On the Articles: Article XIII

The Sunday after Ascension Day

O GOD the King of Glory, who hast exalted thine only Son Jesus Christ with great triumph unto thy kingdom in heaven: We beseech thee, leave us not comfortless; but send to us thine Holy Ghost to comfort us, and exalt us unto the same place whither our Saviour Christ is gone before; who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Ghost, one God, world without end. Amen.

XIII. Of Works before Justification
Works done before the grace of Christ, and the Inspiration of his Spirit, are not pleasant to God, forasmuch as they spring not of faith in Jesus Christ, neither do they make men meet to receive grace, or (as the School-authors say) deserve grace of congruity: yea rather, for that they are not done as God hath willed and commanded them to be done, we doubt not but they have the nature of sin.

 The words of this article, particularly its opening line, can sometimes be confusing. Words done before the grace of Christ, and Inspiration of his Spirit, are not pleasant to God. The most obvious interpretation of this involves looking at it through the lens of works and God’s favour; it is a restatement of the fact that we cannot earn God’s favour through our good deeds, called works. Yet that is not where the article ends. Indeed, it is not even where the sentence ends.

Much like Christ in the antitheses the Article calls us to go further, and reinforces the point that God doesn’t just care about what we do, but what we think and why we do things. You have heard it said you cannot earn God’s grace by good works, it says good works done before justification remain outside God’s will and are sinful in their nature.

This may require a bit of unpacking. It is easy to accept the first part that we cannot earn points with God through good works, whether before or after justification, but to say that good deeds done before justification are sinful in nature seems difficult to accept. At the core of this article is the question, what is the difference between a good work done by a Christian versus a non-Christian. The answer, according to the article, is fundamentally linked to the nature of good works.

Good works are not just about some form of secular, philosophical evaluation of outcomes. Two people who donate their time, treasure or talents to the less fortunate in equal measure, in secular terms would have been said to have done the same good. If both donate $100 of groceries to a food bank, or spend an evening volunteering at a soup kitchen, the secular world would generally agree that both had done an equal good. Yet this article says that the actions of the Christian are pleasing to God while the actions of the non-Christian have a sinful nature. Why would that be? It only makes sense, however, when considering the fact that we are discussing Christian works, and their importance is evaluated not on the basis of secular philosophies of outcomes, but on their role in our Christian journeys.

If good works are the proceeds of faith, or as the article puts it, the “Inspiration of his Spirit,” then it is clear that in general non-Christians would not be able to do good works, unless in particular circumstances the Holy Spirit were working through them, and there are examples in Holy Scripture of the Holy Spirit working through non-believers both in the Old Testament and in the New.

This contrasted with some of the medieval doctrines of the Western Church, and the ideas of the School-authors, a reference to Christian Scholastics of the medieval period, who developed the idea of grace of congruity, which said that because their actions mirrored so closely the good works of Christians, similar works of non-Christians conferred some form of grace, though not salvation. Ultimately this rejection of that principle seems far more consistent with Scriptural doctrines, both in terms of the antitheses and also the story of the rich young man who followed the law yet refused to give up his wealth. He outwardly followed the law out of obligation but when prompted to act out of an inward love of God he was unable to.

This helps us to differentiate what a good work is for Christians versus a non-Christian good deed. A good deed is rooted in secular morality, and might consist of characteristics of altruism and the promotion of the common good. Works, in the Christian sense, are rooted in submission and obedience to God’s will. They will often line up with secular ideas of good deeds simply because of God’s love for his creation, yet at the same times because we are dealing with the spiritual, there are certain good works which might not be evaluated as good deeds because their benefit is in the realm of the soul which cannot be quantified or evaluated in secular terms.

A corollary to this point is that something might be a good deed, because it can be morally justified, but yet not be a good work because it is not rooted in obedience to God. It may well be sinful. Indeed, as this article states, it is rooted in a sinful nature by virtue of the fact that it uses some system of secular morality to judge whether or not it is good, and not the simple question of God’s will.

Does this suggest that all deeds done apart from Christ are sinful then? What is the meaning of saying that such actions have the nature of sin? The answer to the former is that no. Going back to the previous example of a Christian and non-Christian, both of whom donate $100 of groceries to a food bank. It is not a sin for either of them to do this, but for the Christian it is a good work, and an act proceeding from a saving faith in loving obedience to God. For the non-Christian, however, it is not proceeding from obedience to or love of God, but rather something else. Sin is ultimately turning from God, and so while we often think of sin as in some way being harmful to others, even good deeds can have a sinful nature (having turned from God).

With the rise in those who describe themselves as spiritual but not religious, this remains an important affirmation that you cannot buy your salvation, and a reminder that as good as you are, apart from God, you cannot please him. As Lewis puts it in Mere Christianity:

The Christian way is different: harder, and easier. Christ says “Give me All. I don't want so much of your time and so much of your money and so much of your work: I want You. I have not come to torment your natural self, but to kill it. No half-measures are any good. I don't want to cut off a branch here and a branch there, I want to have the whole tree down. I don't want to drill the tooth, or crown it, or stop it, but to have it out. Hand over the whole natural self, all the desires which you think innocent as well as the ones you think wicked-the whole outfit. I will give you a new self instead. In fact, I will give you Myself: my own will shall become yours.”

Wisdom of Saints: St Anselm of Canterbury

The Feast of Anselm, Doctor, Archbishop of Canterbury, 1109

O GOD, who by thy Holy Spirit hast given unto one man a word of wisdom, and to another a word of knowledge, and to another the gift of tongues: We praise thy Name for the gifts of grace manifested in thy servant Anselm, and we pray that thy Church may never be destitute of the same; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

 St Anselm is sometimes called the proto-scholastic and the Father of Scholasticism, the first of the scholastic theologians who sought to use reason to understand theology. His work would pave the way for St Thomas Aquinas, whose work was considered to be the pinnacle of medieval scholasticism. While scholasticism has its detractors as it can sometimes lead to extrapolating too far and conclusions in error when attempting to explain divine mysteries, the scholastic movement left a lasting impression on theology in the West, and St Anselm himself made many notable contributions to the scholastic movement.

St Anselm was born in what is modern Italy in the early 1030s. His mother, Ermengerga, taught him piety and a love of learning in his early years. Interestingly, some of these early stories were preserved by a biographer of St Anselm who was able to record some of St Anselm’s early memories. At a young age he entered a nearby Benedictine monastery in order to begin his education. His mother passed away and after a period of mourning, St Anselm began to travel around to different monasteries throughout Europe. He resolved to leave in large part because his father treated him quite harshly, pushing him to leave home. Eventually settling at the Benedictine monastery at Bec in Normandy, St Anselm sought to learn from one of the monks there, Lanfranc, due to his reputation for his spirituality and intellectualism.

