Avoiding the Trail From Clap Clap to Claptrap

Many people who are interested in the Reformation are also interested in liturgy. This surprises some people, since they think that the Protestant Reformation was instituted to get rid of all of that "Papist claptrap." If anything, they believe, where the Reformation left vestiges of Catholic ritual, the Reformation was incomplete. Reformation means getting rid of what is Catholic.

So why should those who are trying to promote reformation in our day be so devoted to liturgy? What makes it so compelling? A writer promoting the Episcopal church has an easy answer to this. To become Episcopalian is to become liturgical. To defend the liturgy is to engage in a form of Christian apologetics. The same is not true for a Lutheran Christian. For us, to become Lutheran is to become confessional. We join a Lutheran church on account of its doctrine, and these churches are to varying degrees liturgical. Our transition to another style of worship appears to be a mere side effect of our change in doctrine.

I, like many, have found this to be a happy side effect. In the beginning I was uneasy about the fact that liturgy seemed always to exclude the contemporary. I liked the liturgy, but I also liked the contemporary forms. I wanted to have the best of both worlds. I slowly came to see, however, that form follows function. We worship a certain way because we believe certain things. This was a gradual discovery, one whose ramifications I still have not exhausted. I now believe Lutheran liturgy to be a natural outgrowth of Lutheran teaching.

The difficulty of arguing this is that my own transition to this way of thinking was gradual. I would expect it to be gradual for most people, especially if they were raised in churches where they were taught to be suspicious of formalism, or anything that had the faintest hint of Catholic roots. This type of change is the precept upon precept, line upon line, here a little, there a little type of change. But I am convinced that it is a change for the better, and would like to argue for it.

At the outset, I want to distinguish my position from that being argued by others. There are many writers today (e.g., Tom Howard, Peter Gilquist, Franky Schaeffer, and Robert Webber) who are trying to convince evangelicals to "get into" liturgy. While some of their works provide helpful information, (1) their overall approach seems to guide people from "Clap-Clap" (informal evangelical worship) to claptrap (pre-Reformation worship with all of its abuses). I want to argue the case for another option.

In Heaven as it is on Earth?

My first argument for liturgy is that it resembles the worship we find in Scripture. This can be argued in a variety of ways. Much of the content of the liturgy comes straight from the Bible. The Scripture readings are obviously Scriptural, and we have four of them on a Sunday (from the Old Testament, a Psalm, an Epistle, and a Gospel). The Words of Institution used during Communion come from a conflation of Communion passages found in the synoptic gospels and First Corinthians. The benedictions are straight Scripture as well, the most popular being the Aaronic benediction from Numbers 6:24-26. Not only is much of our liturgy derived from Scripture, much of Scripture seems to be recorded liturgy. In the Psalms we find the God-pleasing worship of Israel. In the New Testament we find hymns and creedal formulas used by the early church (e.g., the Kenosis Hymn: Phil 2:6-11, The Mystery of Godliness: 1 Tim 3:16). But in addition to citing specific Scriptures, there is another way to argue that liturgy in Scriptural. It involves comparing our worship on earth with the character of heavenly worship as we find it described in Scripture.

I now wish to present an imaginary vision of heaven in light of current attitudes and worship practices we find on earth. I am using Scriptural imagery as a backdrop in order to bring into bold relief just how unscriptural some of today's working principles are.

My vision begins with an ascent to heaven where I see some High Churchmen standing before the gate of heaven, being examined by St. Peter as to their hope of heaven.



St. Peter: How wonderful it is to welcome trained men who have been taught correctly to recite the Faith. This should be easy for you gentlemen. If you will recite the General Confession of Sin from the liturgy of your earthly congregation's worship service, and demonstrate trust in the grace of God, the gates will open for you.



First Churchman: Magnificent. This is just what I hoped for. You appreciate our liturgy! We have done so much to further the true worship of God. I knew someone would take notice. Our work went unappreciated down below. I just know how much more receptive they will be up here. Have you heard of my work? I wrote a widely published tract called "In Defense of Incense."



St. Peter: No, I can't say I have read it. But to get back to the matter at hand, I want to examine your faith. First things first.



