22 November 2009

Sacrifice



As with many of my pet peeves, there comes a time when you understand what the peevishness is really all about.  It becomes clear and transparent, and you can either give up on your attitude, or become clear about why you object to a behavior or situation.  Such moments of clarity are few and far between, because the reaction to certain things is so immediate that there is no time for introspection and wondering why.  This morning, however, the clarity was immediate and convincing.

We went to the 11:00 Mass at Saint David's Episcopal Church in Austin, Texas.  This is a large church that early on resisted the temptation to build a larger worship facility, and instead kept its historic building and offers multiple services that make the space usuable to a much larger congregation.  It is a carpenter gothic building, with 19th century American glass, and all the naivite that comes with that.  It is a perfectly comfortable space inspite of all the "living room" types of spaces that greet you as you make your way to the church.  The liturgy was Rite II, sung for the most part, with choir, bell choir, and organ.  Perfectly fine.




The usual places where a choir might perform, such as the psalm or gradual, were avoided, and when the choir did sing, at the offertory, they filed out of the choir stalls and lined up at the front chancel steps.  This is always a bad sign - for to me it signals "performance".  When they sing at compline (see photo above) they do it in their stalls.  Now they were all linged up in front of us, a wall between the worshiping congregation and the altar.  They did "Worthy is the Lamb" from "The Messiah"; and it was a good reading, although they could have used a stronger tenor.  Following the lengthy "amen" that ends the piece is when it happened.

There was a brief silence, and then someone up near the pulpit burst into applause.  Some others joined in, but it was not the whole congregation that did so.  Applause in the middle of a service (when we are not offering an acclamation to a newly ordained priest, bishop, or deacon) makes me uncomfortable.  So I sat there, not applauding, and wondering why I have this reaction.  Suddenly, as the priest continued to set the table for the Eucharist, visible behind the choir basking in the congregation's scattered applause, I got it.

This is really all about sacrifice.  The music is offered up, and I think that those offering the music are doing so with the attitude that it is being offered up.  The applause turns the offering, the sacrifice, into a performance, that is suddenly centered on the individuals singing and offering. The relationship of choir and God was set aside, and the focus was only on their singing.  At best the choir was enabling us in our worship rather than entertaining us.  The silence that should have accompanied their gift might have been uncomfortable (our culture abhors silence) but was necessary. 

I must admit I have been greeted with applause, once following a difficult sermon at Trinity Church in San Francisco.  My feelings at the applause were mixed: pleasure, dis-ease, embarassment, and a certain amount of pride.  It was the pleasure and pride that made me feel uncomfortable, and even guilty.  Offering up for others is a difficult thing.  My preference is to greet the sacrifice of others, and my own sacrifices with silence. 

I keep thinking of how God greeted Elijah on Mt. Horeb.  God was not in the mighty wind or the loud noise, but in the still small voice.  As the hymn says, "Let all mortal flesh keep silence..."

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