My, this has been an eventful summer.
One of the silver linings of my absence from the church this summer, was the opportunity to visit a number of churches: five churches, six weeks in all. For the interested, this is a short sketch of the experiences.
A surprising aspect of those weeks was a craving for the consolatory features of liturgy, that "traditional" (what a misused word!) aspect of the ancient worship of the Church.
Accordingly, the first week I visited the main Russian Orthodox church in Washington, St. Nicholas on Massachusetts Ave., kitty-corner to the much larger, but less ecclesiastically elevated, St. Sophia Greek Orthodox Church. (St. Sophia looks like a cathedral church. St. Nicholas is one.) This was not my first visit to St. Nicholas, where there is liturgy on steroids: the Old Church Slavonic liturgy of the Church, rooted in Byzantium and tracing its roots to the misty, pre-Irenaean roots of Christian worship. Though I could not commune -- and as a Protestant, I always have to adjust to the different ethos of congregants' coming and going throughout the service -- it was soothing and refreshing to my troubled spirit. At the end, I joined the line for the blessed bread and diluted wine distributed to the congregation (not the Eucharist, which is reserved for those baptized in the Orthodox communion). While I prefer for congregational participation, it was a true tonic on a day when standing (for about 2 hours -- seats are for the elderly and infirm only) and attending was about all I could manage. It was all that was needed. Though we may sniff at what some call the "superstitious" or "idolatrous" aspects of Eastern Christian piety, what is more important is that grace abounds in all God's houses where the Lord is honored, and He met me there.
The next week, still hungering for liturgical worship (and not wanting to drive as far), I attended a Lutheran church across the river in Charles County. The pastor, a large and friendly man with large and strong hands that made me think of a butcher's, welcomed me before the service as he made his way through the congregation. (I was sitting at the back, hiding out openly like so many who have visited my parishes over the years.) "Nice to see you again," said the man whose church I had never visited before -- making me wonder how many times I've done the same thing. But he was very friendly and I liked him immediately; and he delivered himself of a good, Scripturally-rooted sermon on Ephesians 5:21 ff. (The one thing I didn't like was his concession to contemporary prejudice with his statement that he didn't know whether it was more dangerous to read that passage, or to preach on it. Otherwise, he did a great job.) The service music, though simple, was plentiful, rather like a Pennsylvania Dutch lunch. The very Lutheran emphasis on grace and relatively weak protreptic made my Wesleyan sensibilities yearn for him to tell us to do something -- yet I left refreshed and ready for the week. And reminded that, for all that, it isn't "about me". It's about Christ.
On the third week, Nick and I were planning to do some sightseeing in Washington, so we visited a church that was -- sort of -- on the way. We attended a tiny Anglican (not Episcopal, note) chapel in lower Anne Arundel County, a historical building where the 1928 Book of Common Prayer is still honored and used. We were there for the early prayer service, and together made up 40% of the congregation of 5 persons, one of whom was the organist. (We were told that the later service would be much better-attended, as there was a baptism scheduled for that morning.) The beautiful Cranmerian prayers of the '28 Prayer Book and the readings (from KJV? Geneva Bible?) were lovely. The pastor, a friendly man with long grey-white locks who looked like he stepped out of the late 18th century, delivered an ex tempore meditation on forgiveness that spoke to my mind, if it didn't quite touch my heart. Nick seemed to enjoy the service; and at the end, everyone (all 4 of them, including the rector) welcomed us warmly and said they were glad we came (clearly indicating the small number of worshipers, and clearly very sincere!). Two take-aways from this experience: one, that it doesn't matter how small the congregation is, it's important to give it one's all, as the clergyman clearly did. Second, the witness of presence, even with small, even tiny, numbers, is powerful. They were there for us on a Sunday we needed them to be -- even though we may never visit there again. They make a witness for the Word of God in Scripture and heart-felt worship. A gentle rebuke to our worship of numbers in Methodism -- and much of the Protestant tradition.
By the next week, I was ready to take a chance on hitting something contemporary -- strange reaction, isn't it? given my usual preference for contemporary worship, but it just felt wrong in a context of heart-pain -- I looked up some of the area non-UM but Wesleyan-tradition congregations. That's how I found New Life Church, a congregation of precisely The Wesleyan Church in the La Plata area (whose campus is cheek-by-jowl with that of South Potomac Church on US-301). This parish (if one can call it that) has overlapping services in three buildings on the same campus. My first week, I went to the service in the main building -- where I was greeted warmly at the door, and invited to sample the snacks (cheese! grapes! cookies! coffee! orange juice! -- and you can take it into the worship space!). The service was well-done contemporary with a good band -- loud enough that anemic congregational singing wouldn't matter but not overpowering. The simple (Wesleyan!) decor featured a large, rugged cross, and a warm, carpeted feel. The pastor delivered a very, very basic (intentionally so) message on the first of three "ABC's" of repentance and salvation -- "admit" -- and was very engaging. I liked him immediately (though if the preaching is always at or near this level, I'd grow restless in a few weeks), and was blessed by the call to trust in Christ in all things, including dealing with our sins, our need, our struggles. There was a very Methodist call to DO something about one's faith, and clear signs that this congregation is on the move through its outreach-- and plans to plant a second campus in Waldorf, just to the north. I decided to visit this congregation again, and attend a different service, thinking it might be more traditional.
On my next visiting opportunity, two weeks later, I did just that. But the "Kneeling Point" service, rather than being traditional, was just a different demographic (older), led by what seemed clearly to be the "B team" in terms of both preaching and music. There was something charming and nice in this: perhaps it is a built-in laboratory for those who need to grow and develop their worship-leading talents.
On the whole, I'm really impressed with New Life, as someplace which is focusing on the essential basics in a good way, and on the move, and is open to do what is needed to reach people. If I lived closer than 45 minutes away, I'd look for ways just to drop in more frequently.
My last week of visiting before retirement took me quite local -- again, to a place where I knew I'd find the comfort of liturgy, this time in the Western rather than Eastern mode. I went to St Francis de Sales, just over in Benedict across the Patuxent from Calvert County. Again, a good homily: not riveting, but very thoughtful, with some nuggets that will be helpful to me in some work that I'm doing. I take it the parish is very, very traditional: they offer the mass ("extraordinary office") in Latin twice weekly in addition to their English-language offerings, and Communion was in one kind. (Did the sixteenth century really never happen?) But the feeling was of a warm and loving parish, and snatches of the service music have continued to echo in my head all week at unguarded moments, and blessed me. I also got a Catholic newspaper to read -- man, they don't like the current administration or the direction of the DNC! But again, not the rants that one too often hears from the reactionary (mainly Protestant) right, but thoughtful, and historically-nuanced, critique. While I don't ever see myself becoming a Roman Catholic, there is much in Roman piety to commend itself -- as many Protestants have found, including in such (unlikely?) places as Cursillo/Walk to Emmaus.
This week, it will be a new adventure. I trust, anyway. But in all of these settings, one thing stands out -- something I, as a pilgrim, certainly needed:
"The Lord is in His holy temple. Let all the earth keep silence before him."
Amen.
Prince Frederick, Maryland (Providence)