St Anselm quickly applied himself under Lanfranc and became Lanfranc’s chief disciple, even sharing in his teaching responsibilities. It was at this time that St Anselm first began to contemplate taking a monastic habit and joining the abbey at Bec. His biographer records that he felt some trepidation over this, fearing his reasons for seeking the habit, so he consulted with Lanfranc and ultimately the local bishop, both of whom encouraged him. He became a monk in 1060, and three years later Lanfranc was appointed Abbot of Caen and St Anselm succeeded him as prior of Bec.

It was during this time as a monk that St Anselm would begin composing some of his most notable works. After serving fifteen years as prior in 1078 he was appointed abbot, a testament to the high regard in which he was held by the other monks of Bec. Finally in 1094 St Anselm was summoned to England, ordained and installed as the Archbishop of Canterbury, owing to his increasing reputation as a theologian, negotiator and stateman.

St Anselm continued to serve as Archbishop of Canterbury, despite the occasional bouts of exile during times of confrontation with various monarchs, until his death in 1109. His biography, The Life of St Anselm, by Eadmer, provides significant insight into his life and his own thoughts—having been interviewed by his biographer and willingly provided details on aspects of his early life missing from many other saints.

While St Anselm had many notable works, it is his theological treatises and his role in the development of scholasticism, the school of though which St Anselm helped to popularize which  sought to apply logic and philosophy to the study and defence of theology. It was St Anselm’s work that laid the foundation for what would become the pinnacle of Christian Scholasticism, St Thomas Aquinas’ Summa Theologica.

This can be seen in some of his earlier, shorter works, such as Cur Deus Homo, usually rendered into English as Why God Became a Man. This work holds to the dialectical style that would become extremely popular with other Scholastic theologians. In it, St Anselm explores numerous questions relating to the incarnation, beginning with a systematic approach that deals not simply with atonement, but also issues of the fall and issues of sufficiency and necessity relating to God’s intervention. The entire work is presented as a dialogue between St Anselm and his opponent, giving the entire work a very neo-platonic feel, but also helping to make some of the theology more accessible to readers than might otherwise have been the case (excepting of course the reality that those who would have been able to read at the time in which Anselm was writing were a select group already).

Many of St Anselm’s works continue to exist today, famously his ontological argument for God from his Proslogium. In the preface, St Anselm writes that:

I began to ask myself whether there might be found a single argument which would require no other for its proof than itself alone; and alone would suffice to demonstrate that God truly exists, and that there is a supreme good requiring nothing else, which all other things require for their existence and well-being; and whatever we believe regarding the divine Being.

This would become the basis for his famous ontological argument, which would draw criticism and praise from many famous theologians and philosophers of his day and for centuries to come. Proslogion is usually rendered into English by the title Discourses on the Existence of God, however his original intended title was Faith Seeking Understanding, and perhaps more accurately represents the theology of his longest lasting influence.

The basis of much of St Anselm’s work, and its popularity, was that it was not self-referential in the sense of requiring readers to accept all previous dogmatic statements as foundational truths before moving on to new arguments. St Anselm often addressed arguments based only on proofs from natural reason, rather than relying on his own dogmatic beliefs.

In the beginning of his Monologium, St Anselm notes:

If any man, either from ignorance or unbelief, has no knowledge of the existence of one Nature which is the highest of all existing beings, which is also sufficient to itself in its eternal blessedness, and which confers upon and effects in all other beings, through its omnipotent goodness, the very fact of their existence, and the fact that in any way their existence is good; and if he has no knowledge of many other things, which we necessarily believe regarding God and his creatures, he still believes that he can at least convince himself of these truths in great part, even if his mental powers are very ordinary, by the force of reason alone.

This approach mirrors the modern apologetic Mere Christianity by CS Lewis which is viewed as being thoroughly accessible because it similarly does not simply rely on the acceptance of previous dogmatic statements, but rather proceeding from a position of faith seeks to apply reason to achieve understanding.

For St Anselm, while engaged in rigorous philosophical arguments, still he believed that faith must hold a place of primacy to guide reason. A statement of his that has become a modern axiom is, “I believe in order that I may understand.” Reason, to St Anselm, was the servant of faith, which must come first in order to guide reason into understanding.

On Anticipation

The Third Sunday in Advent

O LORD Jesu Christ, who at thy first coming didst send thy messenger to prepare thy way before thee: Grant that the ministers and stewards of thy mysteries may likewise so prepare and make ready thy way, by turning the hearts of the disobedient to the wisdom of the just, that at thy second coming to judge the world we may be found an acceptable people in thy sight; who livest and reignest with the Father and the Holy Spirit, ever one God, world without end. Amen.

Advent

ALMIGHTY God, give us grace that we may cast away the works of darkness, and put upon us the armour of light, now in the time of this mortal life, in which thy Son Jesus Christ came to visit us in great humility; that in the last day, when he shall come again in his glorious Majesty, to judge both the quick and the dead, we may rise to the life immortal; through him who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, now and ever. Amen.

 For many people, even Christians, this is not the season of Advent, but rather Christmas. This is a cultural rather than Christian influence. It is a season of peace and joy. That peace and joy are often found not in reflecting upon Holy Scripture, but rather in the gathering of family, sharing veritable feats with friends and family and the exchange of gifts. This is understandable, because even those who try to oppose the secularization and commercialization of the Christmas do so from the perspective that, “the reason for the season,” is exclusively found in the birth of Christ.

If you ask most Christians why that is important, they would probably focus on the atonement. The logic effectively becomes we celebrate Christ’s birth so that he can die for our sins and bring us repentance. This is entirely understandable.  In the Nicene Creed, it describes the incarnation thus, “For us men and for our salvation he came down from heaven...” There is nothing untrue in the logic that the reason for the incarnation is salvation, though it perhaps misses the point. “The reason for the season,” argument doesn’t fully express the issue because it points to the wrong season. We aren’t yet in the season of Christmas, but in Advent.

Advent is derived from Latin and means coming. It is the season prior to Christmas in which we anticipate Christ’s coming. That can be a confusing statement and leads to another issue. It is simple for many people to say they are anticipating Christmas, but that is not really what we are meant to anticipate, even though the fact that we think of the Nativity in terms of a past historical event, which is therefore hard to anticipate. This leads to the anticipation of Christmas as a holiday rather than Christmas as a holy day.

When we say Christ’s coming, though, there is a three-fold meaning to it. It means first and foremost his coming in history, celebrated at Christ’s mass, the feast of the Nativity. It also refers to our anticipation of how he continues to come in the sacrament of the Eucharist. Finally, it reminds us to anticipate his coming again on the last day.

When looking at Advent in this traditional three-fold lens, it is much easier to see how we are called to anticipate Christ’s coming. It still is not the complete picture, however!

