For A Time Such as This...

It's been a strange few months for me. And I am left in a place where the way ahead of me seems unsure- murky, to be optimistic. The pastor at my church in Durham (the church where I sing in the choir and attend early service), preached on Esther today- suggesting that if we as a congregation prayed more, and put more faith in humble genuine prayers we would discover what God had planned for us. He closed by saying that whatever question we felt we were struggling with, perhaps God called us here for, "such a time as this." (That's what Mordechai told Esther about her intervention with the King and Haman). I don't disagree with the content of his sermon- not at all, he's totally right about prayer and humility. But I left in greater confusion and downright consternation than I came (surprise, surprise). See, I have been praying- I'm not terribly humble so maybe that's my problem- but the way forward remains, well, blank. Which ever way I go, God goes with me, but the choice remains: what way to turn?

Enter Duke Chapel. Now let me up FRONT say that Duke Chapel's worship service is not the only way to worship. Hear me people, I love it, but it's not the only way to worship. There are lots of good liturgical services, in a plethora of places, presided over by a multitude of wonderful people. Honestly, were it closer, I'd have gone to Church of the Good Shepherd in Raleigh. But none the less Duke Chapel is close and exceedingly liturgical and I went there.

I was reminded though (apart from all the intellectual reasons and philosophical theories) why the liturgy retains such importance. It's been a while since I entered the church with so much going on in my head and heart. Really, not since I was at CGS during my junior year of college. Again today, as I snuck in the side door I was confined to that tiny space of fear and anxiety between my my ears. I don't know if anybody I know was there, or where they might have been sitting. The world in front of my eyes may as well have vanished. Popular evangelicals would classify this state as "broken," and on this rare occasion, I agree with them.

Liturgy should be loved for a lot of reasons. Selfishly, I loved it today because it raised the cross, lighting the path ahead of me for just one hour. In the midst of my chaos, there was a simple measure of sureness. All the sureness I needed to long once again for the overwhelming, terrifying, magnificent but totally unexpected God I spend my life day in and day out courting. When the world around my crumbles, the uncertainty of God seems too much to be borne. In the liturgy of the Word- in its gestures, silences, and songs-there remains a sure footing from which to launch myself back into the ever moving and changing tide of grace.

The simple gesture of bowing to the cross unlocked the tiny cell in my head. The hymn wasn't simply pretty singing, the gestures and crossing again offered some of their long "unfelt" meaning. As my body moved along with the choreography of the liturgy my mind and heart were left with no choice but following. When it seemed (and has long seemed) as if my prayers reached no higher than my own head, someone helped me pray. I felt like a child first learning cursive, with my mom's hand bearing over mine tracing out the letters.

In the midst of my chaos, there was confession. I found pardon.
I reached the end of my own words, and the Word issued forth.
With no sure path, I found the words of doxology on my lips. ... praise God from whom all blessings flow... praise God all creatures here below, praise God above ye heavenly hosts. Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Because of the liturgy, God, the wonderful and terrible possibility, reigned. It admitted the mysterious unknown quantity God should always be. All of the uncertainty could be faced again- even this wholly uncertain future.

And I realized, that the LITURGY, not I, exist for such a time as this. In the midst chaos- with fear knocking at the doors of all our hearts- with the future uncertain- with all the icons falling down around our ears- when the reason of law and governments fail miserably- the liturgy remains. It reminds us that God sweeps across the dark waters and quells our fear with Love. By word and deed the liturgy reminds us of a certain future and sets us about the work of Justice that rolls down and cannot be stopped. "It is not here because of us, we have come because of it." (Everything is Illuminated) For such a time as this, even this, there is the liturgy.

Love and Hugs,
A