Second Churchman: Yes, first things first, I suppose. We make sure the foundation is established, then we move onto bigger and better things. Start with the elementary principles and move onto the mysteries. Like we said on earth, evangelical is not enough.



St. Peter, excited: So you are evangelical? You know the Gospel?



Second Churchman: We began with it, but it is not enough.



St. Peter: Not enough for what?



Second Churchman: Just not enough.



St. Peter: I still wish to know what you mean by not enough. Do you mean it is not enough for salvation? Do you deny the teaching that faith alone saves?



Second Churchman: I wasn't referring specifically to salvation when I said that. There are so many more things to talk about though. The Gospel is just a beginning. Our church life is more comprehensive, embodying the fullness of the church's heritage.



St. Peter: That is all very well, but you have me worried. Perhaps you are merely confused about priorities. Can you at least define the Gospel?



First Churchman: Enough with your fixation on the Gospel! We have spoken enough of that. Now we want to talk about more important things pertaining to the glory of God. Your obsession with individual salvation is an expression of narcissistic individualism. No wonder they keep you out here and don't let you in. Heaven is for those who have moved on. To think that we have a banner for you in our All Saints Day procession! That's one more thing I intend to reform. [He pulls out his notebook and jots down some notes.]



St. Peter: Since you cannot or will not answer my question, I am afraid I cannot let you in. You will have to go to the other place.



Second Churchman: Are you sending us to purgatory? None of my evangelical friends believed it existed. Scripture alone! Hah! This will show them! [to the First Churchman] You'll be my witness we were there.



The two men walk off happily together until they step into a trap door in a cloud. St. Peter sadly shakes his head and returns to worship.



At this point in my vision, the high altitude makes me delirious. I briefly lose consciousness. As I come to, I seem to be inside the gate. I see a silk-shirted figure ahead of me who otherwise resembles St. Peter as I saw him earlier. I approach him, noticing strange creatures flying above me.



Six-Winged Seraphs [to each other]: Touch a friend's wing, touch the wing next to ya, touch a friend's wing and sing along…



St. Peter: Hi, I'm Pete. I used to hate worship. Then I found that it could be fun.



Myself: This looks like the heavenly Temple of Isaiah's vision, except for the sound system and Plexiglas pulpit. But where is the smoke? Wasn't the temple filled with smoke?



St. Peter: It was until recently, but then there was an uprising. The evangelicals said it was too Catholic.



Myself: [struggling to remember what I knew of heaven]: But where is everyone? I was told there would be a countless multitude before the throne.



St. Peter: With dozens of generations, no one music style could please everybody. In fact, whole generations are missing. Church growth consultants attribute the absence of baby-boomers to the absence of a keyboard.



Myself: Where is the Marriage Supper of the Lamb?



St. Peter: Pizza and coke will be served later. [He notes the sick look on my face.] Not to worry. It doesn't matter what we use. It is the thought that counts.



Myself: But the Scriptures talked about something bigger and more glorious than this!



St. Peter: We were told to invite everyone to the banquet, but we could hardly get anyone to come with the old menu. Would you have us offer Christ's flesh to eat if it kept people from coming? It is selfish to put your own taste above the salvation of others. [I begin to feel guilty, but then I remember that my hopes were based on the Scriptures, not my own tastes.]



Myself: This cannot be heaven. The High Churchmen were right! There is a purgatory!



At this point I awaken, relieved. I may not be in heaven, but at least there remains a heaven that is truly heaven.

Liturgy and Restoration

My vision is a sad vision. It should be clear that combining elements from both portions of the vision would not improve matters. To the cold, meaningless ritual of the High Churchmen, add warm-hearted devotion, and you get a warm, meaningless ritual. Combine the flippant zeal of the evangelicals with solemnity, and you get solemn zeal, but you are still left without knowledge. The way out involves something other than an uncritical combining of differing traditions.

