Remembering Krister Stendahl
The How and the Why: Theology and Liturgy
within the wide topic "theology and liturgy" I have chosen to offer—as a point of departure—some suggestions to the insights of descriptive Biblical Theology as they may affect the Nature and Practice of Liturgy. This limitation is not based on any preconceived ideas about a "superiority" of Biblical Theology as compared with Systematic or Confessional Theology. Its reason is rather the limitation of my own knowledge and competence. In my judgment the implementation of the picture drawn by descriptive Biblical Theology into the life of the Church today should take place by careful attention to the hermeneutic principles defined and tested by our colleagues in the fields of Systematic and Confessional Theology. Yet, there is always a radical suggestiveness in the descriptive Biblical approach, which may serve us well as we undertake a basic study of the Nature and Function of Liturgy. For the Systematic and Confessional approach we have now access to a clear and rather forceful study by the Director of the Department of Theology of The Lutheran World Federation, Dr. Vilmos Vajta, The Theological Basis and Nature of the Liturgy, Lutheran Word 6 (1959/60), 234-46; note the strong plea in the introductory sentences:
"The question of liturgy is very vital to the life of the Lutheran Church, for in the liturgy the Christian congregation celebrates the public worship of God. In its decision to accept a true form of worship and to reject one which is false, the congregation decides for or against God; it receives or rejects the fellowship which God offers. In the last analysis, the question of liturgy is a question of faith. If it were not so, it would mean either that the congregation has denied its God-given existence or that the liturgy has become something which is no longer determined by this existence."
I.
The positive evaluation of the cultic element in the Old Testament (H. Gunkel, S. H. Hooke, J. Pedersen, etc.) and in the New Testament (W. Bousset, G. P. Wetter, etc.) marked the religionsgeschichtliche Schule when it—in the name of radical historical method, not in the name of orthodoxy—challenged the neat picture of ethical monotheism (Wellhousen, Harnack) as a modernizing distortion of Biblical Theology.
In the light of comparative material it became clear that the cultic life in Israel was not primarily the target for ever more spiritualized criticism from the prophets, but it was the bearer of the deepest religious convictions and commitments of Israel. In relation to the Liturgies of the Feasts (primarily Passover and Tabernacles) the material of the Old Testament had been shaped and the significance of the right cult—not the insignificance of cult as such—was now the driving force behind the activity of the Prophets. It was in the cult that Israel remembered and even re-enacted the mighty deeds of God, which formed the basis for their faith and obedience. It was in the cult that mythology and history were woven together to a living and ever suggestive reality and were rescued from legalism on the one side and rationalism on the other. It remains an interesting fact that the definite victory of Rabbinic legalism can be dated as contemporary with the Fall of the Temple in Jerusalem.
For the New Testament the recapturing of the eschatological framework of the ministry of Jesus and the life of the Early Church had similar effects. Once Jesus was freed from the straitjacket of a super-prophet of ethical monotheism, it became evident that his messianic claims were rooted in the reality of Old Testament cult. Not only was the Christian Easter related to the Jewish Passover, but (as e.g. H. Riesenfeld has shown in his "Jésus transfiguré") the account of the Transfiguration of Jesus is point for point an eschatological edition of the Jewish Feast of Tabernacles. And such "fulfillments" did not lead to an overcoming of the cultic, but set the stage and the tone for the liturgical life of the Early Church. The Passion Narrative and the Gospels themselves grew out of the cultic life of the church. The cantica in Lk. 1-2 were sung as pieces of liturgy. Baptism and Eucharist became the foci of the Mission and the Manifestation of the Church. Paul's Epistles were directed to churches, communities, held together by worship. Phil. 2: 6-11 is certainly a Christological hymn, known to both Paul and the Philippians. I Peter is closely related to Baptismal and Paschal liturgies. The cultic imagery in the Revelation to John had its frame of reference in the actual life of the churches, not in poetic imagery of a learned tradition.
It was in its cultic life the Church recognized the presence of the Spirit, which solved the otherwise unbearable problem of the delay of the Parousia. The tangible reality of the Sacraments became the vehicle, by which it could be said that the Kingdom had come, and yet was still to come. The oldest creeds (The Romanum and the Apostles' Creed) came into existence as part of the Baptismal liturgy, a fact which explains their simplicity as compared with the Nicean and Athanasian Creeds, which show the marks of conscious theological and doctrinal deliberations.
In short, we have come to see the New Testament and the Early Church as an organic reality, centered in its cultic life, not in a direct concern for dogmatic or ethical thought for the sake of theological formulation.
II.
