Like It's Going Out of Style

If there's one word that defined the 20th century, an argument could be made for "style." Love it or hate it, Modernism brought an avalanche of stylistic trends and -isms that would shape the way our modern world looks; from clothing fashions that changed every five minutes and recycled every couple of decades, to psychedelic graphic design trends, various schools of abstract painting, and a smorgasbord of weird and wonderful architecture. Compared to the previous century, everything moved at a break-neck pace, and that trend seems to only be accelerating as communication becomes wider and more immediate.

The unfortunate victim of this high rate of change was the church. In the early part of the 20th century, most American churches lagged behind the curve a decade or so, but by the 1950s, the whole church more or less had jumped on the bandwagon. There were some holdouts, of course, but at the time, the more "enlightened" folks would have viewed these as outliers—mindlessly imitating the aesthetics of a bygone age. (This is the part where I'm sure some of you will make an argument that the church needs to "exist in the now" or "relate to modern culture" or what have you. Trust me, I've heard every argument.)

The reason I say this is unfortunate is that this idea of impermanence—a key component of style and fashion—has permeated even the church, to the point where we fully expect to tear down or remodel our churches in a decade or two. A former church of mine built a very minimal, barn-like sanctuary in order to convert into a gymnasium in a future stage of expansion. And from what I can tell, this utilitarian approach to building churches has become pretty commonplace. Some even go so far as to make the sanctuary dual-purpose from the get go. And it makes sense, from the perspective that a church built today will likely go out of style in the next five years anyway: "Technology will need to be replaced, the aesthetic will need to be updated, and who knows? Maybe we'll actually have the funds to make a "nice" church the next time around." It also makes sense from the theological perspective of Baptists and Evangelicals who don't believe in the real presence: "If the building is just a place where we come to do some things in God's name for one hour a week, no big deal. It might as well look like a gym." Of course, this doesn't describe the position of a confessional Lutheran, but in recent times, that hasn't stopped us from acting like Evangelicals.

I recently listened to a Let the Bird Fly podcast in which a couple of WELS pastors made some convincing arguments in favor of bringing back the clerical collar. The one that struck me the most was that you never have to worry about your clericals "going out of style" (32:30). Imagine never having to worry about whether your pants were sufficiently baggy or skinny, whether this print of plaid is still in vogue, or whether your shoes were hipster enough.

What if your pastor's clothes were not supposed to make a statement of style? What if they were just meant to say something about who you are in relation to God, and that's all? What if you made a choice to wear what other pastors and priests have worn for centuries, with the knowledge that it isn't going out of style in your lifetime? How incredibly freeing would it be to permanently cut that annoying decision-making process out of your day? To stop wasting time every morning wondering what kind of image you are going to project to the world today? At least, that's one set of arguments Dr. Johnston and Dr. Berg make.

Redeemer Lutheran Church in Louisville, KY - built 1952.

Take that concept and apply it to your church building. What if we decided to treat our worship spaces as the dwelling place of God—not just in theory, but as a matter of fact? What if we resolved that our architecture would say something about who God is, and less about how fashionably modern we are? What if we could rest easy that our hard work wasn't going to be erased by our children in an attempt to correct our bad taste? What if we adapted forms that are so cemented in Western culture that they couldn't possibly go out of style? What if we planned for the future, instead of just for today, and built a church that could truly stand the test of time—both in its aesthetic considerations, and in its construction?

All this is not to say that it is wrong to have a trendy-looking or cheaply constructed church, just like it isn't a sin for a pastor to dress like a lumbersexual. I bemoan even having to write this disclaimer, but in the modern Lutheran church, you can't even whisper the word "should" without someone saying you're being a legalist. (So if that describes you, just stop it. You're being disingenuous.) It doesn't make you a legalist to say that one thing is better than another, and even less so for merely posing the question. If a group of Lutherans wants to have a really hip, contemporary-looking church, presumably there is some utilitarian benefit they have in mind—say, connecting with a demographic of people who don't trust "churchy churches." Or perhaps it's a matter of cost.

That's fine. We are free where Christ has made no law. I mean, chances are good that it's going to look ugly, and in fact you're probably counting on that. But considerations of beauty aside, there are both theological and practical benefits to thinking about our churches in terms of permanence and timelessness, just like there are many practical benefits to wearing a clerical collar. It shows that we belong to something bigger than ourselves, something older, and more important than our changing whims and fashions. It shows that an actual encounter with a holy God is occurring here. When we are freed from the ongoing worry about whether our church's image is completely up to date, then we can focus on other things—like sharing Christ with a fallen world. Chances are good that a traditional church building (with its furnishings and artwork) will even help you in this regard!

We all have different levels of comfort with change. Speaking for myself, I get fatigued by it very easily. But if I may presume to speak more broadly, there are things we all like to stay the same. However we feel about our fast-moving culture, we all make traditions for ourselves. Maybe it's football. Maybe it's pizza and a movie on Friday nights. Maybe it's the holidays with family. Whatever it is, there is something each of us finds comfort in, and that we want to stay the same. Maybe our church can be one of those things?