The sixteenth century Reformers brought together two better dynamics for the service of improving worship. Lutheran theologian Charles Porterfield Krauth called them conservatism and reformation. Reformation is the attempt to rid the church of abuses and ensure that scriptural principle guides all that is done. It ensures that the church's Gospel focus is not blurred by antiquarianism. It keeps the church from looking like a graveyard of rituals from all centuries but the first. Conservatism is the attempt to maintain continuity with what the church has done in the past. It ensures that the accumulated wisdom of the ages is not pushed aside by this year's fleeting fashions. It keeps the church from looking like a human organization that was invented last week by marketers. Conservatism and reformation belong together. I fear that in our own day both are in danger of being lost. Even current worship reform movements that possess awareness of these principles seem always to promote one at the expense of the other.

Conservatism plus reformation equals restoration. We want to restore what is truly Biblical, and that means studying the Scriptures. We want to restore what is catholic (with a little "c"), and that means finding out what has been done through the centuries, and what has been avoided. Neither task should be done without the other.

The conservative dynamic by itself does not qualify as restoration. There is nothing more useless than a churchman who has an encyclopedic knowledge of what was done by churches in the past, but who knows nothing about why these things were done, or whether they might have been abandoned for good reason. People like this are junk collectors. A good restorer, however, knows how to judge the value of the discarded item he finds. Junk is left on the heap. Only valuable finds are kept. What is in good condition may be put to use at once. Some items need to be cleaned off first.

The following are some quotations from Luther concerning the worship service which should give some of the flavor of how he went about reforming worship with restoration in mind. Notice how some things are abolished, some retained, some left up to choice, and some set aside until they can be cleaned up:

The feasts of the Holy Cross shall be anathema. (2)
Let the chants in the Sunday masses and Vespers be retained; they are quite good and are taken from Scripture. (3)
the Gospel lesson follows, for which neither prohibit nor prescribe candles or incense. Let these thing be free. (4)
But for the time being, we can shelve the antiphons, responsories, and collects, as well as the legends of the saints and the cross, until they have been purged, for there is a horrible lot of filth in them. (5)

This is a healthy critical attitude toward the past, recognizing that God had been at work in the medieval church in spite of abuses. Luther wished to maintain continuity with the past where possible. Unless we are careful readers, we may miss this. The Reformer penned anti-Romanist tracts with such harsh titles as "Against the Roman Papacy, an Institution of the Devil." It was not the Roman church, however, but the Papacy which tyrannized it, that Luther wished to attack. The Papacy was an enemy not just to Lutheran, but to Catholic congregations. Luther wanted to be a reformer of the catholic church, not the founder of a new sect. Luther retained what he could, while making what he kept serve the Gospel.

The reformation dynamic without the conservative is radicalism. In our own day this radicalism often hides itself behind political conservatism. Even among so-called confessional churches, it is common to find a radical order of service (that is, one containing few if any historical elements) alongside of a sermon where conservative values and the founding fathers take center stage. Is the heritage of America so much more important than the heritage of the church? The irony is that these same churches are celebrating a conservative political revolution where tyrannical rulers were rejected, while the wisdom of the past was incorporated into the new order. Conservative reformation is valued in the political realm, but not the churchly.

To be sure, if we could by ourselves create a service which was purely biblical, there would be nothing wrong with this method. But history has shown how 19th century Restoration movements (e.g., the Campbellites and the Plymouth Brethren) had a distinctive 19th-century cast to them. They even reflect that fact that their leaders broke off from Anglican and Presbyterian churches. Attempts to start from scratch are bound to fail. We must study the past to free ourselves from bondage to the present.

It is immersion in history which liberates us from our hidden assumptions. When we know the different ways the church has worshipped in the past, we become aware of the vast array of choices open to us. We come to learn what has proven effective and what has failed. Conservatism also means that the reformer has a larger pool of material available to draw on when he decides to change worship.

Maybe you have been in a worship service where someone introduced the congregation to an old hymn with which you were not familiar. They explained the background of the hymn and the value it had for generations of Christians. You felt like someone had done you the service of rescuing something for your use you might easily have missed out on. This type of experience is in miniature what worship restoration brings about. Instead of an individual hymn, however, larger portions of the worship service that past Christians loved are restored. What is ancient is rescued and what is unbiblical is purged. What is experienced anew is both biblical and catholic. It is Christian worship.

