The work of sociologists, social historians, anthropologists and archaeologists has shown us that cult, worship, liturgy, or call it what we will, has been at the heart of most societies, most civilizations. People gather together, often in a religious mode, but sometimes in other modes, to share the story of the group, to affirm their identity, to express their solidarity. Whether it is dancing to the beat of the drum around the sacred fire, whether it is the prayer of the mosque or the temple, whether it is the celebration of the Eucharist, or the rhythmic chanting of Go Habs Go, the same thing is going on. Human beings seem to be irreducibly “religious”.
At the end of the cold war, I was working as the representative of the Anglican Communion in the Soviet Union. There, for three generations, religion had been derided and strongly discouraged. It had not been banned, as was often believed in the west. The constitution of the Soviet Union granted freedom of religion, but the practice of religion was hedged about with many restrictions. Churches, often magnificent buildings, were demolished to make way for roads and modern buildings. (I speak now primarily of Christianity, with which I was in contact, but both Islam and Buddhism as well as Shamanism, were important components of the religious scene in that huge country and were similarly discouraged.) It would have been almost impossible to be an open member of the church and to attend university, or to pursue any career more than menial work. No teaching, charitable action or pastoral work was allowed outside the church building. But the liturgy continued. I noted two things. Very early on in the soviet experiment, the authorities found they needed to build wedding palaces, and to provide secular equivalents for rites of birth, coming of age, marriage and death. Secondly, and more importantly the churches were crowded. There was little need to fear the problem of standing for a three or more hour-long liturgy. You were constantly supported, physically, by the press of people on every side. It was sometimes difficult to make room to lift your arm to make the sign of the cross at the appropriate places. And when the soviet experiment crumbled the church stood strong, ready to resume its place in society.
What soviet discouragement and repression failed to achieve, was, here in the West, much more successfully accomplished by rational philosophy, technology, and the myth that all human need and desire could be fulfilled by science. The liturgy of the church, or of the organisations of other religions, has been much more successfully replaced by the cinema, television, sport, interest-group conventions and leisure activities. But it is not hard to see that the same objective is being pursued. People gather together to share the story of the group, to affirm their identity, and to express their solidarity.
Successful as rationalism, science and technology have been, however, they, like the soviet system, have never been able totally to eclipse the need for religious liturgy. There is a realisation that the story, the identity and the solidarity are incomplete if they do not account for the spiritual dimension of life and experience. There are many signs in our society that there is again a search for meaning which includes the spiritual dimension. We see it in film, literature, theatre, music and the arts. We see it, though often, I fear, in a misguided way, in a quest for spirituality in the business world. It is a hunger, which, if we seek to understand it aright, and act accordingly, can lead to a revival of interest in a changed and renewed church.
On this night, each year, we gather to tell a particular part of our fundamental story. It is the account which lies at the basis of the liturgy of the church down through the ages and across the world. That night while eating with his friends, Jesus took bread, blessed and broke it, and then shared it, saying “This is my body, broken for you”. Then, in the same way, he took a cup of wine and said “This is my blood, shed for you”.
The earliest church was a Jewish community. The heart of the Jewish story was the account of Passover, and the foundational events of the Christian way occurred at the time of the Passover celebration. But it was only a couple of generations before Jerusalem was destroyed, and out of that destruction arose twin religions, Rabbinic Judaism and Christianity. For the Jewish community, the synagogue and Passover became the centre of religious observance, and the decoration and reading of the scrolls of the law took on many aspects of the sacrificial worship of the Temple. For Christians, meeting for several generations in private houses or borrowed buildings, the heart was the telling of the story, which eventually became crystallized into the Canon of Scripture, and the celebration of the meal of bread and wine, which for them also took on the meaning both of the Passover supper and of the Temple sacrificial worship. And that has been the heart of the worship of the church ever since.
Perhaps in this historical process, together with the restrictions which St Paul had to place on worship in Corinth, when it had become a little in the wild side, we have lost something important. Crossan and others have shown that the common meal was central in the ministry of the historical Jesus. They have also demonstrated the importance of the openness of that meal to all, and how that very openness (“Look he eats with tax gatherers and sinners”) was a source of shock at a cultural revolution. The origin of the Eucharist lies both in a Passover type celebration and in the open fellowship meal. The sacralizing tendency of the one has eclipsed the fellowship of the other. It would be important to see that the refreshment time after Sunday worship, the daily meal at Grace Church, the muffins in our drop-in centre, and the end of the month lunch in Fulford Hall are all part of our eucharistic celebration.
That, of course, is not to deny the importance of the sacredness of worship. Living at a time when the greatest hunger seems to be for a spiritual dimension to life, I think it important that our celebration of liturgy should continue to be in a context of aesthetic beauty provided by our building, our music, our liturgical paraments and in other ways that we may need to develop.
But I believe that if we say firm, hold the course, continue to tell our story, affirm our identity and express our solidarity in worship, we shall find that we shall fulfil the needs of many more people than we see in the pews at present.
I have, however, one more reservation I wish to express. Since the fourth century it has been the ethos of the Christian world, supported and nourished by many scriptural passages, to claim that this is the only valid story. Other stories, and the others themselves, have been denied, denigrated, persecuted and killed in that belief. Now it is undeniable that the claim to uniqueness is etched into the whole basis of the Christian faith. But yet ours is an incarnational faith. That is to say, we believe that God has made himself known in a particular time, place and culture. And for me, at least, that implies that this knowledge of God has to be re-understood and reinterpreted in each time, place and culture.
Ours is a time, place and culture of pluralism, where our neighbour may be of any religion or of none. We need, I believe to hear, understand and celebrate the other’s story. A narrow focus on our own which leads to cutting ourselves off from the other, and eventually to violence whether physical, verbal or emotional against the other, is I believe a denial of faith. A faith, which does not result in compassion, is a false faith of a false God.
And so it is appropriate that in the story and the drama of this night’s Eucharist, our attention is drawn to Jesus’ symbolic action of washing his disciples feet. Tonight the presiding priest washes your feet. By this symbol, and by the words of this liturgy, we are challenged to live lives which proclaim in word and action, love, understanding, service and compassion for our neighbour, whether in the next block or on the other side of our global village.
Lent 5 and Easter Day, 2002
The Very Rev Michael J.Pitts, Dean and Rector
Christ Church Cathedral, Montreal