Return to Wittenberg 2016

This past week I was privileged to be a part of the first Return to Wittenberg (R2W) conference, entitled “What Does This Mean?” The event was held at Wisconsin Lutheran College in Milwaukee, on July 26-29. Since this was the event’s debut, I’ll spend a little time explaining what R2W is before reviewing my experience.

Last fall I was invited by several WELS pastors and laymen to consider presenting at the conference and help with the planning. Much of the groundwork had already been laid, so I can’t claim to have contributed much more than a graphic identity. In the early planning stages, the conference was conceived of as an alternative to WELS youth rallies that would be recognizably Confessional and Lutheran. While that may be the easiest way to explain it, it would be an oversimplification to say that R2W is just a WELS knockoff of Higher Things. What it became was a conference focused on the catechism, aimed at teens through 30-somethings, with the intent that all ages would be welcome.

What a conference on the catechism might look like, I had no idea. And although I try to be more involved in Lutheran doctrine and practice than the average layman, I have to admit that it didn’t sound all that exciting. There weren’t really any hot-button issues on the docket, and the only session that intersected with my area of interest was the one I was presenting. I decided I would hope for the best, and take it in stride if it didn’t live up.

Sessions

I’m happy to say that my reservations quickly evaporated. The plenary sessions were meaty, yet engaging and even enjoyable. The plenary speakers (Pr. Johann Caauwe, Pr. Nathaniel Seelow, and Pr. Jon Zabell—pictured left) were all well practiced in their material. The catechism was presented as a guide to Christian living in every area of life—as opposed to a systematized book that will get us through confirmation, but which has little else to do with us. It made me see the Lutheran faith through new eyes. Often-glossed-over areas of the catechism were expounded upon and given a renewed importance, such as private confession and absolution. It’s surprising how many things we tend to think of as being “Catholic,” but which are actually viewed as a necessary component of the faith in Luther’s catechism. In short, Lutherans who endeavor to make the study of the catechism a life-long process will find an inexhaustible wealth of wisdom and guidance, as opposed to studying the scriptures alone.

One of the unexpected advantages of having a small conference (around 40 attendees) is that there was plenty of productive discussion during the sessions. There were four sessions on each full day of the conference, and a panel discussion on the last day. It wasn’t strictly lecture-format, as is typically the case at larger events. Because we all went to the same sessions (there were no break-out sessions), there was a kind of camaraderie that developed between the attendees.

Worship

The worship services formed the backbone of R2W, and they were quite refreshing. The opening service featured a processional cross (Pr. Luke Boehringer pictured at left), which I rarely see outside of worship conferences. There was kneeling, making the sign of the cross, and the singing of wonderful Lutheran hymns—some of which rarely see the light of day (e.g. the Lutheran “Kyrie,” “Isaiah, Mighty Seer,” and Luther’s “Wir Glauben All in Einen Gott”). Daily offices included Matins, Vespers, and Compline. Liturgical responses that are often read in the WELS were chanted. All of this took place in the WLC chapel, which (I just learned) was originally built as a convent. Arched ceilings, marble paneling, ornate columns, and stained glass provided a beautiful space in which to gather around the Word and sacraments and proclaim God’s wonderful works through song.

I think what distinguished worship at R2W from the WELS Worship Conference is that R2W pulled out very little material that would be unfamiliar to someone who uses Christian Worship: A Lutheran Hymnal. In other words, while everything is done very well, it is still attainable at the congregational level. There isn’t anything that a good cantor, organist, and small choir can’t pull off. That’s the beauty of Lutheran worship: it doesn’t require a professional choir, virtuoso soloist, or a variety of instruments. At its heart, it really is the congregation that carries Lutheran worship. With only about 40 voices and a fine organist, we filled the chapel with God’s praises.

Because we had a 10-hour drive to Nebraska ahead of us, my ride decided to head out after lunch, so unfortunately we missed the closing service. From the service folder, it looks to have been as good as the opening service. The intent behind having the closing service after lunch is so that the last thing attendees would receive before heading home would be the Lord’s Supper. I think that’s a wonderful goal, and one I don’t wish to diminish. Hopefully there’s a way in the future to still end with the Sacrament and wrap up the conference by noon on Friday to accommodate travel time.

Food and Fellowship

The food service at WLC was excellent. I didn’t get to taste everything, due to dietary restrictions, but to that point, the kitchen staff was very accommodating. For every meal, they cooked me tasty alternatives that were free of gluten and dairy. (There isn’t really a dairy-free substitute for cheesecake, but fortunately I’m also a fan of fresh fruit and berries.)

The one-hour meal slots provided a good opportunity to get to know our fellow conference-goers and chew on the material presented during the sessions. There was also about two hours of free time each evening before Compline. We enjoyed games, discussion, and fellowship each evening. Again, the strength of having a small group was getting to pick the brains of the presenters. Compared to worship conferences with over 1,000 attendees, you would never get that chance. At the end of the 4th day, most of the attendees were on a first-name basis with the others. This was totally unique to my experience.