We anticipate his coming in history in and of itself, and not simply for its final victory in Christ’s crucifixion. His incarnation in and of itself is worthy to be recognized for the change it brought to our understanding of God.

St Athanasius the Great wrote, “For the Son of God became man so that we might become God.”   This statement requires a little bit of unpacking. Perhaps a bit lengthier way of expressing this sentiment, that more clearly articulates its meaning, would be to say, “The Son of God, fully God, became Man, fully man apart from sin, in order to make clear the nature of God to Man, that Man might become more God-like.” In other words, St Athanasius is not referring to some kind of apotheosis but rather is suggesting that it is through the incarnation that we become more like we were meant to be, having been created originally in the image and likeness  of God.

Anyone who is familiar with the Old Testament would recognize the biographical elements of it. Through different authors, we are given a picture of God’s nature. His mercy, his judgement, his love for mankind and particularly for his chosen people. We see times in which God was close to particular people. Great saints of the Old Testament like Abraham and Moses were counted as friends of God. In Exodus, Moses spends so much time conversing with God that his face glows (Ex 34. 29) and yet through this friendship, Moses continues to refer to God using the same style as any other Jew would. God also tells Moses that no man may see God’s face for they would die (Ex 33. 20). Moses was a friend to God but there were limits to how well Moses could know God.

Yet today, almost every Christian recites the Lord’s Prayer in which God is given the far more intimate address of Father. It is through Christ’s incarnation that we have come to know God. Colossians tells us that Christ, “is the image of the invisible God,” (Col 1. 15) and through him we can now see not just the Lord, but our Father. Whereas the Old Testament might be an objective historical account of God’s nature, the New Testament presents us with an intimate and personal portrait of who God is and his love for us. Indeed, to paraphrase CS Lewis, it is through the incarnation that we go from being creatures of God, looking upon him from afar, to being children of God, adopted into his family.

This concept that we have become adopted into God’s family is at the heart of the connection between Christ’s historic coming and how he continues to come. It is in that adoption that we now do not simply look into God from afar, but intimately participate in life with God. In his first epistle, St John tells us that he testifies to Christ’s life, in which the Father was made manifest, so that we might share in this intimate fellowship and participation with our fellow believers and with the Father (I St Jn 1. 1-3)! St Paul then uses the same language of intimate fellowship, communion and participation when he asks of the Eucharist, “The cup of blessing that we bless, is it not a participation in the blood of Christ? The bread that we break, is it not a participation in the body of Christ?” (I Cor 10. 16).

We continue to anticipate his coming because just as the incarnation was a sign promised by the Father (Isa 7. 14) for Christ’s incarnation, the sign of his grace reminds us that he continues to love and support us and he seeks to prepare us for his coming again on the last day. It is by grace that we will be judged righteous on that last day, and so again that same sign which he gives to us in the Eucharist is a reminder of is coming for us in the future. Joy in advent is reflection that by his continued coming, by the grace he imparts, we are able to anticipate his coming again with joy and not with dread.

That is the true reason for the season.

On Endurance and Joy

The Sixteenth Sunday after Trinity

O LORD, we beseech thee, let thy continual pity cleanse and defend thy Church; and, because it cannot continue in safety without thy succour, preserve it evermore by thy help and goodness; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

A few weeks back, the first few verses of Romans 5 were used to frame a discussion of suffering and endurance. There is an interesting counter-point to the question of suffering, though, and that is happiness. What is happiness and does God want us to be happy? It seems a simple enough question, but in reality there are a lot of particular issues which must be considered in light of what happiness ought to mean to a Christian.

In our secular Western society, happiness is very strongly tied to material possessions. John Locke’s treatises on government had a significant influence on Western political thought. His famous line “life, liberty and property,” was adapted in the American Declaration of Independence to suggest that all men have a right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. The pursuit of happiness is equated with the accumulation of material possession. While this explicit example is American, it is easy to see how consumerism and commercialism have vast influence throughout the Western world, and influence the minds of many Christians. The heresy of Prosperity Gospel is firmly rooted in the notion that God wants us all to be happy, and thus that he will reward the faithful with material wealth.

If not wealth then, what is happiness? The satisfaction of our desires? In a manner of speaking this could be viewed as something God wants for us, but only at a certain point in our Christian journey. For God desires not happiness as we define it, but rather joy. Surely joy is just an extreme of happiness, however? Again, not precisely. Used imprecisely and in common secular use today, joy is merely an extreme of happiness. A child might express joy over receiving a gift they truly desired, or some other unexpected fulfilment of a wish or desire. To a Christian, however, Scripture tells us something else about joy.

Going back to the question of suffering (as the question, “doesn’t God want me to be happy?” can often come up while enduring suffering), we see that suffering leads to endurance, which leads to character, which leads to hope which is in Christ. Suffering and endurance have previously been explored, which leaves an understanding of character and hope, and how they relate to joy, as opposed to happiness.

Character, it would seem, is a form of understanding. It is the progress we make from enduring our suffering to understanding our endurance. It is the time when we approach suffering from the perspective of “God, why have you allowed this to happen to me?” and instead, Like St Paul, are able to rejoice in our sufferings for the opportunities it provides and the faith it illuminates. The Epistle of James puts it this way, “for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing,” (Jas 1. 3, 4).

Our character builds up our faith, which leads to assurance of hope, which is in Christ. In hope, therefore, we have joy. As St Paul continues in Romans:

For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. For one will scarcely die for a righteous person—though perhaps for a good person one would dare even to die—but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Since, therefore, we have now been justified by his blood, much more shall we be saved by him from the wrath of God. For if while we were enemies we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son, much more, now that we are reconciled, shall we be saved by his life. More than that, we also rejoice in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation. (Romans 5. 6-11)

Here, St Paul speaks to what hope is. It is the hope we are offered in Christ’s sacrifice and the creation of an opportunity for reconciliation with God.

If our hope is in the assurance of reconciliation, then surely our joy is in reconciliation itself. For the entire salvation story aims for this as its goal of reconciliation with God, and is a process of sanctification by which we become more as God intended and more of the image and likeness of God. St Ignatius of Loyala suggests, “It is not hard to obey when we love the one whom we obey.” This love of God, as St Bernard of Clairvaux expounds on, affects how we perceive God, our relationship with him, our own sanctification and even our goals in life.

