After reading the several replies to my post on Unitarian Universalist liturgy, I now know that there is stuff out there, and stuff is still being written. I’m going to chalk my ignorance up to being a (relatively) new UU.
But I’ve also realized that what I miss (now that I’m Unitarian Universalist) are the image-rich lectionary and lectionary-based collects, not just “liturgy in general.” I miss the weekly art that’s possible, the changing colors, the changing focus. When I was in the ministry, the discipline of moving week to week from one set of texts to another was fulfilling. I miss writing a worship service around them.
Click to continue reading “What I’m actually missing”
A post at the recently redecorated Boy in the Bands about the Oremus Lectionary has got me thinking about alternative lectionaries and what a Unitarian Universalist lectionary would be about.
The traditional Christian lectionary runs in three year-long cycles that mirror the Christian liturgical year. One year is devoted to each of the first three Gospels, with readings pulled to reflect the liturgical season. Additional readings are then pulled from the Hebrew Bible, the Psalms, and the New Testament Epistles to further fill out the themes developed in each week’s Gospel readings. Worship services are then planned around the week’s lectionary reading, including liturgy, collects, hymns, and the sermon. After three years almost all of the first three Gospels have been covered and explored.
If we draw on the Purposes & Principles, a UU lectionary would draw from six sources:
- Direct experiences of mystery and wonder.
- Words and deeds of prophetic men and women.
- Wisdom from the world’s religions.
- Jewish and Christian ethics.
- Humanist teachings.
- Spiritual teachings of earth-centered religions.
Direct experiences of mystery and wonder are, well, direct, and end up either as incomprehensible or as wisdom literature (which is #3), so we’re down to five sources. That gives us room for a lot of variety and diversity.
Click to continue reading “Alternative lectionaries”
Now that the Episcopalians have their first openly gay bishop, everyone is wondering if a schism is down the road. I don’t know enough about Anglican politics to speculate much, but I imagine the following scenario is plausible:
(1) The global Anglican fellowship declares the appointment of a gay bishop heretical, or something similar. (2) Several liberal US Episcopal congregations leave and/or are forced out, taking enough liberal bishops with them to begin forming a fledgling denomination on their own. (3) With conservative hesitations removed, the new Liberal Episcopal Church explores more rapid unification with the more liberal member denominations of Churches Uniting in Christ. (3) Inspired and encouraged by the newfound independence of the their liberal Episcopal counterparts, liberal partisans in CUI churches begin to plan for a split. (4) The splintered churches unite to form a new liberal Christian denomination, uniting around something resembling the creed of the United Church of Canada. (5) Because of doctrinal issues and the loss of their more ecumenically minded leaders, the remaining denominations are unable to unite themselves to form a conservative counter-denomination.
08.06.03 | Permalink | Comments Off on Truth & narrative ideals
In my post on the definition of prophecy I neglected to mention the role of eschatology. Or more precisely, I subbed in “narrative ideal” where I meant, more fully, “eschatological moment.” I’ll explain.
Eschatology is key to the work of Jurgen Moltmann, whose work [link to: the crucified god] I’ll be drawing on. But first some words on general understandings of eschatology. At its roots, “eschatology” means talk of the “end time,” the “last days” or the “end of days.” In the popular imagination, this means stories of the Second Coming of Christ, the Judgement of the Nations, or the Last Judgement. But as I argued earlier, the use of any particular narrative is merely one possible rhetorical tool available to prophecy. How then can prophecy be defined by eschatological narrative, yet the use of narrative as a rhetorical device not be essential?
In the writings of Saul/Paul (and in Moltmann), eschatology is always talk of a particular moment: already-but-not-yet. It is almost an un-moment, located right between now and next. It is this schema that allows Saul/Paul to argue both that we are already saved through Christ and that we are not yet saved through Christ (often in the same paragraph). Most Christian theology of salvation is merely an attempt to work out this tension between now and next, creating some or another dialectic where one has priority over the other.