For such a thing to happen, the work behind it must be valued. Pastors must have the freedom and encouragement to pursue it. They must be allowed and expected to study the history of worship. Some of J. Gresham Machen's words are valuable here. He applied them to the study of the Gospel, while I am applying them to the study of worship:

At this point, indeed, an objection may arise. Is not [worship] a very simple thing, it may be asked; and will not its simplicity be obscured by too much scholarly research? The objection springs from a false view of what scholarship is. It springs from the notion that scholarship leads a man to be obscure. Exactly the reverse is the case. Ignorance is obscure; but scholarship brings order out of confusion, places things in their logical relations, and makes the message shine forth clearly. (6)

The study of worship ought to make things clearer, not more difficult to understand. Perhaps worship reform will require a pastor to do a lot of tedious reading. The result should not, however, be tedious sermons on proper worship, but a worship reformation. The results of the tedious research may be simple changes in practice, but they will be changes with powerful results.

An example of how painstaking research leads to changes that are understandable by the laity can be found in those churches where the pastor has investigated the subject of Holy Communion. For some pastors, it takes months or years of careful study to come to a recognition of the centrality of the Lord's Supper in the life of the church. In the American church, such an idea is implausible because we have so long acted as if it were untrue. A study of the pertinent Scriptures and some familiarity with church history changes our minds.

What is the natural outcome of this change of mind? A three month series on how important Communion is, taught at a church which does not serve it? Of course not! The natural outcome is the placement of the altar front and center in the church, and more frequent Communion. Instruction surely follows as well, but once convinced himself, the pastor need only present the proper teaching. A seven year old will naturally come to understand the centrality of communion by seeing his parents go forward Sunday after Sunday to receive the body and blood of Christ. A viewpoint which was hard-won for the pastor becomes second nature to the little children.

Sacrament and Sacrifice

In my early days studying Lutheranism (I was still attending an evangelical church), an Antiochian Orthodox friend explained to me that the word liturgy meant "the work of the people." The explanation was thought-provoking. Before, I would have thought that since liturgy was formal, it must be something for professionals. But as my friend explained, it was the people, the laity, who were active. They were more active in a liturgical service than in many evangelical gatherings. This brought about a turnaround in my thinking. Wasn't active participation supposed to be a hallmark of Protestantism?

In my later study, my attention shifted from the "of the people" aspect of the liturgy, to the "work" aspect. My friend's definition suggested that liturgy was something we did for God. Such an idea is foreign to Lutheranism, which emphasizes man's absolute dependence on God. The old Lutherans called the liturgy God's service. It was something he did for us.

Our Lutheran confessions explain how what we do for God and what God does for us are two very different types of elements in the service:

The theologians make a proper distinction between sacrament and sacrifice. The genus [category] common to both could be "ceremony" or "sacred act." A sacrament is a ceremony or act in which God offers us the content of the promise joined to the ceremony; thus Baptism is not an act which we offer to God but one in which God baptizes us through a minister functioning in his place. Here God offers and presents the forgiveness of sins according to the promise (Mk 16:16), "He who believes and is baptized will be saved." By way of contrast, a sacrifice is a ceremony or act which we render to God to honor him. (7)

The proper distinction between the Law and Gospel results in the proper distinction between sacrament and sacrifice. The sacrificial portions of the service were familiar to me from my evangelical past, but most of the sacramental portions were not. My role in church changed when I switched to a liturgical church.

The chief role of those who attend evangelical churches is that of one receiving marching orders. If it isn't announced directly, the message still goes out to the congregation "You are here to learn how to be Christians. Church isn't about Sunday, but about your whole week. Take out a notebook, and we will instruct you how to live like Christians." The church service is not of value for its own sake, but has instrumental value in making people become better during the week.

When a pastor takes to haranguing his congregants to improve, you know that the church is focused on the sacrificial. Wearied by the burden of having to innovate Sunday after Sunday (because they don't have a tradition to guide them), the exhausted pastor begins to resent the complacent members who want more and more from him. Finally, the congregation is told, "You are unhappy because you are here for what you can receive. You ought to be here for what you can give." Our giving is the focus. We are to be sacrificial. This week-after-week emphasis will be remembered long after the content of any individual sermon that served to create it.

