Sarx

We continue with our serialised publication of Worship at St Gregory’s by Rick Fabian.

Editor’s note: having recounted the history of Christian liturgical ministers The text continues now with the local adaptation of those ministries at St Gregory’s parish. - DHR

Christian services classically feature three orders of minsters working together: laypeople, deacons and presbyters (a category that historically and functionally includes bishops, as recounted above). Properly speaking, “laypeople” means all Christians sharing together in the priestly ministry of Christ; since ancient times, churches have chosen some of these to lead their worship, and ordained them as deacons or presbyters. Today Anglican churches customarily clothe their ministers (ordained or not) in church vestments, most of which were common secular clothing in Roman times. We continue to wear them because they evoke our unity with Christians of past ages, and because they afford rich opportunities for beauty and artistic creativity. Of these, the most universal is a plain robe (alb), still seen today in Middle Eastern streets; there Christians do not even think it a liturgical vestment, but add vestments on top of it — as indeed we all do.

Another universal garment is a colorful cloth cape (cope or chasuble), derived from a Roman soldier’s cloak: in peacetime poncho form this became unisex gentry gear, worn by anyone dressing up in public. Modern Christians put this vestment on their presiding presbyters, and sometimes on other ministers as well. Its color varies to suit the occasion, and when many are worn the colors can vary richly. Although nineteenth-century vestment manufacturers made happy profits promoting seasonal color schemes for vestments and hangings, traditionally color has mattered less than richness: festal days call for the richest and brightest cloth. This pattern, once common in both east and west, can still be seen in Orthodox churches today. At St Gregory’s, officiating ministers choose their vestments by the ancient scheme of hunting in the closet and putting on what they like. Only in Holy Week do specifically symbolic colors appear.

The Deacon.

Among ordained offices, the deacon’s is the oldest, the only one clearly identifiable in the gospels, and the busiest: arranging, precenting, prompting and marshaling the rest. This job is so big most churches have subdivided it, at least sharing out its musical responsibilities. Anglicans since the Reformation, and increasingly since the 19th century, have returned much of it to laypeople, and are only now reviving the diaconate as a living ordained ministry.

Like Jews and eastern Christians we rely on a deacon at St Gregory’s to run most of the service, with trained musicians leading the singing, and ad hoc lay help. The deacon marshals the laypeople’s liturgical ministry — and this is extensive, because we follow Jewish custom in giving laypeople work to do whenever possible. Hence some tasks that many liturgists restrict to deacons - reading the Gospel, offering Litany petitions, setting the altar table, administering the cup, and gathering alms — are performed in our parish by laypeople under the deacon’s guidance. Yet the deacon’s authority is more prominent at St Gregory’s than in many liturgies where the deacon alone does those tasks.

Of course no Byzantine ritual used laypeople that way; it is a Reformation approach, and typically Anglican. In the 19th century, for example, the American Episcopal Church created a lay order of deacons: inaccurately called “lay readers,” these do deacons’ work. They now assist in nearly all Episcopal parishes in the Byzantine pattern and far outnumber ordained deacons. A growing group of British parishes call such ministers “lay deacons.” Following this same approach, St Gregory’s trained laypeople do the deacon’s work when no ordained deacon is available, and assist when one is; and we name all these ministers “deacons” simply by function rather than clerical status. We have given the deacon so much to do, it is practically impossible to celebrate the liturgy without one. (The Presider is busy imitating God, as Ignatius of Antioch said, by keeping silence.)

The deacon also marshals the Presider and other clergy, supplying them what they need and reminding them when they need it. Our deacon announces each liturgical event, and where needed music will be found, so that newcomers can take part as easily as the rest. This usage is both more ancient and more welcoming than giving people books to follow. St Gregory’s does not place Prayer Books in the seats at all or give out copies of Bible readings or Psalms: and only photocopied extracts are needed for baptisms, marriages, and special services. As a mark of authority the deacon uses a strip of brightly colored cloth, originally carried in one hand and waved about to get attention at Roman public meetings, and later extended to hang over the shoulder, leaving the deacon’s hands free for beckoning, prompting, carrying and shoving. Laypeople carrying out deacon’s work wear this cloth in its earlier form, fixed to the sleeve, and labeled maniple, while ordained deacons doing the job wear it in its later style, over the shoulder, and labeled orarion. This duplication has the virtue of adding color, if not rational clarity, to the liturgy. The deacon at St Gregory’s usually wears a dramatic west African stripweave, wound round the torso and hanging straight down from the shoulder, as a Byzantine deacon does during the synaxis.

The Presbyter
An ordained presbyter presides — opening and overseeing the service, preaching, and praying the central prayers that one voice traditionally offers on behalf of all. This Presider wears another strip of colored cloth (pallium or stole) around the neck: originally the Roman military insignia of chief command, it became a general sign of presiding authority after the peace of Constantine. Evolving medieval custom preserved this cloth strip in three forms, depending on the shape of the garment worn with it: it might be applied to the front borders of a cape; applied round the neck of a poncho; or hanging loose. The border form appears on copes today much as in Roman military days. The round-the-neck form eventually gave us the “Canterbury cross” orphreys sewn on medieval chasubles. The loose-hanging form became a mark of presbyterial ordination, worn with all vestments: hence many churches now display a host of clergy wearing stoles, with the Presider alone donning a chasuble. But the ancient proportion was the reverse, and is the more colorful: chasubles all round, and a pallium/stole on top for the Presider.

Roman society loved stratification, and ranked its ministers in church as it ranked its officials at court, assigning each more or less dignified places, postures and duties. By contrast, Jewish and early Christian synagogue worship was equalitarian, and its ministers, including Jesus, were mainly lay men and women. (Recent studies suggest the role of women has been underestimated: as discussed above.) At St Gregory’s men and women serve in all ministries without gender distinctions, and all ministers, lay or ordained, do their work among the laypeople rather than in a reserved chancel space. We elevate the preacher and readers for the congregation’s convenience in hearing and seeing what they do. Otherwise all stand, sit and move together.

Jews used various postures freely for worship. However Christians attached symbolic value to standing and kneeling and chose standing as their norm. The usual argument ran: other peoples grovel before their false gods like slaves or hired servants, whereas Christians are the true God’s (adopted!) children and stand erect like members of God’s family. It is hardly an ecumenistic simile. They knelt only for special occasions of petition or repentance. The first ecumenical council, gathering in Nicea in 325 at the summons of the emperor Constantine - and one of the four councils recognized by nearly all churches - forbade kneeling on Sundays and throughout Eastertide, as too penitential (Canon 20). At St Gregory’s people are free to pray as they wish, but nearly all stand for prayer as the clergy do. During the Great Thanksgiving, most join the clergy in raising their hands aloft: this gesture, among pagans a sign of women’s filial piety, became the classical Christian prayer posture. It is now regaining popularity because it feels celebratory, and so suits the renewed rites. Anciently all stood while the preacher preached sitting—no matter how long. Augustine decided the people might sit along with him: history’s one wholly popular liturgical reform! At St Gregory’s, we sit for readings, silences, and the sermon, and nursing mothers and weary worshippers often sit at other times too.