Joy is experienced in multiple ways in our life, however. It is sometimes contextual, and sometimes is not contextual. When we experience joy during difficult trials or other situations in which one would not expect the feeling of happiness. This again is proof that God’s joy is not simply something that relates to happiness but rather to God. Joy is incarnational; it is not always attached to circumstances which can be perceived on this earth, but instead reflects a breaking in or glimpse of God. It is a preview of what we are to experience in Heaven. In The Weight of Glory, CS Lewis writes:

At present, if we are reborn in Christ, the spirit in us lives directly on God; but the mind, and still more the body, receives life from Him at a thousand removes—through our ancestors, through our food, through the elements. The faint, far-off results of those energies which God’s creative rapture implanted in matter when He made the worlds are what we now call physical pleasures; and even thus filtered, they are too much for our present management. What would it be to taste at the fountain-head that stream of which even these lower reaches prove so intoxicating? Yet that, I believe, is what lies before us. The whole man is to drink joy from the fountain of joy.

This further explains at times why, even when something occurs that fulfils our personal desires, we do not feel either joy or happiness. Contextual joy is similarly created in doing what pleases God. When we do something that pleases ourselves but separates us from God, we are no closer to feeling his joy. When we do something that we know pleases him, however, it can bring us closer to that joy.

So then, does God want us to be happy? Well, not really. What God truly and earnestly desires is for reconciliation with us, for the joy that it will bring both us and him. Happiness is fleeting, and fickle, produced of our own desires. Joy on the other hand is of God, incarnations of his love for us and his desire that we be reconciled to him.

If happiness can in some manner be related to John Locke’s philosophy of life, liberty and property, then perhaps for the Christian, joy may be found in a life of service to God, freedom in Christ, and the pursuit of salvation.

On Time

The Third Sunday after Trinity

O LORD, we beseech thee mercifully to hear us; and grant that we, to whom thou hast given an hearty desire to pray, may by thy mighty aid be defended and comforted in all dangers and adversities; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Last Sunday’s post began with some musings on how language influences thought patterns and perceptions. Last week’s article discussed how it affects our theology in respect of our relationship with God and our willingness to submit ourselves wholly and completely to his will. This week considers how language can affect things such as our perception of events, and in particular time.

In the Greek of the Bible, there are two words which are rendered into the English word ‘time’ namely chronos and kairos. Chronos is used in the sense of a measurement of linear time. The progression of events past to the future, or events that have yet to occur. Kairos, by contrast, is not quantitative and refers to a particular moment of time, rather than a measurement of it. It is qualitative to the quantitative chronos.

Chronos involves a way of measuring time. Kairos is a way of indicating a marked moment in the present. Now. In our Christian walk, God marks several moments. Indeed, in Christian theology, kairos is viewed specifically as the moment in which God’s purpose is ultimately fulfilled.

It is an interesting reflection on the fact that chronos, culturally, is more reflective of Western Christianity which seeks to quantify and explain, systematize and order all things, whereas in the East Christianity tends to be viewed more experientially, with less need to explore the Holy Mysteries of God, and more of a need to experience them.

A friend recently received the Sacrament of Confirmation, and it was these thoughts that were working through my mind as the Lord Bishop laid hands on her and prayed over her for a strengthening of the Holy Spirit in her life.

Some of the sacraments indelibly mark our lives. In Holy Baptism, when chrism is applied, we are sealed and marked as Christ’s own forever. It is a marked moment in our lives, in which we accomplish one of God’s ultimate purposes for us, reconciliation with him. In Confirmation to do we experience this marked moment of kairos, this fulfilment of God’s purpose in our lives.

Our Christian lives are journeys. In Scripture, the Christian path is described quite literally as a walk (eg. Gal 5. 25; Eph 4. 1; Eph 5. 8), but these passages speak to a deeper meaning, that of our sanctification and infused righteousness. In this understanding, our righteousness is not imputed by Christ, but rather is the transformative result of God’s sanctifying grace which gradually justifies the Christian. It is not instantaneous. Even for those, generally speaking Protestants and some Anglicans, who hold to a different view of justification, they still view the Christian life as a journey and process, for those same Scriptural reasons and that even once justified, the Christian must, as it says in St Matthew’s Gospel, “But the one who endures to the end will be saved,” (St Mt 24. 13).


It is therefore easy to think of the Christian life in terms of chronos. At some point in the past, I came to knowledge of Christ, and was baptised in the name of the Trinity, and since then have continued to struggle to fulfil the Gospel teachings and Christ’s commandments and be filled with God’s transforming grace.

Yet, we must never forget these marked moments of kairos in our lives. These moments which, in the Eastern Christian understanding, we participate in some way in God’s eternity. CS Lewis discusses this concept somewhat briefly in Mere Christianity when he considers God’s nature beyond time. While he discusses this in the context of doctrine and pious devotion and belief under the authority of Holy Scripture, he expresses his personal belief that for God, everything is now. God is beyond time and does not experience chronos, but rather experiences the totality of kairos at once.

Less philosophically, it is important to not simply become focused on perceptions of the process, while ignoring the moments we are experiencing now. Christianity is not meant to be a clinical process, but a joy to be experienced. There is nothing wrong with remembering past accomplishments, and indeed failures in order to avoid them again, or looking to the future, but if we do so to the detriment of the present, we will never experience the true essence of Christianity, relationship with God.

On God's Side

The Third Sunday after Easter

ALMIGHTY God, who showest to them that it be in error the light of thy truth, to the intent that they may return into the way of righteousness: Grant unto all them that are admitted into the fellowship of Christ’s religion, that they may forsake those things that are contrary to their profession, and follow all such things as are agreeable to the same; through our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

There is a tendency in Christian song and in writing to refer to the concept of God being on our side. There is some Scriptural reference to this. The hit contemporary Christian song Whom Shall I Fear? by Chris Tomlin creates stunning visuals to reference the Psalmist who writes, “The LORD is on my side; I will not fear. What can man do to me?” (Ps 118. 6).

Overall, this seems to imply God is for us. It is simple to say, “God is on my side.” But is that the proper way of looking at it? When someone makes an argument and then invokes God’s favour saying, “God is on my side,” or, “God supports my position,” is that a fair argument to make?

To make a more concrete example, many of the revisionist innovations implemented in the Anglican Church of Canada over the last forty years have been preceded by arguments that it is the movement of the Holy Spirit and that, to take the perspective of the proponents of these innovations, “God is on my side,” or, “the movement of the Spirit is calling us to do this.”

The idea that God is on our side and supports us, more ludicrous still is when we suggest God supports every particular cause we believe in. In Canada well into the 20th century, the Roman Catholic Church in Quebec would remind parishioners before an election that, “le ciel est bleu, et l’enfer est rouge.” Literally, heaven is blue and hell is red, priests were instructing parishioners to vote for particular parties.

This betrays a fundamental misunderstanding and perspective that is wholly twisted. God is not, in that sense, ever on my side. In the Lord of the Rings epic, Tolkien writes sage words from the mouth of the ancient Ent Treebeard, a living tree who is being asked to join the war in Middle Earth on the side of protagonists. “I'm not altogether on anybody's side because no one is altogether on my side.” Rather than God being on our side, we are called to be on his. As St Paul writes, all fall short of God’s glory. We are not, altogether, on his side. Yet, by faith and Christ’s death and resurrection, we are able to be reconciled to him in order to more fully live in his will.