A sacramental environment is different. In a sacramental environment, the focus is on God's blessing of his people. One place where this is evident is in the benediction. I was fortunate in the Presbyterian church in which I grew up to have heard a benediction every week. Many evangelicals do not even receive that much. Dr. Rod Rosenbladt once told me of a retreat where an evangelical leader was asked to close with a benediction and did not know what one was. Instead of pronouncing God's blessing, he guided the people in a meditation. Perhaps this doesn't sound so tragic, but think of the ramifications. To mistake a benediction for a meditation is to misunderstand whose turn it is to act. A benediction is God's turn to speak. It is not merely another opportunity to say something nice. Consider what it means that this leader's innate leaning was to turn sacrament into sacrifice. This is more common than you would imagine. Some people think that if there is too much forgiveness, it will cease to be special. They forget that forgiveness is like food. We live for it. In addition, if we have been on a starvation diet for far too long, we may lose the ability to digest it. I speak from a human perspective, of course. God can soften the hardest heart if he chooses. Still, the loss of ability to digest forgiveness is concretely illustrated whenever sacramental elements become sacrificial through lack of familiarity. On the other hand, the overall character of a sacramental service ensures that forgiveness will be remembered long after any individual sermon on forgiveness has been forgotten.

How do Freed People Worship?

The church is the place where God is the giver, yet reformation seems to be our responsibility. How are we to go about it? In the Old Testament book of Second Chronicles, we read of a worship reformation that took place before the time of Christ. Hilkiah, a priest during the reign of King Josiah, found the lost Book of the Law in the Temple, and a worship revolution began. The law was read, and its precepts followed. There was much to do to restore the old ways, but the task was clear. Nobody had to guess what God wanted in the way of worship. It was spelled out in detail, from architecture to priestly garments to ceremonies.

In our own day, a worship reformation is overdue, but deciding on a course for reformation is a more challenging task for us than for King Josiah. We do not possess a Book of the Law prescribing specific ceremonies and vestments. Nadab and Abihu were struck dead for offering unauthorized fire before God (Lev 10:1), but I would venture to guess that no believing Episcopal priest has ever worried about with what kind of incense he fills his censor. Even in those Reformed churches which claim allegiance to the regulative principle (i.e., in worship, what is not biblically commanded is forbidden), nobody has ever identified a passage of Scripture mandating a Geneva gown. It is clear we live in a different age.

Where does that leave us? Since Lutherans teach that the New Testament church is not bound to a prescribed church order, can we say that anything goes? Contrary to popular opinion and common practice, this is not where we are left. In his study guide for the Westminster Confession of Faith, G. I. Williamson wrongly identifies as Lutheran doctrine the teaching that true worship is compromised of what God has commanded plus anything he has not expressly forbidden. (8) It is true that Lutheran teaching says that those activities as God has neither commanded nor forbidden, he allows. It is a false assumption, however, that all activities that God allows qualify as true worship. This conclusion is condemned in the Lutheran confessions, where we are told:

We believe, teach, and confess that true adiaphora or things indifferent [those things God has neither commanded nor forbidden], as defined above, are in themselves no worship of God or even a part of it, but that we should duly distinguish between the two, as it is written, "In vain do they worship me, teaching for doctrines the precepts of men" (Mt 15:9). (9)

It is interesting to note that Williamson cites the same verse as the Lutheran confessions in condemnation of such teaching. Williamson goes on to ask "What command requires the candlelight service so common today? But if such a 'ceremony' as this, invented by Protestants, is ruled out, how can the ceremonies invented by Rome be condemned?" The Lutheran confessions answer that "useless and foolish spectacles, which serve neither good order, Christian discipline, nor evangelical decorum in the church" cannot be considered indifferent. (10) We condemn claptrap.

The Lutheran insistence that what God has neither commanded nor forbidden can neither qualify as true worship nor be condemned is essential to a maintenance of both pure worship and Christian liberty. In fact, in his chapter on Christian liberty, Williamson says that playing the piano per se is good, "for the simple reason that it is not forbidden by any of the Ten Commandments." (11) But there may be times when to do so is wrong because it does violate them (e.g., one's father has forbidden it). Or perhaps someone sins by playing the piano for personal fame rather than to glorify God. In spite of the possibility of abuse, Williamson argues that maintaining liberty is important.