How could most of these data be overlooked for so long? From the
web of historical reasons we may disentangle this one: Liturgy is often
identified with everything "dignified," with stale and rigid formality,
with proper manners, with tradition as a value in itself. The trend
toward "the liturgical" in many congregations is rather a cousin to the
attempts to copy the proper manners and the proper taste in furniture
and architecture of middle class society. Once the issues about liturgy
were cast in the terms "dignified" and "formal," the informality" of the
New Testament church life—without vestments and sanctuaries and printed
hymnals and orders of service, etc., etc.—was felt to be obvious. Hence
this primitive informality was interpreted as an a-cultic, even
anti-cultic and anti-liturgical phenomenon. But the essence of cult and
liturgy was and is something much deeper than the complexity versus the
simplicity, or the formal versus the informal. In all its
informality—which we often overdo in our descriptions of the Early
Church—there was a basic liturgical structure and a sacramental and
cultic realism which was miles apart from what we would call free forms
of worship. This can be well exemplified by the situation in Corinth,
where the behavior of the congregation could be rather wild at times (I
Cor. 11-14). But in the midst of this Paul can refer to the cultic
reality of the Lord's Supper by words like these: "For anyone who eats
and drinks without discerning the body eats and drinks judgment upon
himself. That is why many of you are weak and ill, and some have
died. . ." (11:29). For modern man this appears to be primitive magic in
relation to the Lord's Supper. We find here a cultic, sacramental
realism which treats the Sacrament as a radioactive power of healing or
destruction, dependent on how it is handled. And the effect of Baptism
is spoken of in similar ways when the possibility of a second repentance
is ruled out in Hebrews 6:4-8.
This high voltage of the cultic life of the church has to be taken into account whenever we speak about the informality of the New Testament Church. It is in such a cultic realism that the liturgy has its center. It is this element which finds—or should find—its expression in the Liturgy of the Church. The Liturgy is the vehicle by which the Church expresses her cultic reality and guards herself from being transformed into a society for the promotion and propagation of however noble ideas of an ethical or religious nature. Compared with this fact degrees of elaboration and formalization are to large extent matters of historical experience and psychological considerations. The very "informality" of the Early Church is a good help to distinguish between what really matters and what is adiaphora.
III.
The essentials of Liturgy are the Manifestation, the Realization of the Church and the Colony of the Kingdom of God on the continent of this World. The Church is the Narthex of the Heavenly Cathedral where we try to hum with the Angels. The Church is the place where we are what we really are: The Household of God; a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people of his possession.
Hence the Liturgy is where we express our true being, it is not a filling station, not a means toward the promotion of the Gospel. Just as a home has ceased to be a home when we just go there for the purpose of eating and resting, so the Church and its Liturgy is not the true church anymore if we go there in order to do this or that. It is true that we are fed, and given rest, admonished and forgiven by our Father. But the Liturgy is the expression of belongingness, of "the home" rather than the sum total of these gracious gifts and services.
Hence it is quite natural that the center of Liturgy is the Table and the Meal. Oscar Cullmann is probably right when he shows that the whole primitive Liturgy grew out of the Meal. Cullmann says this over against the usual view that the Liturgy took form when the Lord's Supper was added to the Jewish Synagogue Worship with its reading of Scripture, its Prayers and its Sermon.1 The image given by the Didache, by Justin Martyr and others rather suggests that already when the Jewish-Christians were frozen out of the Synagogue, and when they had no Temple any more in Jerusalem, the Meal became the focus around which elements from the Synagogue Service were added in different ways and in different stages.
Here the Christians took part in the anticipation of the Messianic Banquet, which had been gloriously conditioned by the Sacrifice on Calvary but which also pointed to the Great Communion to come: Marana tha! This anticipation was well in keeping with the basic mood of the Liturgy, set by the Spirit, which was the down payment on the inheritance of the Children of God, children by adoption in Jesus Christ in Baptism.
IV.
What was the function of the Word, the Scriptures and the originally oral gospel material communicated in the teachings of the Apostles?
It is significant that Acts 2:42, when describing the four pillars of the life of the Church—the teaching of the Apostles, the fellowship, the breaking of the bread, the prayers—speaks about teaching rather than preaching. What we have come to call the kerygma, the announcement of the Gospel as a creative power to salvation, is in the New Testament directed to the outside world, is missionary preaching. Within the Church this kerygma is referred to as the glorious Word by which Salvation was offered to and accepted by the members of the Church. They are now admonished to live accordingly. Event the great Christological truths are not promulgated as a creative kerygma to the Church; the Church is reminded of the grace of God which came to them by the Gospel and they are urged to draw the consequences thereof for their every-day life. Hence the Word is the basis, the Magna Charta, the deed of adoption by which the Christian is what he is and is urged to become what he really is in Christ (Rom. 6). This is the role of the Word in the Liturgy. It pre-supposes a clear distinction between the "at home" of the Church and its missionary activity where the two-edged sword of the preaching was handled and its judging and saving power manifested itself.
From this follows that Liturgy on principle is the "family activity" of the church. As a means for missionary activity, it may have attractions to some but it may also alienate others, perhaps more. This fact is strictly speaking irrelevant. The principles for the Liturgy are those of the self-expression of the church as a family. The "outsiders" may well visit, but they should understand that they rather "overhear" the family conversation (also with the heavenly Father) than being addressed directly. Incidentally, this is often a quite effective "method" for evangelism, but may God help us not to be aware of it as such!