Conclusion

Mountaintop experiences are important. I still count the worship conferences I’ve attended as high points in my journey towards heaven. But if we just attend these occasional worship events in order to achieve an emotional high, then the rest of our lives will feel like drudgery. It’s not about escapism. I think I’ll look back on this first Return to Wittenberg conference fondly, and I hope many more will follow. But the beauty of R2W is that it focused on the daily life of the Christian in a way that nothing else I’ve seen has done. It didn’t feel like an escape from the daily grind as much as it was a recharging station. Christians talk a lot about “relevance” these days, but I doubt many are looking for it in the catechism, or in the sacraments. But arguably there is nothing more relevant or necessary.

I think it's safe to say that Return to Wittenberg is going to stick around. Look for it again next summer, and tell your congregation. Anyone is welcome to come.

Judge It by Its Own Standard

If you had walked down the aisle of Holy Name of Jesus in Brooklyn just a few years ago, a peculiar sight would have greeted you in the chancel. Arranged in a semi-circle behind the altar was a grouping of seven post-like objects. The inside face of each object arched toward the altar, and terminated in a recessed light fixture at the top of the arc. The monolithic slabs of drywall gave the impression of a 1980s Stonehenge, if Stonehenge had been painted "Pepto-Bismal pink." The pillars were known to the parish as "the upside down hockey sticks."Aside from a solitary crucifix and plush red carpet, the rest of the church was white and bare.

If you’ve followed my Facebook page for the last couple of years, you’ll notice I’ve begun paying much closer attention to church renovation projects. Everyone loves a good makeover story. But as a liturgical artist, it interests me for a number of other reasons. First, because it shows how others of my trade have been putting their God-given gifts to use, and second, because the renewal projects often come as a result of bad architectural choices made in the past century.

And as much as the transformations interest me, I’m just as interested in the responses of people who categorically disapprove of such renovations—especially if the finished design smacks of historical architecture. As far as I can tell, these renewal projects are born from a desire to beautify an otherwise ugly or drab worship space (as opposed to “modernizing” one)—and many that I have seen appear to have succeeded. But nonetheless, you can find plenty of people consistently making the same defenses for bad architecture. This is what they often say:

“Like all churches, this one was just a product of its time. You have to judge it by its own standard.”

Okay, I get that you can’t judge everything by the same standard. A Ming Dynasty Chinese tapestry obviously can’t be judged by the same principles that created a marble sculpture during the Italian Renaissance. But they’ve taken a valid point and run so far with it as to make it utterly useless. If architectural aesthetic standards can’t even carry over from one decade to the next in the same geographical region, or even from one building to the next built in the same year, then there is no point in saying there is such a thing as a “standard.”

Besides, how convenient is it for an architect who makes ugly buildings that we cannot contrast their shortcomings with more beautiful buildings built at a different time? Terribly convenient. And this is why I have so little regard for the architecture that Modernism has pushed on our culture for almost a century. It may be a product of its time, but so is a landfill. Every work of Modernist art came with its own unwritten set of instructions as to how it should be judged. You can see how easy it would be for a long jumper to win the meet if he’s allowed to bring his own tape measure.

“It’s thoughtless and dishonest to go around applying a Gothic veneer to everything, in spite of the original style and intent.”

In this view, everything that isn’t created in a self-consciously “modern” style is viewed as backward looking and therefore unoriginal. It observes Christian architecture only through the lens of Modernism, which values originality above beauty. But judging a church to be unoriginal simply because it incorporates Gothic visual elements is inconsistent with the insistence that every work be judged by its own standard. If we were to actually do that, then a neo-Gothic church should really be judged as an excellent homage to the Gothic. It isn’t intended to make a statement of originality or modernity; it expresses continuity with the church of ages past—and the theology that inspired it.

So even though we could ostensibly avoid criticism by creating our own rules, I think we ought to steer clear of that viewpoint. For those who are “in the world, but not of it,” there is a better way. Christians have historically had standards of holiness, beauty, and excellence instead of the vapid, self-styled standards of Modernism. It isn’t valid to say that a high altar with Gothic pinnacles is somehow dishonest. The Gothic style has been absorbed into the visual culture of the church in the same way that pillars and arches have been absorbed into the repertoire of secular architecture. While I don’t advocate that we all build neo-Gothic churches, I can’t find fault with parishes that have done so in the past. In response to the ugliness of the Industrial Revolution (and later, Modernism), they withdrew to a perfectly valid and beautiful style in the repertoire of Christian architecture.

Now, there are certainly examples of church renovations that are regretful, at least for art historical reasons. It’s a shame that we’ll never know what the church of San Vitale looked like in its original, Byzantine glory, because gaudy frescos in the Rococo style replaced many of its mosaics. And we know that the more radical personalities of the Reformation did more harm than good with the systematic removal or destruction of artwork and the whitewashing of church walls. Not all changes were for the better. Holy Name of Jesus found that out the hard way. The church was originally built in the 1800s; someone had tried to “improve” on it in the 1980s with disastrous results.

But when the changes are made thoughtfully and for the right reasons, a great deal of good can result. Thankfully, the parishioners of Holy Name were so fed up with the pink hockey sticks that they decided to undergo a dramatic renewal of their worship space. With the leadership of a new priest, they hired a company that has an established track record of beautiful transformations in the tradition of the Christian church. The resulting space was truly a remarkable change.