A further safeguard to sanctification is found in the section of the Westminster Confession, which teaches that actions not commanded do not qualify as good works:

"Good works are only such as God hath commanded in his holy word, and not as such as, without the warrant thereof, are devised by men out of blind zeal, or upon any pretense of good intention." (12)

Substitute the words "worship of God" for "good works" and this is almost a paraphrase of the above-quoted passage form the Lutheran Formula of Concord. Actions not commanded are allowed, but must not be considered good works. Sanctification is kept free from human invention, and liberty is maintained. Abuse is possible, for as St. Paul says, "Everything is permissible–but not everything is beneficial" (1 Cor 10:23). What is true with regard to the Christian life is true with regard to the Christian worship service. In both we are at liberty to do those things God has not forbidden. But an act which God has not commanded cannot be considered a good work on the part of an individual, or true worship on the part of the church. In our sinfulness we like to manufacture new forms of piety and worship even though such invention does not please God. Still, the freedom to do unforbidden things is to be maintained even in light of the possibility of abuse. Christian liberty requires it.

Looking Ahead

The restoration of Christian worship does not exist in order to create a final resting place for worshippers. The liturgical church is not to be an enclave where Christians hide from a fast-paced world. Granted, there is a timelessness about liturgy such that a thirteenth century Christian might find parts of our modern service somewhat familiar. The fact is, however, that the worship service exists as a place where God can break into our century. A word of forgiveness spoken today forgives a twentieth century individual who was not around to hear it in the thirteenth century. We continue to restore worship not so that an ancient Christian would feel comfortable in our church, but because the ancient way contained much wisdom regarding how people can come to believe in the forgiveness of sins.

If you are about to embark on a journey into liturgy, there are some familiar landmarks you can expect. First, even from the first Sunday, much more will be biblical than you had been led to believe. Second, you will find that when there is solid biblical principle behind a form of worship, your tastes will change. I have known many people who thought a journey into liturgy would be a trek into the desert where they would be far from the water of life, only to find more water than they dreamed possible.

At some point, you can expect the novelty to wear off. The question at that point is, does the liturgy still deliver? I doubt anyone has ever decided to leave church because the idea of a sermon got old. Perhaps we might find some individual sermons to be dull, but nobody expects the idea of having a sermon to remain new. With liturgy it is different. We tend to expect the idea of doing liturgy to remain exciting. It does not. The first time I was in a service where ceremony was used to bring attention to the reading of the Gospel, I was overjoyed. The Gospel was being brought to the people, and ceremony brought attention to that fact. After a while, the novelty wore off. If the ceremony were the only reason I had for coming to church, I might as well have stayed in bed. But what remained fresh was the Scripture underlying the ceremony. Before hearing the gospel, we would hear texts chanted which told of the nature of the Scripture that was to be read. I was learning hermeneutics. So were the children sitting next to me. While the idea of doing liturgy may grow mundane, it serves its Gospel purpose faithfully.

The irony of liturgy is that this long-collected wisdom exists to wean us of this world. The most beautiful Lenten service in the world, with vestments and gold vessels, exists in order to point us to the fact that we are to rend our hearts and not our garments, and that we are not to worship God with silver and gold. I point you to the liturgy not because it is so worthy of attention for its own sake, but because it points beyond itself to Christ. Here we receive a foretaste of the heavenly feast. Our choirs are not angelic but human. The streets are paved not with gold but with asphalt.

Liturgy is not a road we travel to get to heaven. It is a way of leaving routes open for God to come to us. These are not the routes that man has devised, but routes that God has told us about in his Word.

I used to attend a church which held altar calls, and though I was a Christian, I always had an urge to go forward to make sure things were right. It is an irony that now in the Lutheran church I can walk forward to the altar to the singing of "Just as I Am" without being looked at strangely. I can admit my need of grace which is shared by the whole congregation. When I reach the altar, I am not left waiting forever for a bolt of electricity to hit my heart. I am given something tangible to receive, the body and blood of Christ for the forgiveness of sins. A real sacrament is so much better than a pseudo-sacrament. Liturgy exists to make sure that what reaches us is the real stuff.