Essay: In Praise of Form and Order

Robert Heylmun just returned after a month in Italy and shares this reflection on how he missed our St Paul’s “form and order” in worship

Oct 29, 2019
 I’ve just listened to Andrew Green’s sermon on the importance of being mindful of what words we use. Very good advice. But the distinction between using hateful words inadvertently, or on purpose for that matter, and using words that want to express constructive criticism takes some careful navigation, particularly when the topic has to do with a particular church’s liturgical practice. I’m about to embark on that voyage and I hope to navigate it carefully.

I took a seat ten minutes ahead of the service. Things began with acolyte lighting the altar candles with a series of book matches. It took her four matches as each burned toward her fingers and before she could get all of the candles lit. Then came the helter-skelter running around to grab the processional cross and lights for the procession. The same acolyte was also the crucifer and just so she wouldn’t miss things on the way up the aisle, she carried a bulletin too.

The processional hymn, “How firm a foundation” (Lyons) has five verses and the organist announced it by playing the first line in what you’d expect from a standard organ registration for a hymn. We sang the first two stanzas by which time the chancel party had reached their places and the choir assembled itself so as to display what turned out to be its star soloist who was bang up front and facing us. At verse 3, the organ suddenly went to accompaniment mode so that the soloist could dominate the hymn. We, meanwhile, we were at sea about whether to sing along or not. Verse 4 got louder but not by much, apparently with the hope of having us hear the rest of the choir now singing parts. Verse 5 found us back at the original registration and we timidly joined in to finish the hymn.

Now there’s something wrong with that. Hymns aren’t meant to feature soloists for one thing but instead are meant to engage the congregation in participating in the service and singing praise to God. Clearly this idea was lost on the organist.

The Gloria, written by the organist with English words, suddenly got sung in Italian (words on the facing page) which would have been fine except that the directions said “All remain standing and sing in English.” Who knows who decided that change at the last minute?
Time for the readings. The lector sits well back in the congregation and after the Collect of the Day (this in English) proceeds all the way up the center aisle toward the lectern to read and then regains his seat all the way down the central aisle. Psalm chanted in English came next, and then the second lesson read by the match lighter/acolyte/crucifer who got a poke in the ribs to get her to the lectern.

To the front of the chancel came the Gospel party, match lighter/acolyte/crucifer carrying the cross and her bulletin, just in case (of what?).

The Prayers of the People were prayed in two languages by two men who were confused about where to be to do this. “You need to be over here!” and finally they got it all going at the lectern.

I could go on with this but at the risk of bringing down the wrath of Fr. Green, suffice it to say that the entire service was flying by the seat of its pants and like the chaos before creation, “was without form, and void.” I tried very hard not to compare what was going on, or not going on, with the order of service that I’m used to. I tried equally hard to give this seemingly unplanned service the benefit of the doubt: they have to deal with a largely transient and tourist congregation (not necessarily true); they have to include two languages; and I’m not sure what else might justify what went on.

All I know is that when the Episcopal service is orderly, it serves to promote communal worship. When things run smoothly, we don’t have to worry about the sort of “Who’s on first?”, “Your turn. No, it’s your turn!” bumps and jars that were the mode of the service I just described. As a parishioner there that day, you were so busy wondering what blunder would make you giggle that the sense of worship disintegrated to be replaced not by Holy Mysteries but by the suspense of what would go wrong next.

Thus, my paean to form and order. Nine hours later, the Holy Eucharist from St. Paul’s Cathedral in San Diego arrived on my laptop here in Rome, “cleansing the thoughts of our hearts and minds” of silliness and sloppiness in liturgical practice elsewhere and restoring the dignity and beauty of Episcopal worship. I hope not to have violated the advice of using hurtful words; if I have, I will join the tax collector in praying that God be merciful to me, a sinner.

Robert Heylmun