Ad Orientem or Versus Populum?

Liturgical variety can be a wonderful thing. It is proof that Christians are not a homogenous body of cultists, but the wonderfully varied Body of Christ, expressing their faith in a spectrum of languages, cultures, and rites.

That isn't to say that all variety is welcome or desired. I think any Christian would accept that while variety can be good, it is necessary to strive for purposeful and meaningful variety. In worship, we don't usually do things arbitrarily or at random, because randomness cannot serve the purpose of the gospel—or any purpose.

During the WELS Worship Conference this summer, I had the opportunity to see one particular aspect of liturgical ritual put into practice. Though the altar was freestanding, the altarpiece that I designed for the Festival of Transfiguration made it impossible for the liturgist to stand behind the altar and face the congregation (versus populum). Apparently, not all parties involved were aware of that practical necessity until the night before, and I took some heat for it. But regardless, it was decided that the liturgist would have to do parts of the liturgy ad orientem (facing liturgical East), which has been almost universal church practice for centuries.

(Just to paint a clearer picture, the chapel at Carthage is a cruciform, central-plan church, with the four wings radiating out from the chancel area. The wing "behind" the chancel was occupied by the organ and an empty balcony, with the other three wings housing the congregation. The chancel was comprised only of a raised, square platform, and furnished with portable ambo, font, and altar.)

It isn't my intent to tell Christians that this is how the liturgy must be done, or that they should get rid of their freestanding altars and build high altars. But every action of the priest/pastor, every liturgical response, every symbol is a teaching opportunity. So I'm only advocating that we take the opportunity to ensure that the orientation of the pastor isn't an arbitrary decision (i.e., well, that's how it was always done in my church), but one with meaning.

For instance, this was the first time that I became acutely aware of how appropriate it was for prayers that are addressing Christ to be made facing the altar and Christ. The symbolism is somewhat fractured when you have portions of the congregation facing in opposite directions, but imagine a church with a longitudinal nave. The pastor faces in the same direction as the congregation, because it is their prayers he is carrying to Christ.

It is sometimes said that ad orientem should only be used in conjunction with a wall altar, and versus populum should only be used in conjunction with a freestanding altar. I would advocate neither. Lutherans have often taken up the practice of facing the altar during the sacrificial portions of the service (prayers, canticles) and facing the people during the sacramental portions (the absolution, the words of institution, Scripture readings, benediction). This can be done whether using a high altar or a freestanding one. Again, consider the appropriateness in context: the minister says, "In the stead and by the command of Christ, I forgive you all your sins, in the name of the Father, and of the Son + and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." He does this facing the congregation, but standing between the congregation and the altar, representing his role as mediator and vicar of Christ.

I think it is an unfortunate development in the post-Vatican-II environment that the pastor feels obligated to always stand behind a freestanding altar and speak the entire service towards the congregation. On non-Communion Sundays, the altar serves little more purpose than a podium or hymnal stand. On Communion Sundays, it gets promoted to table.

Although the freestanding altar is something of a late innovation in the Lutheran church, Luther is often cited as the source of this practice. He writes,

Here we retain the vestments, altar, candles until they are used up or we are pleased to make a change. But we do not oppose anyone who would do otherwise. In the true mass, however, of real Christians, the altar should not remain where it is, and the priest should always face the people as Christ doubtlessly did in the Last Supper. But let that await its own time (AE 53:69).

But the Lutheran church didn't take this opinion very seriously, it seems, because it retained wall altars and ad orientem as the norm in the intervening centuries. Perhaps it valued the symbolism of the priest facing the altar, or perhaps it thought that corporate worship in general should not strive to model itself after the informal meal atmosphere of the Last Supper. A third factor could have been that ministers in the Reformed churches spoke the Words of Institution versus populum with their backs to the elements, since they had no doctrine of the Real Presence. (Lutherans obviously would have wanted to distance themselves from those who didn't acknowledge the Real Presence.) But regardless, we can say without reservation that Luther was only human, and that his opinions were not meant to be made into rubrics, as Luther himself hints in the above quote.

Simply put, the Church's traditions are bigger than one person. Christ has given his members the freedom to make innovations to worship that are born from the gospel. Certain innovations have been weeded out over the centuries as being harmful and contrary to scripture (e.g. the agape meal, the Canon of the Mass). Others have been good, and our fellowship has kept them. Whatever your church practice is, I would only suggest that you strive for ritual that is meaningful. See that it communicates truthfully to your parishioners, and that they understand what is being done, and why. Finally, may Christ be glorified in all things! Amen.

The Liturgy as Soundtrack

Many of you probably don't know this about me, but I am a soundtrack lover. At some point in high school I was so moved by a John Williams score that I just had to own the soundtrack. From that point on, I have collected a moderate library of movie scores and soundtracks by some of the most prolific composers of our time—Ennio Morricone, Jerry Goldsmith, Michael Kamen, James Horner, and of course, John Williams. If you listen often enough to movie scores without the movie, it really improves your ear for musical story telling. I think it also makes you more consciously aware of that thing that most people think of as "background music," but which has an uncanny ability to manipulate your emotions and make you feel what the composer wants you to feel.