Claiming the support of God is a historical reality. When the people of Israel God’s exclusive chosen ones, they were able to boast of God being on their side. In the Psalms, the Jews proclaimed it in song, “The LORD is on my side; I will not fear,” (Ps 118. 6). The context of this verse shows the Psalmist is indeed referring to how God was on the side of Israel and his chosen people. When the people of Israel were acting in God’s will, he supported them in their endeavours, be it battle or freedom from slavery. When St Paul echoes these words in Romans 8. 31, though, what is the context in which these words are repeated? Does he mean God is on the side of all Christians, the new chosen? Not entirely. The context of Romans as a whole makes clear that while St Paul is speaking there specifically of Christians, he has been making the case throughout Romans for God being on the side of all humanity, wishing for their salvation and for all people to be reconciled to him. St Paul has just explained how we cannot justify ourselves under the law and are reliant on God’s grace.

When St Paul asks who can be against us, he his point is more that when we place our trust in God, no one can overcome his desire for us to be reconciled to him. In the season of Eastertide, as we celebrate the resurrection, we are also celebrating victory over sin and death through Christ’s atoning sacrifice. The classic CS Lewis novel The Screwtape Letters creates a fictional account of how the enemy might seek to attack our faith, and also shows how ultimately God is stronger.

More clearly, St John explores the same topic from another perspective in his first epistle:

By this we know love, that he laid down his life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for the brothers. But if anyone has the world's goods and sees his brother in need, yet closes his heart against him, how does God's love abide in him? Little children, let us not love in word or talk but in deed and in truth. (1 Jn 3. 16-18)

Here, St John reminds us of God’s abiding presence as the governor of our lives. As St Paul asked if God was with us, who could be against us, St John reminds us that for God to be with us, we must be with God. God is not on our side, but rather, we must be on God’s side.

Going back to the Old Testament, it should equally be noted that when the people of Israel rebelled against God’s will, he did not act for them in the same manner as was referred to in the Psalms. God helped free the Jews from persecution and slavery after they abandoned him, allowing themselves to fall into those predicaments in the first place.

Perhaps an easier way of viewing this is to say who is leading and who is following. When you say, “God is on my side,” what you are really saying is God is following me and is endorsing what I do. The problem is that God doesn’t do that. God never follows us, we only ever follow him. God’s support for the people of Israel was for when they acted in his will, because in acting in his will they served ultimately to reconcile themselves to him. While it is possible that we can say, “God supports me,” and be correct in the sense that God does support what you are doing, it betrays a false narrative which more correctly stated would be, “I follow God’s will.”

The parable of the two sons recorded in the Gospel of St Luke helps to show the difference of these two mentalities. In the parable, a man has two sons. His younger son demands his inheritance and leaves the family home. He squanders his wealth and beggars himself, ultimately deciding to humble himself and return to his father to beg forgiveness. The elder brother, on the other hand, remained at home, was dutiful and fulfilled all his obligations. When his younger brother returned home and his father forgave him, unconditionally and joyfully accepting his return, the elder brother became angry and jealous, demanding to know why his brother should be celebrated for his return when he had never been celebrated for being dutiful all the while.

In this parable, the younger brother shows the life of a Christian who ultimately seeks to live in the will of God. He has been given a great inheritance, which he may at times squander, but his loving father will always accept him and forgive him if he returns. The elder brother on the other hand seems at first glance to be the one truly living in his father’s will, yet by the end of the parable it becomes more clear that he would be the type to say, “God is on my side,” out of what CS Lewis described as spiritual cancer: pride.

When we take the prideful view that God is on our side, and not the view that we strive to follow his will, we go from being followers of God to agents of his will. The problem with this is when we fall short. If we are followers of God and fall short, then, like the younger brother, we can ask forgiveness and be forgiven. When we are enactors of his will and fall short, however, we are essentially claiming authority from God while acting outside of his will.

It is easy to see how this mentality is adopted, though. There are plenty of Scriptural references to God being for us and God supporting us, and it can be simple to slip into a mentality that convinces ourselves that we are clearly supported by God. Christianity is not having an omnipotent and all-powerful deity who can be called upon to support our politics and our sports teams, but is the teaching of how can, through faith, reconcile ourselves to God in order that we might live this life in submission to his will, and ultimately to be reconciled to him for all eternity.

On the Theological Virtues

The First Sunday in Epiphanytide

O LORD, we beseech thee mercifully to receive the prayers of thy people which call upon thee; and grant that they may both perceive and know what things they ought to do, and also may have grace and power faithfully to fulfil the same; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

The Epiphany of our Lord

O GOD, who by the leading of a star didst manifest thy only-begotten Son to the Gentiles: Mercifully grant, that we, who know thee now by faith, may be led onward through this earthly life, until we see the vision of thy heavenly glory; through the same thy Son Jesus Christ, who with thee and the Holy Ghost liveth and reigneth, one God, world without end. Amen.

Epiphanytide is a season of growth, and if there is to be a summary of what we ought to grow in, it would probably be given by St Paul in his first epistle to the Corinthians, “So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love,” (1 Cor 13. 13). These virtues have been spoken of time and again by many Christian authors. As CS Lewis puts it in Mere Christianity, “The "Cardinal" [virtues] are those which all civilised people recognise: the “Theological” are those which, as a rule, only Christians know about.” Taken along with the four cardinal virtues, of which temperance is one, they are known as the seven heavenly virtues and held in opposition to the seven deadly sins.

The three theological virtues of faith, hope and charity, which in the previous citation was rendered as love, have particular meanings in this context. CS Lewis did not mean, for example, to imply that a non-Christian could not have faith of any type or that non-Christians are all bereft of hope, indeed it is possible for Christians to experience elements of these non-Christian virtues. They are, as Lewis notes, peculiar, to Christianity. Someone might easily expound the virtue of temperance, which was considered a virtue in antiquity by Greeks and other non-Christians, yet they would not speak of the virtue of, for instance, charity, at least not as it is understood and presented here in its Christian context.

Much like how Lewis decried the linguistic change of meaning for the word temperance, he decries its narrowed definition for charity. In modern English, if you ask anyone of the meaning of charity, its definition would be some variation on alms giving or giving to the poor and less fortunate. This is why, as in the example given above from the English Standard Version - Anglicized, the term charity is sometimes rendered as love. The definition of the theological virtue of charity is most simply given as Christian love or agape love.