It also follows that the Sermon in the main service of our congregations should be consciously addressed to the congregation, not brining the kerygma with the aid of shouting rhetoric, but as if we were speaking within the family. Not a "become followers of Christ," but rather: "See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are! Hence it follows that . . ." If this does not become our practice, the very spirit of the Liturgy is violated in the middle of each service. Such an awareness would also force us to find the proper occasions for real missionary preaching. Now we often speak to the absent or undercut the work of God by turning our congregations into missionary objects.
V.
One of the weaknesses of our liturgical life is the element of prayer. In one sense, the Liturgy itself is nothing but prayer, since there is a listening and a receiving in prayer, not only request and giving thanks. In the Lutheran tradition as in many branches of traditional Protestantism, a tragic parting of ways took place sometime in the past. While there has been much genuine piety and ardent life of prayer in our congregations, privately and in homes and smaller groups, this stream of prayer was never channeled into the liturgy of the Church. Men and women who know how to pray, and to whom this is the very heart of their religious life, often sit properly quiet but spiritually inactive in our pews. Many people who kneel at their bed would think it strange to kneel in church. The liturgical life becomes cold and formal. Ways must be found to bring these two streams together, or rather: to bring the stream of prayer into the pool of liturgical monologues. I have no doubt that this can be done. One way would be to expose our congregations to the fact that the heart of liturgy, what I have called the cultic realism, is independent of the full elaboration of the complete order of the Service. Sometimes it is good to leave out all the non-essentials, the choir, the hymns, the organ, and experience the "naked" liturgy of the Lord's Supper. Sometimes the use of guided silence may help. If we have not turned the House of Prayer into a den of robbers, we have fallen short of the reality of Prayer.
But the most significant aspect of Liturgy as prayer has perhaps been pointed to in a recent study by Prof. W. C. van Unnik, when he suggests, I think correctly, that the well known words: "The Lord be with you" actually were meant to mean: "The Lord is with you."2 This is a Real Presence in our Liturgy. Since the Lord is with us, we can settle down to our business as a Church: We can pray. This is what it means to pray in the name of Jesus Christ.
VI.
Let me just add three concluding remarks.
a.) While the Liturgy is the innermost core of the life of the Church as the Children of God, it is not all, it is not the whole Church. Our Liturgy has suffered badly by being made the frame for too many things: Missionary preaching and Evangelism in its proper sense; Instruction of the sort which properly belongs to the Church School—and the education of the teachers of the Church School—to mention a few things which have exploded the integrity of the Liturgy for good, but misplaced reasons. We have to develop our programs in these areas in their proper contexts. And if we get them out of the liturgical frame, we will no doubt be able to handle these areas with more precision and more clear address.
b.) If the Liturgy comes alive, then the Sermon will become alive and regain its natural function, tone, and even voice. It is often the fact in traditional Protestantism that a weak liturgical life leads to a more and more liturgical sermon; the Sermon takes on a liturgical character. Within a living Liturgy the preacher is set free to expound the Scriptures with less pretense in voice and manners and rhetoric; he is set free to preach instead of sounding forth.
c.) When we spoke about the Old Testament and its cultic life, we noted that it was in the liturgies that myth and history were woven together to a constantly suggestive reality. This holds true for all good liturgy in our days too. Especially in our time when the rationalism of our heritage and the relativism of our culture make it difficult for many—even many of us who are called upon to serve our churches as ministers—to assess properly the nature of religious language and theological propositions. In such a situation the Liturgy, the total act of Worship, the Word of God and the Meal of Heaven, gives to the religious life a dimension, a framework which is congenial to the divine realities. This has sometimes been understood as an escape from doctrinal clarity and precision. I think there are reasons for the opposite view. As our Scriptures grew out of the life of Worship, so they can be best understood in that same climate. "First of all you must understand this, that no prophecy of Scripture is a matter of one’s own interpretation, because no prophecy ever came by the impulse of many, but men moved by the Holy Spirit spoke from God" (2 Peter 1:20f.). The costly flowers should not be unwrapped in the freezing climate outside the atmosphere of the Spirit.
The Liturgy has by its very nature the suggestiveness, the richness, the power of quickening the imagination of the man who worships. It is this abundance, gathered but not chained in the form of tradition, which serves as a vehicle for the real presence of God. The Liturgy has the strangest balance between the rational and the irrational, which makes it a mirror of the incarnation. This is so because at the center all true Liturgy expresses what we are in Christ: Children of God, totally dependent on our Father. And on our Brother, who is called by Paul "the firstborn among many brethren" (Rom. 8:29). And our Comforter, who intercedes for us in the heavenly liturgy (Rom. 8:27).
- Early Christian Worship (Studies in Biblical Theology, 1953) pp. 30 ff.
- "Dominus vobiscum" in New Testament Essays. Studies in memory of T. W. Manson, ed. By A. J. B. Higgins (1959), pp. 270-305.