As much as I love good movie scores, and as much as I love Lutheran worship, I have no desire for the two to mix. Whenever the sphere of entertainment bleeds into the sphere of Christian worship, it subverts true worship. And I will be so bold as to say that it does so as a rule. The more we try to make worship like a night at the movies or a pop concert, the less our minds are drawn to Christ through Word and Sacrament. I've talked about contemporary Christian music before, but today, I am referring to something else. Specifically, I have in mind two liturgies from Northwestern Publishing House, published in the Christian Worship Supplement (CWS), called "Gathering Rite on Holy Baptism" and "Gathering Rite on the Word of God."

(On a side note: I have no clue what the historical significance of a gathering rite is, if indeed there is any. I have a hunch that it is a relatively recent product of Vatican II. Five bucks to the first person who can cite a source.)

I first experienced the gathering rites in Georgia, when our church was using the CWS quite often. (In fact, it seemed like we exclusively used liturgies from the Supplement, and never from the hymnal. My wife and I had to be very persistent with our pastor in order to get the Common Service back into the rotation.) The texts are quite good, and the hymn verses are appropriate. But musically, they are utter failures. If you have never been made to participate in the CWS gathering rites, count yourself lucky. I will try to recreate the experience for you.

Start by imagining that you are not in worship, but in a Hallmark movie, which happens to be set in a Lutheran church. (Alternatively, imagine you're in a WELS Connection video.) Instead of the pastor and the congregation reading and singing responsively, they are speaking over the top of choreographed music, which transitions into a hymn verse between each section of the response. The congregation awkwardly fades in, because the only one who knows when to start singing is the pastor—and only because he has rehearsed it dozens of times. But sometimes the pastor's timing will be a little slow in speaking the absolution, and then the MIDI player will have started the refrain already. The gathering rites completely frustrated a life-long Lutheran such as myself, and I can only imagine the total resignation of a first-time visitor.

Of course, what might have gone more smoothly with a live organist who can constantly adjust tempo and volume was sabotaged completely by a mindless computer. But that's another topic. The point is that even if there had been an organist and a pastor who had rehearsed the liturgy to perfection, and even if life was like a Rogers and Hammerstein musical where everyone knew exactly when to sing, you still have demoted the liturgy to the role of soundtrack. Now I'll explain why that's a bad thing.

First, the liturgy is designed to bear the texts of Scripture. It is not there just to sound beautiful, or to fill dead space with sound. If that was the case, we could just insert our favorite Bach CD and proceed as normal, with the confidence that our worship is being adorned with the best music mortal man has to offer. But problems always result from people thinking that music and the arts serve only a superficial purpose—that of pleasing the senses. Such an approach naturally causes confusion between worship that employs the arts, and entertainment, which also pleases the senses.

Second, someone who would plan for "quiet keyboard music" to be played while people are engaged in spoken liturgical responses has no real appreciation for the power and art of music. Luther wrote,

It was not without reason that the fathers and prophets wanted nothing else to be associated as closely with the Word of God as music. Therefore, we have so many hymns and Psalms where message and music join to move the listener's soul. ... After all, the gift of language combined with the gift of song was only given to man to let him know that he should praise God with both words and music, namely, by proclaiming [the Word of God] through music and by providing sweet melodies with words.¹

Music is just so much emotional sensation without the addition of human language in the form of song. So the composer of these gathering rites is not using music for the purpose God gifted it for—that of elevating the truths of scripture. Instead, he is striving for "ambiance," making it the musical equivalent of wallpaper.

Except that to call it musical wallpaper is being overly charitable. Because wallpaper can be pretty, or it can be distracting. But it could never so actively compete with the liturgy as does the musical accompaniment to the CWS gathering rites. Ask any film composer what he would do when there is important dialogue, and he'll say that the music has to get out of the way—there are plenty of other opportunities for a composer to show his skill. Experienced composers know that if the music is not supporting the dialogue by way of song, it is competing with it. But it is also common sense; two signals that are not in harmony result in noise. And when you have something as important as confession and absolution happening, it should not have to compete with anything.

For the above reasons, the CWS gathering rites do not show the high respect for music in general, and the liturgy in particular, that Luther showed for them. Their existence reflects little more than our synod's general infatuation with variety. "Variety to enhance a sense of the season" is touted as the first useful feature of a gathering rite in the WELS worship resources for Advent. The trouble with this intended use is that when you use a single, poorly-written rite for a whole season, say, Easter, or Lent, you'll never want to hear it again by the end. It seems that the authors of the above resources must have been aware of this, commenting that one particular gathering rite may not have a "life span" of more than a few years.²

Is there anyone who needs variety so badly that he must push these piecemeal soundtrack liturgies over on his congregation? (Put your hands down; it was a rhetorical question.)

The (potentially) good news is that the WELS is asking for input on its new hymnal. Polling the public for advice on hymnal-making could be disastrous, or it could be good. Or it could mean that the person currently in charge of the hymnal project isn't really sure how to go about it. I'm not sure, either. So I encourage you to go and submit to him good, sensible, biblical advice as to which hymns and liturgies to continue using, and which to avoid.