Agape love is the self-sacrificing love of God towards man (Jn 3. 16) and our desire to reciprocate that love back towards God. It is a love that even in its human context stems from God, and runs through him. In his Four Loves, Lewis creates distinctions between love, dividing it into affection, friendship, eros and charity (agape). He describes the first three as natural loves, and makes the statement that, “the natural loves are not self-sufficient,” in that they can be exhausted; as Lewis goes on to put it, “Something else, at first vaguely described as “decency and common sense,” but later revealed as goodness, and finally as the whole Christian life in one particular relation, must come to the help of the mere feeling if the feeling is to be kept sweet.” Put another way, God's love must be lived and supported through relationship with God if it is to be sustained.

The second theological virtue is hope. It is not hope in a secular sense. Anyone can hope there will be good weather, but in this sense they are merely expressing a preference. Christian hope is a certainty that is given to us by God’s presence in our lives and the promise of redemption made through Jesus Christ that will lead to true life with God. It stands in opposition to certain forms of secular nihilism that see pointlessness and necessarily despair as inherent parts of the human condition. This dichotomy is truly realised when you ask if such a thing as Christian nihilism is possible, and by definition it is not. Christianity is a religion of hope; hope for a future in which the sin and destruction of the world will be no more.

Holding this hope in our hearts and minds is one of the great virtues of Christianity. Not simply because it can help lead to a more positive outlook on life, but also because of the inspiration such hope provides to lead a good life in the present while we aspire to the greatness of the future. It is the Christian hope that was inspiration for many great reforms throughout the centuries as CS Lewis notes:

If you read history you will find that the Christians who did most for the present world were just those who thought most of the next The Apostles themselves, who set on foot the conversion of the Roman Empire, the great men who built up the Middle Ages, the English Evangelicals who abolished the Slave Trade, all left their mark on Earth, precisely because their minds were occupied with Heaven.

It is this desire to live the Godly life that is encapsulated in the virtue of Christian hope. Not mere hope, but a transforming demeanour that encourages Christians to do good and bring the King of Heaven nearer to perfection on Earth.

The final theological virtue is faith. As the Catechism of the Catholic Church describes it:

Faith is the theological virtue by which we believe in God and believe all that he has said and revealed to us, and that Holy Church proposes for our belief, because he is truth itself. By faith “man freely commits his entire self to God.” For this reason the believer seeks to know and do God’s will. “The righteous shall live by faith.” Living faith “work[s] through charity.”

Lewis notes that there is something deeper to faith that purely belief in God, and the Catechism begins to note this as well. In speaking of believing in God and what he has said, the Catechism refers in one manner or another to a decision of faith based on reason. You weigh the evidence for and against faith in God and come to your conclusion. While it is possible new evidence may ultimately occur that challenges your faith, it is not reason that is the primary opponent of faith, but generally our emotions and personal desires. Consider for a moment someone for whom tragedy strikes. In a moment of anger over what has happened, they may convince themselves that their faith was misplaced. Or even if there is some situation in which their faith is inconvenient, they may be tempted to simply say it is so. Lewis describes this as the challenge of holding on to your faith, once decided by reason, in the face of changing moods. “That is why Faith is such a necessary virtue: unless you teach your moods “where they get off,” you can never be either a sound Christian or even a sound atheist, but just a creature dithering to and fro, with its beliefs really dependent on the weather and the state of its digestion.” In this, he speaks to a truth which can also be particularly difficult for Christians, for whom they can accept God, but ultimately only on their own terms in which their faith conforms God to what they find comfortable, easy or preferable. If your doctrines are not sound, if you allow them to waver based on mood and ease and preference, your faith is weak; it is only partially there in that you accept only in some form that God exists, but perhaps miss the second part noted in the Catechism, that you accept what he has said and revealed to us.

It is for this reason that true faith, as described in the Catechism and by Lewis, is so essential as a Christian virtue. In this treatment of the virtues, it has been approached in the reverse order from that provided by St Paul, even though he cites agape love as the greatest of the three. The virtues build upon one another. It is possible to have some form of faith without hope, but it is not possible to have hope without faith. In presenting them in reverse order, the hope is that it is easier to see the essential need for a foundation in firm faith, in order to allow hope and charity to flourish.

On the Evils of Contract Bridge

The Epiphany of our Lord

O GOD, who by the leading of a star didst manifest thy only-begotten Son to the Gentiles: Mercifully grant, that we, who know thee now by faith, may be led onward through this earthly life, until we see the vision of thy heavenly glory; through the same thy Son Jesus Christ, who with thee and the Holy Ghost liveth and reigneth, one God, world without end. Amen.

The Baptism of our Lord

O HEAVENLY Father, whose blessed Son Jesus Christ did take our nature upon him, and was baptized for our sakes in the river Jordan: Mercifully grant that we being regenerate, and made thy children by adoption and grace, may also be partakers of thy Holy Spirit; through him whom thou didst send to be our Saviour and Redeemer, even the same thy Son Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

The Epiphany of our Lord is actually the 6th of January, but is often transferred to the preceding Sunday. It is a continuation of a season that includes the Nativity, Circumcision, and Baptism of the Lord. In secular terms, it is also the first Sunday after New Year’s Day, which caps off the secular ‘Holiday Season’ of Christmas and New Year’s. For the Americans, this is a season which begins after their Thanksgiving in the end of November. This year in particular, the American shopping holiday of Black Friday--which truly does speak to the supremacy of materialism in modern Western culture--was larger in places like Canada and the United Kingdom than any time previously, despite the fact that Thanksgiving is not celebrated in the United Kingdom and is celebrated as Harvest Thanksgiving in October in Canada.

It is a season in which consumerism and consumption are foremost in the minds of many. In its secular context, even the best messages to come out of Christmas are consumerist and materialist, speaking to the joy of giving things and even ensuring that all receive something and are able to have a feast on Christmas. At worst, it is a season in which we show off. We consume giant feasts, and treat all our relations and friends with gifts and we drink considerable amounts of alcohol, particularly on New Year's Eve. Even for those of us who focus our celebrations on Advent and the Nativity of Christ, there is a strong pressure to conform to these pressures. Santa Clause is just as prominent in Christian households as non-Christian households.

The pressure of secular culture can be overwhelming and it's not surprising that it infiltrates even Christian households, and it’s something that detracts from what CS Lewis describes as one of the cardinal virtues of Christianity in his Mere Christianity. He later goes on to describe and define temperance in a section that gives the title to this blog post:

One great piece of mischief has been done by the modern restriction of the word Temperance to the question of drink. It helps people to forget that you can be just as intemperate about lots of other things. A man who makes his golf or his motor-bicycle the centre of his life, or a woman who devotes all her thoughts to clothes or bridge or her dog, is being just as “intemperate” as someone who gets drunk every evening. Of course, it does not show on the outside so easily: bridge-mania or golf-mania do not make you fall down in the middle of the road. But God is not deceived by externals.

