5.27.2026

I was 14 years old the first time I played piano for congregational singing. For some reason, our regular pianist couldn’t finish the service, so Dad, who was directing, looked at me and said, “Come here.” 

Without rehearsal, without warning, in fact, without ever playing the song before, I obeyed . . . and survived! That song, “Wholehearted Service,” became a favorite of mine. The second verse read: “I will not be languid or careless, or formal or cold or untrue, but striving with earnest endeavor, the will of my Lord I will do.” 

That “formal or cold” bit was a dig at liturgical worship. 

When I was growing up, we were anti-liturgical. Ours was a “low” church, meaning we were sermon-focused with few ceremonies, no vestments, and no written liturgy. Our service order, whether Sunday morning or evening, was inflexible: 2 songs, an offering, a prayer song, prayer,  a “special” ( often it was not so special) song of some sort, the sermon, an altar call song (something guilt-inducing like “Lost Forever”) then we were sent out with a cheerie “have a great week!”

And that was every week.

Did I say we were anti-liturgical? Not formal or cold? Maybe not cold, but certainly cut and dried! And as for no vestments, while the clergy would never wear a robe, whoever was in the pulpit better be wearing a WHITE shirt, tie and jacket. 

Although we would never admit it, and I would have been offended at the suggestion, back then we were just as “formal” as any high church in town. Just in a different way. 

My reformation came slowly. My mind was completely closed when I was in college, but our liturgical chapel services at Asbury Seminary began to thaw me a little. Where I truly fell in love with liturgy was at the gothic Christ Church Cathedral. During one autumn stroll through Lextinton’s beautiful historic district, I passed by Christ Church and saw a notice for their All Saints Service on a Thursday night with music by one of my favorite composers. I went for the music but was blown away by the worship. I continued to go to evensongs whenever I had a chance and began to explore liturgical worship . . . and fell in love.

I recently heard someone say that “liturgy is for tired people. It’s not really designed for or catered to ‘super-Christians’ who have their emotions dialed in. Liturgy is for those whose brains are fried, people who work 50 hours a week or barely slept because the baby was up at three in the morning again. It is for people who are mentally exhausted from the weight  of life. . . you don’t have to invent your own spirituality every week. You walk into church and the church carries you.” 

I bristled when I heard the first part of that quote . . . until I got to that last line: “you walk into church and the church carries you.” I was reminded of Jesus’ words in Matthew 11, “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.”  

We live in an anxiety-filled time. Back in 1957, W.H. Auden wrote a poem called “The Age of Anxiety." If Auden thought the post-World War II days were anxious, I don’t know if he would have survived the 21st century! 

We need rest. We need respite from technology. We need freedom from the tyranny of screens. That little piece of paper we hand you on Sunday morning provides that.

We need deliverance from slavery to whatever’s current. Liturgy delivers us. It connects us with the faith of saints from all the ages.  We don’t have to reinvent worship every week. The prayers are already written by people much smarter than I am. The creeds, the confessions, they’re all there and the scriptures are read over us. 

Hearing the liturgy week after week is reassuring and comforting, but it's much more than just that. The words aren’t magical, but they change us. Think about how infants learn to talk. They don’t learn from a lecture from their mom and dad. They hear the same words spoken again and again until language becomes part of their nature. It’s the same with our liturgy. Our formation as Christians happens slowly and quietly over time. Faithful attendance at Christ Church allows the words to shape us, the scriptures to ground us, and the prayers to carry us, and our natures are changed as we hear the story of God’s love read again and again. 

Thinking back on my home church, and so many other church experiences since then – this is true for traditional as well as contemporary – liturgy and ritual are natural to the human experience. 

We are all liturgical. We crave ritual.

If you don’t believe that, forget your spouse’s birthday. Go to the courthouse for your wedding. Forget Christmas trees and fireworks on the July 4 and reunions and . . . 

Our lives are shaped by liturgies and rituals. Will they be the rituals of the gods of this world (consumerism, politics, fear-mongering news cycles) or will they be the liturgies that usher us into the presence of the God who offers rest to our souls? 

Blessings,

Pastor Terry