_______________

¹ LW 53:323-24, quoted in Carl F. Schalk, Luther on Music: Paradigms of Praise (St. Louis, MO: Concordia Publishing House, 1988), 37.
^{2 "}Gathering Preparation," WELS Connect (Oct. 24, 2011), https://connect.wels.net/AOM/ps/worship/Church%20Year%20Planning%20Documents/1%20Advent%20through%20New%20Year/Advent/Advent%20Gathering%20Rite%20-%20Browning/Gathering%20Preparation.rtf (accessed September 2, 2013).

The Importance of Being Vested

Photo: Travis Dove for The Boston Globe

This past Sunday, after a visit to the local Episcopal church, I made an observation. The pastor there was a woman, and true to Episcopal form, she was garbed in a black pant-suit and clerical collar. (The fact that there was a female pastor says volumes about their views on gender and Scripture, but since the case from 1 Timothy 2 is clear-cut, I do not wish to spend time on that here.) The thought that occurred to me—and maybe I am not the first to notice this—is that I have never seen a female priest, pastor, chaplain, or bishop that wasn't dressed in full liturgical vesture during the divine service. It doesn't seem to make a difference how liberal the theology or how far removed the worship practices are from tradition; you will still see women clad in albs, stoles, chasubles, and miters. To test whether my observation was too limited to make any broad statements about female clergy in general, I entered some half-dozen Google image searches for "female priest," "female bishop," "woman pastor," etc. I scanned perhaps thousands of images, and noticed only a very few that didn't follow this formula. While this isn't a substitute for empirical data, it at least lends more than anecdotal evidence to my observation.

So, speaking as a human being, I can't help but notice patterns. And I also can't help but ask why this particular pattern exists. In church bodies that place little value on tradition, and even less on Scripture, why is it that so many still adhere to the tradition of liturgical vesture? I think there is an easy answer to this. For starters, liturgical vesture is not just an empty tradition. It is one that has assumed a great deal of symbolism over the roughly 1,800 years that it has been in use. The various parts as a whole symbolize the special calling, responsibility, and authority that God has given to ordained preachers of the Word. It means, "I am acting by God's command and on his behalf." Even many liberal denominations recognize this, and female (so-called) clergy have donned liturgical vesture to give them the semblance of legitimacy and authority, when God has not granted it.

Pastor Ski at St. Peter, Freedom WI

My second question is that if pretend pastors can see the value in liturgical vesture, why are legitimate pastors having such a hard time seeing it? Something is not counterfeited unless it has practical value. While it seems that female clergy are almost universally vested, it is becoming more and more common in confessional Lutheran circles for male pastors to go unvested. And I'm not just talking about the black Geneva gown made popular by the Reformed tradition. I'm talking about people like this clown (left). Pastors Ski and Glende, who co-founded The CORE in Appleton, Wisconsin, explain that they "work to be students of the culture." The church's motto is "Real, relevant, and relational," which apparently means dressing like Larry the Cable Guy to deliver God's Word. Why would a pastor dress like this? I looked for answers in the visitor section of the church's website. In the section about what to wear to church, they seem to equate wearing nice clothes with pretending to be perfect.

As a matter of theological interest, you are perfect, in one sense, because of what Christ has done. And this is why pastors and priests have traditionally worn a white alb. Understood correctly, dressing up for church should not be equated with snobbery or self-righteousness. I gather that many Christians see it as an act of love for the God who has clothed them in his own righteous robe. And even though the goal of this post is not to discuss what laymen should wear to church, it seems that the pastors at The CORE and other pseudo-Lutheran churches see liturgical vesture as an extension of "dressing up." They unabashedly equate traditions with legalism and snobbery.¹ And since they consider anything regarding worship an external matter and therefore an adiaphoron, they give themselves license to discard whatever they dislike.

Now, for the time being, I will grant that it is an adiaphoron, although many Christians have a gross misconception about what exactly that means. But even though God did not command his New Testament messengers to wear liturgical vesture, there are still at least three very good reasons to do so:

1. It makes a lot of sense. Judges wear uniforms. Soldiers wear uniforms. Policemen wear uniforms.  Even though policemen regularly interact with ordinary citizens, they don't dress like regular blokes unless they are undercover. (I've never heard of an undercover pastor.) Every special office has its own uniform or dress code to distinguish its members from people of other offices, and to signify the special authority it wields. Pastors have a very special authority. A pastor is not just some schmuck off the street who feels especially spiritual. In confessional Lutheran circles, pastors go through 8 years of training; Greek and Hebrew, theology, hermeneutics, exegesis, etc. They have the very solemn responsibility of caring for souls and administering the Word and Sacraments. And they bring the prayers of their congregations before God. It makes every kind of sense that they distinguish themselves visually from the laymen of the congregation, especially during the divine service. The vesture that a priest, pastor, or bishop wears symbolizes his ordination, his special, God-given authority, and his submission to God's Word. But this new breed of Lutheran pastors is the polar opposite of the counterfeit female pastors; they want to exercise their pastoral duties and authority, but without any outward semblance of legitimacy or ordination. It's like a plainclothes cop wanting to arrest people without ever having to show his badge.