The point Lewis makes is two-fold. First, the great piece of mischief he refers to is the fact that in modern English, temperance has come to be associated with the abstinence from drink, rather than, “all pleasures; and it meant not abstaining, but going the right length and no further.” Second, and perhaps more importantly, he points out that it is the substituting of the excess of things for God in our lives.

When we allow the influence of the world to affect our views of Christmas and how it should be celebrated, however imperceptibly, we are shifting our focus away from Christ. Whenever we allow something--be it consumerism or a love of contract bridge, as Lewis notes--to replace the focus of our lives, albeit temporarily, from Christ to that other thing, we run the risk that Christ will be completely supplanted in our lives.

In his epistle to the Romans, St Paul reminds us that, “you who were once slaves of sin have become obedient from the heart to the standard of teaching to which you were committed, and, having been set free from sin, have become slaves to righteousness,” (Rm 6. 17-18). In this, he reinforces the words of Christ who is recorded in the Gospel of John as saying, “If you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free... Truly, truly, I say to you, everyone who commits sin is a slave to sin... So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed,” (Jn 8. 31-35).

Intemperance here refers to the sins of lust and gluttony. Holy Scripture’s prohibitions (Prv 6; Gal 5) are clear and many Christians over the centuries have spoken to the impact of the sins of intemperance on our lives. In his Summa Theologica, St Thomas Aquinas wrote on the nature of both lust and temperance. His work remains one of the most influential in Western Christianity, indeed CS Lewis’s own writings on the cardinal virtues in Mere Christianity are based on the definitions of the cardinal and theological virtues.

Epiphany is a time in which we remember Christ's manifestation to the gentiles, and it caps of a time when we celebrate God's love for mankind: “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life,” (Jn 3. 16). It is a time when we are meant to be fully focused on the one who saves us from slavery to sin, yet the secular world is telling us instead to focus on something which will lead to sin. 

This is a season in which we are meant to contemplate the importance of the incarnation. It is a time when we are reminded of the joy of the personal relationship we can have with God which is enabled through Christ. Instead, for many it is a season in which they are encouraged to view it as positive we buy gifts, eat giant feasts and, in the case of New Year’s, drink. These are presented as virtues: generosity, peace and joyfulness. 

As we enter Epiphanytide, a time of growth and renewal when we are reminded of these truths of the incarnation, we should seek to grow truly in faith, the freedom of Christ, and in true virtue, temperance.

On Lectio Divina

The Twenty-Second Sunday after Trinity

LORD, we beseech thee to keep thy household the Church in continual godliness; that through thy protection it may be free from all adversities, and devoutly given to serve thee in good works, to the glory of thy Name; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

This post is an excerpt of a talk given on lectio divina at a Parish Retreat held the weekend of the 14th and 15th of November 2014.

We began today with an historic request. Christ’s disciples, as recorded in the gospel of St Luke, ask Him, “Lord, teach us to pray.” We engaged in a meditation on the nature of Christ’s response to their request, and since then we have explored teachings and witnesses on private and corporate prayer life. Prayer has been described as a gemstone with many facets. In becoming familiar with them all, we can help to prevent our prayer life from losing depth or becoming a boring monotone. More simply, our goal has always been to show how we can each, simply, enhance our prayer lives and relationships with God through an active and spirited life of prayer which St Teresa of Avila once said was, “nothing else… than being on terms of friendship with God.”

For most of us, our prayer life likely began through the recitation of memorized prayers like the Lord’s Prayer. Over time, we begin introducing more personal elements to our prayers, moving off script. This is the beginning of the transformation of our relationship from one that is impersonal and is about sending messages to God to a more personal relationship with God in which our prayers are conversations between good friends.

Conversation requires not just speaking, but listening as well.  The same holds true in prayerful conversation with God: there must be time for God to speak, and we need to listen when He does. It isn’t wrong to simply bring our petitions to God, in fact we are instructed to do so (Phil 4. 6). It is a start. But to develop a true and deep relationship with God, we need to leave times of silence for God to speak, and train ourselves to listen. In his book The Screwtape Letters, CS Lewis presents an imagined demon giving instruction to a pupil on ways to corrupt the souls of a human. In one of his letters, the demon Screwtape notes that the world is, “occupied by Noise...the grand dynamism, the audible expression of all that is exultant, ruthless, and virile…We will make the whole universe a noise in the end…The melodies and silences of Heaven will be shouted down in the end.”

In the early church, listening to God was considered to be an extremely important and natural part of our spiritual lives. Our spiritual activity in relation to God was a rhythm, a gentle oscillation, between activity towards God and receptivity from God. The activity was pray to God, while receptivity was prayer through listening to God.

While there were many different ways early Christians would make themselves receptive to God, one that received something of a revival and remains extremely commonplace today is lectio divina. It was strongly encouraged in the medieval monastic traditions, and particularly in the Rule of St Benedict from the early 6th century, where the very first sentence of the prologue instructs the reader to, “incline the ear of thy heart,” in order to hear, “thy loving Father.” Michael Casey, a Cistercian monk who has written extensively on the subject, describes it as, “more than the pious perusal of ‘spiritual books.’ Lectio divina is a technique of prayer and a guide to living. It is a means of descending to the level of the heart and finding God.”

Lectio divina is Latin for ‘divine reading’ but it might more easily be understood, at least initially, as ‘divine listening’ because it is a practice which helps us to hear God. Lectio divina is a personal prayer, though it can also be practiced corporately, in which we read Scripture not to see what God has revealed to Christians through the ages, but to listen to His will for us personally in the moment.

While there can be infinite variations in the practice of lectio divina, there are almost always a few common features that unite those practices.

Before beginning, a verse of Scripture is selected as the focus of the lectio divina. The verse itself shouldn’t be too long, as it is easier to contemplate a briefer verse without having to constantly re-read the passage from your Bible. The actual meaning of the passage is not entirely relevant. Remember, lectio divina is not about coming to a deeper understanding of the meaning of a passage, but rather allowing God to speak to you through it. Having selected a passage, there are four main steps to be followed.

Lectio is the first step, reading. The selected passage must be read slowly, attentively and reverently, and through the reading we begin to listen for the, “still small voice,” (1 Kgs 19. 12) of God as he may highlight a particular word or passage within the verses being read. When reading, pause after each clause. In some practices, during certain stages of the reading you may even re-read a particular part of a passage multiple times, or even pause after every single word.

Meditatio is the second step, meditation. Following the annunciation of Christ to St Mary, St Luke records that she pondered what had been revealed to her in her heart (Lk 2. 19). Once we have heard the word or phrase God is speaking to us, we must do the same. Allow it to sit in our head and interact with our thoughts, our worries and the longings of our hearts.