But–argues Moltmann–Saul/Paul never felt the need to resolve the tension, so neither should we. “Already-but-not-yet” is the moment that we are called to live into, a moment that tugs the present into the more whole, the more complete. For Moltman, this is the theology of hope, that we must move into greater fullness but that the groundwork has already been laid for us to do so. Dissolving the tension misses the point, misses the moment. (Moltmann likes to flirt with his readers, subtly raising the question of the necessity of a “Christ” for any eschatological moment.)
So does prophecy serve truth? Yes, absolutely. But only the truth of the eschatological moment. Modern notions of “absolute truth” are completely foreign to the biblical text and the prophetic movement. You can “absolute truth” into them just like you can read anything else into them, if you want to. Prophets are not rewarded with certainty–that would be idolatry–but with a retreat, a whirlwind, an earthquake, a fire, and a deafening silence.
Reflecting on Unitarian Universalist architecture, Matthew at Gathering Water writes:
First, I think our congregation is a great place to pull all the chairs into a circle for a discussion or push all the chairs against the wall for a dance, but it is a hard place to feel reverent or to grieve… My other observation is that many of our congregations are not places where spontaneous ritual art can easily happen. Usually, there is a layer or two of committees between need and expression.
Could the same be said of UUs and liturgy? Are there any great contemporary UU hymn writers? Is anyone writing classic form UU prayers?
My own congregation doesn’t use the responsive readings in the back of the hymnal that often (which to me would mean at least twice a service), but what I’ve taken the time to read doesn’t seem that moving, or even poetic. There are exceptions, of course, but perhaps reason and individualism don’t lend themselves to high poetry? Are we so afraid of god-talk that we would rather use none at all than risk stumbling into reverence?
Prophecy is the lifting up of a narrative ideal –say, global peace, or economic justice, or individual virtue– over against a person’s or community’s actually lived practice. The narrative ideal takes the form of an often unarticulated utopia, of the lion laying down with the lamb. Rhetorically, the biblical prophets often stage their prophecy as Yhwh’s intervention in history, but speeches of “selling the poor for a pair of sandals” remind us that classical prophecy’s predictive mask is only one possible rhetorical tool. Satire and parody also have roles to play. The successful prophecy employs a narrative ideal shared by its hearers, even if deployed in unique and creative ways.
Apocalypse is one more step removed. Apocalypse is prophecy despaired of the present. It throws the entire created order over against the narrative ideal –now an articulated utopia– dashing the created order against the rocks. Yhwh judges the nations from his Judgment Seat, handing out final reward and punishment Heaven and earth are destroyed by fire then created anew. Christ innaugurates a millennium of peace before unleashing Satan for one last go around. In apocalypse, prophecy exhausts itself in one final speech affirming its narrative ideal and damning its opponent.
Apocalypse is also an unveiling of a previously hidden truth, a narrative with a Scooby Doo ending. It turns out, says the apocalypse, that you were wrong all along, that you played for the wrong team. That cashless economy was actually the Mark of the Beast. That would-be man of peace was actually the Antichrist. If only you had listened, says the apocalypse, you could have switched sides before it was too late.
The prophet must learn the time for prophecy and the time for apocalypse. Throwing an entire created order over against a person’s or community’s practice is heavy work and should not be undertaken lightly. If prophecy is still possible it is too soon for apocalypse. Those who, unembarassed, carelessly throw entire worlds against narrative ideals are lovers of death, not prophets. They delight in showing their strength, exhibiting technique practiced well and long. Many an unheard prophet died before resorting to apocalypse.
Still other prophets –while steering clear of apocalypse– throw together ideals and practices as if a sport. The lift them up, comparing them for their own aesthetic pleasure and for their audience’s pain, without regard for life and need. Better that prophets speak from their own pain. Prophets in classic times faced biblically sanctioned death for false prophecies. By their fruit you will know them.
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