2. There is ample biblical precedent. Even though the Old Testament regulations do not apply to  the New Testament church, no detail recorded in Scripture was recorded in vain. Why did God command that the priests be so elaborately garbed in ceremonial clothing? I think that reason #1 above would certainly have been as valid then as now. It also reinforced the idea that the priests were coming before a holy God. They dared not "come as they are," because God cannot tolerate sin. Today, we have largely lost the idea that we are in the presence of God during worship. We don't call on God to come our party—He calls us to his house on his terms. That idea has not changed in NT worship. In fact, Jesus reinforced it (Mt 18:20). When the Jews expelled the early Christians from the synagogues and the Christians were forced to find their own places of worship, it was in keeping with both OT precedent and with doing all things in good order (1 Cor 14:40) for them to eventually adopt their own ecclesiastical garments.


3. God works through Christian traditions. Concerning traditions, Luther wrote, "We should not discard or alter what cannot be discarded or altered on clear Scriptural authority. God is wonderful in his works. What he does not will, he clearly witnesses to in Scripture. What is not so witnessed to there, we can accept as his work. We are guiltless and he will not mislead us."² No pastor who promises to uphold the Lutheran Confessions at his ordination or installation should dispose of liturgical vesture and other church traditions unless their observance becomes sinful in itself. The reason being is that the Apology to the Augsburg Confession, Article XV, upholds the use of traditions as good and useful for teaching the Christian faith and for contributing "to tranquility and good order." So long as they are not "required as necessary," they ought to be kept. To my knowledge, no Christian has ever claimed that observing proper liturgical vesture merited him the forgiveness of sins. But the Apology to the AC goes even further, citing traditions as a unifying force in Christendom: "In this very assembly we have sufficiently shown that, for the sake of love, we will reluctantly observe adiaphora with others, even if such things should prove to be somewhat burdensome. We judge that the greatest possible public concord ought to be preferred to all other interests."

I am sure that further arguments could be made, but I believe these points are sufficient to make a solid case for preserving the practice of wearing liturgical vesture. While there is no biblical law commanding its use, neither is there any good reason for throwing it off. And there are many good reasons for retaining its use in our churches.

_______________

¹ That is not an assumption; it came straight from Pastor Glende's mouth.
² Carl C. Christensen, Art and the Reformation in Germany (Athens, OH: Ohio University Press, 1979), 55.

"Hearts and Hands" Part III

Several days before the "Hearts and Hands of David" workshop, it was decided that a few of the workshops scheduled for two days would be reduced to one, for the sake of attendance. I was a bit wary of that, but it turned out to be a blessing—because instead of having 11 attendees, I had at least 22. Judging from the enthusiastic discussion and positive feedback, I think the presentation was a success. Certainly not because I'm a wonderful speaker or anything, but because it seemed to have gotten some gears turning. And that was the whole point. So I'll conclude today by attempting to do the same for my readers.

After digesting the opening sermon and keynote a little, I was able to verbally insert some relevant points into my lecture that were not included in the paper. With any discussion on worship, music, and art, I think it is important to include real-world applications and examples. It's one thing to agree with an abstract or theological statement; it's quite another to put it into practice in our own congregations. The following are some of my expanded thoughts on those "side notes" in the presentation.

I think there are abundant examples of people who have the "heart" to serve God, to create new places of worship and works of art, but they don't have the "hands," or the gifts, to create it themselves. But instead of finding someone from that third group, someone with both the "heart and hands," it often occurs that they find artists from the first group—those who have artistic gifts, but no particular desire to use them to God's glory or the edification of his Church. How can this be expected to work? How can we expect people who do not worship God to create something that will take into account the many facets of Christian theology and worship?

Sometimes, despite the contradiction, this can produce desirable results—but only if the church's building committee is well-informed, has a good idea of what they want, and holds its ground in matters of theological symbolism, tradition, aesthetics, function, etc. There are a few examples of this. For instance, Faith Lutheran Church (WELS) in Antioch, IL, built a beautiful structure that, while modern, reflects a strong level of involvement by the theologians, musicians, and informed laymen (see below). Martin Luther College's Chapel of the Christ is another great example. Both of these worship spaces feature a triptych, oddly enough. And they are both undeniably beautiful, superbly functional, deeply symbolic, traditional, and yet modern worship spaces.

Source: www.faithantioch.org

So while it is possible to achieve good results with this approach, I think it will always be an uphill battle. But I most often see cases where the battle was resigned before it began. In other words, the "vision" of the architect or the artist took priority over considerations of tradition, symbolism, aesthetics, and function. I can think of dozens of examples. But one that sticks out in my mind, and is probably familiar to many members of the WELS, is St. Croix Lutheran High School's chapel (see below). It's a clear example of an artist or team of architects using the worship space as a billboard for their artistic ingenuity, originality, and expression.

