we share, by this we live.” ● ● ● Worship is about upholding things of worth. Here at Davies our worship is descended from the American Congregational Puritan tradition that sought the highest through simplicity, valuing the Word, and affirming a single source of life and truth that is accessible to all. Our worship here at Davies stands in that tradition as it expresses our own core values as a congregation. I would identify two of these core values. One is the affirmation of Davies as family. The other is an aspiration to encounter the Mystery at the center of being, what brings truth and hope and possibility to our lives. That said, worship cannot be static. It’s a living creation that must be renewed time and time again to keep it vital. With that in mind, what do we as a congregation want worship to be here at Davies? How can it best express and evoke what we as a people find to be sacred? How can it best feed the yearnings we each carry inside? When we do make changes, how do these relate to the foundations of value and affirmation and tradition upon which our worship is built? Should we be more intentionally diverse: in music, in service elements, in style of service? Should there be more ritual—or less? What are the topics that we yearn to have addressed? Should there be more lay participation? Should we switch around the sanctuary setup? Do the words we use adequately express our aspirations and our sense of who we are? All valid questions particularly for a church with congregational polity. Our worship should be the subject of an ongoing conversation among us, which is what we’ll be doing after the service in Room 5/7. If you have thoughts or just plain curiosity, do join us. The closing hymn states what brings us to worship in this way, “We believe in life and in the strength of love, and we have found a need to be together.” It’s another way of expressing why and how Unitarian Universalists gather for worship. ● ● ● |
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