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Erin's GA Journal: 
Reflections from Erin Cox-Holmes

 

Opening Worship

Sunday morning the Assembly gathers to do the One Thing it does really well: decant 7000 people into a hall usually devoted to sports and Worship God. There are more people in the choir alone than I see in my little church all the Sundays of the year combined. It’s the only Service of Worship I am in the entire year when the grand glorious sweep of high hymnody can be paraded without fear the congregation will stand with their teeth in their mouth and refuse to sing an unfamiliar hymn. These worshipers can handle any liturgical pitch.

We are helped to our seats by one of the gracious local volunteers. There are more volunteers than I see in most of our churches all the Sundays combined. We’re on the floor, close to the stage, but so densely sardined that we have to rely on the screen just like those in the nosebleed gallery.

Isn’t there a Jewish prayer which celebrates Sabbath worship, because in the act of worship, the world is created new? As worship unfolds we discover we are unexpectedly in a brand-new garden of delight with one another. We confess that we "have broken each other’s hearts and broken each other’s spirits" and, heartbroken, we wait for the only living word which can save us: In Christ we are a new creation. Anyone. When Janet Arbesman prays she cries out how we are Called to go "wherever is next in love. Oh God, your demands stretch our souls. We do not know what to give and not destroy ourselves." She yearns for the "redemptive tenderness" of God. The Great Prayer of Thanksgiving celebrates: "You formed the mountains, splashed the colors, brushed the textures; you gave the donkey and the sparrow their songs; and us your signature." I never thought any composer could do old Rafe Vaugn Williams one better, but the new anthem "Let all the World in Every Corner Sing" stuns. Silences, stuns, evokes to applause even though the bulletin commands not to, makes us believe we are all new. Eden is all around us. The liturgiy leads; We Walk in Beauty.

We bring our whole selves to worship. Sitting in the chair next to me is my Inner Critic. She’s pointing out the little flaws and ironies, glad to see those who plan worship on this scale are also human. Some of what doesn’t work is simply the byproduct of the venue. The stage is a rather cramped space in the center of the arena. There are no sweeping distances to traverse, so the procession is a truncated affair. I heard later the presbytery banners came through, but I never saw them. Somehow the worship leaders appeared on the stage, without the opportunity to enjoy the pomp and panoply of the holy parade. One point I note firmly to myself: Worship takes Practice. There’s confusion in particular because the music calls for "leader" and "Response." But Leader would be the entire massed choir, which promptly causes all us sheep to sing right along as Leader as well, leaving Response to find its own way. Some flaws are actually products of efficiency in overdrive. The Assembly has got down how to serve Communion to 7000 people. They do it quicker than a church of 150. This means that we only make our way through half of the communion music listed in the bulletin. Once all are fed, the rest of the selections are scrapped. But I already have sounds of the music we don’t sing in my ears; I’ve already drawn my breath. It will be a year before I’m among willing singers again. GA is in the only possible place where I can join in "Here, O Lord, Your Servants Gather" in the Japanese gagku mode. It costs me something to lay it down.

The inner Critic and the outer self join in disapproval of great rudeness. Once communion is concluded, the sanctuary is disturbed by mass exoduses of various groups as we move on to celebrate and commission mission personnel. Where do these people get off? We are celebrating the ministry of those who are going to the four corners of the round world on our behalf and they can’t even last another 15 minutes to bless them on their way, when all it demands is the faithful placement of one’s rear in the chair until the service concludes? I heartily wish them all preachers who preach overtime and copious waiting when the Methodists get to the Sunday Brunch Buffet ahead of them. Sheez.

The Inner Critic intends to (helpfully) point out to the Powers that Sit on Sticks that even though the General Assembly can pull off this service as if we live in an Age of Worship rather than a PostModern one, we need to get our act together when it comes to applause or not applause. The bulletin mandates (in the best throat-clearing authoritative tones): The following requests about applause and photography during worship services at this assembly have been made. In the Directory for Worship (W-2.1004), music in worhsip is said to serve as presentation or interpretation of Scripture, as response to the Gospel, and as prayer. When music or any other act of worship moves you, please respond with a spoken or silent "Amen" rather than applause.

This is half-heartedly observed until one rousing number puts the Assembly over the top. It can’t contain itself and out flies the applause, in timid little spurts till folks sit on their hands again. When the new moderator addresses the assembly he says "Sometimes we’re shy about applause," then leads the Assembly in the very applause we’ve been forbidden to make. Hello??? Maybe it’s time we venture out into the brave new world of not trying to control all responses and let applause happen or not as the Spirit leads.

Here are the two images I took with me.

The procession of the mission workers as contrasted with the liturgical leaders. The worship leaders accessed the stage graced with robes, with hands empty for gestures, bearing nothing but their role as leaders. The mission personnel schlumped in a processional congo line down another aisle, laden with their purses, sweaters, street clothes, children, bulletins..... Vestments cover a multitude of sins. But I’m pretty sure I saw Jesus in the other, frumpy line. For me, the most liturgical expression of all was the row upon row of Christ’s Ambassadors, bending before their commissions while managing all their stuff.

A paradox. I have tried to phrase this 3 separate ways, and the words won’t come right. I give up. Either you can see this one, or you can’t. Picture this: We are close enough to the stage that we can see the leaders face on as they pray and preach. Except mostly we don’t see them face on because they rotate through lecterns and most of the time our stage view of them is sideways. But at the same time we see them in real space sideways, they are projected on the screen full on. When you look at them, you see them sideways below and front on above, at the same time. It almost makes you dizzy to watch. It’s a trick of perception, I know it. It's a zen exercise to flip into a higher mode of consciousness. I’m still not clear what the Still Point of this almost-grasped perception is. I’m pretty sure it has something to do with the sideways ways I view my neighbors, and the invitation to see them fullscreen at the same time, and to hold the two in my vision. If I figure it out – or if it figures me out – I’ll let you know.

Actually, one last image: the face of Jack Rogers as he preaches his consummate sermon. He preaches with Zest. I shake his hand after the service, and that’s all I can say to him. Thank you for Preaching with Zest. What he’s so full of robust glee about is the enemy-changing, friend-making, human standard judgment refusing, unabashed reconciling activity of God. We’re in Eden, I tell you, and it’s all new. His sermon maps the New Creation. Anything could happen this week. The Inner Critic points out that what will happen this week is what always happens this week. We love each other in worship, and by Tuesday it’s the rest of the book of Genesis. Always happens. Always will. But–but–I give thanks anyhow that we have Leaders in our midst who unashamedly dream that all our sideways scheming will yield before the face on plotting of the Grace of God.

The hymn "Ambassadors for Christ" commissioned for this General Assembly calls Christ "our internet of care." My 10^th grade English teacher used to say "Just because you can think of an image doesn’t mean you have to use it." We will forgive the hymn that metaphor and let the first verse have the final word:

This is Erin Cox-Holmes,
for Kiski Online