Oratio is the third step, prayer. As St Ambrose of Milan put it, “And let them remember that prayer should accompany the reading of Sacred Scripture, so that God and man may talk together; for “we speak to Him when we pray; we hear Him when we read the divine saying.” While lectio divina as a whole is a form of prayer, this is a stage of particular prayer within the process. In the meditatio we personalize God’s word for us. In the oratio we pray a prayer of consecration, offering back what we have meditated upon to God with a grateful heart. This can be done wholly through intent, or if it is easier it can be done through words, spoken or unspoken. God knows the desires of our hearts, but it can be easier as a method of focusing to use words.

Contemplatio, or contemplation, is the final step in lectio divina. It is the point in which, in silence of thought and mind, we can contemplate the loving presence of God. It is a receptive stage in the rhythm of prayer that follows through the receptivity in lectio and activity in the oratio. Through lectio divina, God has invited us into His transforming embrace, revealing to us His will for us. Having had that confirmation of God’s love for us, contemplatio allows us to rest in that love. In this act we achieve closeness with God that cannot be matched purely by conversation. An example might be how at certain points in very close relationships, words are not necessary and two people can simply enjoy and communicate through their presence together. As St Pio of Pietrelcina puts it, prayer, “is the key to God’s heart. You must speak to Jesus not only with your lips, but with your heart. In fact on certain occasions you should only speak to Him with your heart.”

There are many different practical ways to engage in lectio divina, but each of these four stages will be present in some manner. It should be noted, however, that they themselves do not represent a linear progression through lectio divina as there will often be repetition of the reading, meditating and prayer stages throughout the process, and in particular when engaged in a group setting, the contemplation stage may be very brief, or may be engaged in privately at a separate time as a conclusion to the lectio divina. What is critical, however, is that each stage is incorporated into the structure of the prayer. Through them, the rhythm of prayer life in the early church is restored. This rhythm of the early church is also best supported through regular practice. Abbot John Chapman of Downside once said, “The only way to pray is to pray; and the only way to pray well is to pray much. If one has no time for this then they must at least pray regularly.” So it is with lectio divina.

On Liturgy

The Thirteenth Sunday after Trinity

ALMIGHTY and merciful God, of whose only gift it cometh that thy faithful people do unto thee true and laudable service: Grant, we beseech thee, that we may so faithfully serve thee in this life, that we fail not finally to attain thy heavenly promises; through the merits of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

For someone who is new to Anglicanism, the celebration of the Lord’s Supper on Sunday is probably their primary form of worship. From an outsider’s perspective, there might be one other piece of information they know of what to expect when they come to an Anglican church on a Sunday: liturgy. A formal prescribed order of service prescribed in some dusty tome that tells parishioners what to say, when to say it, when to sit, when to kneel, when to stand and when to sing.

There is a famous quotation by CS Lewis from his Letters to Malcolm, Chiefly on Prayer where he says:

Every service is a structure of words and acts through which we receive a sacrament, or repent, or supplicate, or adore. And it enables us to do these things best--if you like, it “works” best--when through long familiarity, we don’t have to think about it. As long as you notice, and have to count, the steps, you are not dancing but only learning to dance. A good shoe is a shoe you don’t notice. Good reading becomes possible when you need not consciously think about eyes, or light, or print, or spelling. The perfect church service would be one we were almost unaware of; our attention would have been on God.

In this, he describes the faithful utility of a liturgy when coming to worship in that it allows worshippers to focus on God rather than being concerned with an order of service. Lewis here expresses the practical reason for St Paul’s reminder to the Corinthians that, “God is not a God of confusion but of peace.” (1 Cor 14. 33) This is a useful understanding of why there is a written and ordered liturgy, but to take this understanding (and it should be noted Lewis was talking here on the subject of worship, not liturgy specifically) is only a minor part of the full meaning of liturgy, the expression of liturgy that we see only when we gather together to worship, just as worship of God occurs both corporately and privately, but it is chiefly expressed for many Christians on Sunday when they gather to celebrate the Lord’s Supper.

The liturgy goes well beyond that, however. It is an ancient institution with roots in the early church where the liturgies sprung up out of Christ’s words of institution recorded throughout the Scriptures. As it is rendered in the Book of Common Prayer:

[Christ], in the same night that he was betrayed, took Bread; and, when he had given thanks, he brake it; and gave it to his disciples, saying, Take, eat; this is my Body which is given for you: Do this in remembrance of me. Likewise after supper he took the Cup; and, when he had given thanks, he gave it to them, saying, Drink ye all, of this; for this is my Blood of the new Covenant, which is shed for you and for many for the remission of sins: Do this, as oft as ye shall drink it, in remembrance of me.

Following Christ’s commandment to do this in remembrance of Him, a number of different liturgies with almost entirely common features, but generally different orders, appeared.

The modern Anglican liturgy stems from two of these ancient liturgies. The earliest English Church liturgies were rooted in the liturgies of St John and St Paul associated with the Church at Ephesus. During the 6th century, St Augustine of Canterbury introduced some revisions using the Sacramentary of St Gregory the Great, which itself found its roots in the Liturgy of St Peter, associated with Rome.

The first thing to remember about the liturgy is thus that it is rooted in both Scripture, Christ’s commandment to us, and in the traditions of the Apostles and the Church Fathers.

It should further be noted, even from just this brief introduction, that there is more to liturgy than simply a formal and prescribed method of worshipping when Christians gather. The etymology of the word liturgy may reveal even more. The term stems from the ancient Greek leitourgia, which might be rendered as ‘work of the people’ or ‘public works’ and referred to the civic works undertaken by wealthy citizens on behalf of all the people. In that sense, the liturgy for Christians referred to the works they were instructed, by Christ, to undertake on behalf of all people. The term in its Christian origins can be traced to the Septuagint (the Greek language translation of the Hebrew Scriptures used by Jews during the time of the early Church) in which the word leitourgia was used to refer to public religious service at the Jewish Temple.

Christ’s instructions to Christians were not limited simply to the use of the sacraments. Early Christian understanding of liturgy involved their actions at all times, of which only part was frequent participation in the Lord’s Supper for spiritual nourishment.

It is why when the communion is finished, the Prayer Book ends the service with a final blessing based on St Paul’s words to the Philippians:

THE peace of God, which passeth all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God, and of his Son Jesus Christ our Lord: And the blessing of God Almighty, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, be amongst you and remain with you always. Amen. (Phil 4. 7)

In this blessing, we are commissioned to go forth to continue to do the liturgy throughout the week by keeping the knowledge and love of God in our hearts and minds at all times. We pray to God to bless us in this way, to keep that knowledge, in order that we as Christians may perform our own ‘work of the people’ throughout the week by practicing the love of God as Christ further instructed us.

In both the practical sense of an order of service, and the broader reminder that Christians are called to love all people, the liturgy stands as a necessary tool for Christian life, and an essential practice of the ancient Church.