Source: www.stcroixlutheranhs.org

It dispenses with every single artistic convention of nearly 2,000 years of church history. Even the familiar latin cross is replaced by the "tau" cross—reportedly in order to "draw attention." I wonder if they realized that the "tau" was only used because displaying the sign of the cross would draw unwanted attention from those who were hunting Christians. That is to say, they created an oxymoron. The chapel is designed in the round, with the altar in the center (which sounds like a good idea to anyone who has never tried it). I think the chapel is also an example of architects taking advantage of Christians who desire sincere symbolism in their churches. For instance, the exposed girders in the chapel ceiling were described as representing the framework of the body of Christ. It seems that many Christians feel that since they aren't artists, they have to quietly go along with things that seem strange or even ridiculous to their sensibilities—for instance, bogus symbolism. (F.Y.I. Girders are always girders, and it's okay to call their bluff.)

This is the difficult thing. Christians are hesitant to cause offense, especially in matters we consider to be adiaphora. But sometimes it cannot be avoided. We are not doing ourselves any favors when we compromise our values of excellence in worship for the sake of being polite. Someone has to say that the Emperor is naked.

Art of the past century has indoctrinated us to believe two things: 1) that art is subjective, and 2) that "real" art is too deep for anyone but the "elite" to understand. We are supposed to stand in awe of Jackson Pollack because the artistic elite in the 1950s thought his "action painting" was only the culmination of five millennia of art history. And so our laymen are tricked into going along with this or that architectural plan, mosaic mural, or zen rock garden because 1) art is subjective anyway, and 2) what do we laymen really know about art?

Until people start to listen to their gut—their consciences, even—and object to this silliness, it will continue to find its way into our churches. You have every right and responsibility to speak out, because: 1) art for worship is not subjective. It is as objective as art can be. It submits itself to the Word of God, to the gospel, to the sensibilities of faithful Christians, and to the wisdom of the historical Christian Church. 2) Art for worship is not elitist. It must be as universal as art can be. It must be readily accessible to laymen. It submits itself to the clear communication of the gospel message.

These are objective measuring rods. If the art in our churches does not measure up, we must seek to replace it with "whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable...excellent or praiseworthy," and to look upon such things. There are Lutheran artists and architects who have a heart to worship God and the gifts to create excellent and worshipful art. Seek them out, and the Church will benefit from it.

"Hearts and Hands" Part II

(Continued from Part I) The opening service took place in the college chapel, was led by Koiné, and consisted of several hymns appropriately substituted for the parts of the liturgy. The sermon, by Pastor Mike Novotny, was based on several excerpts from the life of David (1 & 2 Samuel), and explained how the theme "Hearts and Hands of David" applied to the goals of the workshop.

The premise of the sermon was that there are three classifications of people in the world. The first group is comprised of people who have "hands"—that is, talent—but who use their talents only for personal gain. Countless gifted businessmen, artists, musicians, and actors use their talents to amass wealth and fame. The second group is comprised of people who have "heart"—that is, a desire to serve their Lord—but God has not seen fit to bless them with artistic talent. The third group is exemplified by King David. David was a "man after the Lord's own heart." He was blessed not only with musical talent, military prowess, and numerous other gifts, but he had a fervent desire to use his gifts to God's glory. The application of this lesson was that people who find themselves in the first group should strive to be in the third—to use their talents in the building up of God's Church and to God's glory. Those who find themselves in the second group should in every way possible support and encourage those in the third group.

The opening service was followed by the keynote address by Pastor Aaron Christie. During the presentation, he allowed for several group discussion sessions (which I thought were appropriate), but these ran long and, unfortunately, shortened Pastor Christie's comments. But to give you the gist of it, I've paraphrased some of his key points here:

1. Modern consumerist culture equates "what I like" with "what is good." In the Church, however, questions of taste are virtually irrelevant. We concern ourselves instead with excellence.
2. The discussion of contemporary music in worship did not begin when rock and roll was invented. This is an old question, and the solution is not a musical (or artistic) one.
3. The texts of worship—not musical styles—are of primary concern. The gospel of Christ should predominate our worship.
4. Let the congregation participate. Worship, unlike entertainment, is not a spectator sport. Don't force music that was written for a soloist into a participatory idiom.
5. Let the experience of the church be honored. The worship of the historical church did not come about arbitrarily, but with careful consideration, much God-given ability, artful application, and love for God.

At this early point in the workshop, I was incredibly encouraged. I would describe myself as somewhat resistant to contemporary worship. I love the old Lutheran hymns, and I see most contemporary worship groups as an attempt to discard with traditional hymns and worship styles. But "Hearts and Hands" proved to be a genuine attempt to take the modern into the traditional, rather than to replace the latter with the former.

Unfortunately, if the opening service and keynote address presented an entirely genuine, balanced, and scriptural approach to the arts in worship, portions of the workshop that followed failed to live up to that standard. In the following day and a half, there were several bands that led worship with very egocentric, musically trite, praise music. With the exception of Koiné, very little was fitting for congregational singing. And worst of all, one of the pastor's sermons encouraged unabashed consumerism with the themes, "I love this church" and "What's on the menu?" To top it all off, he used Acts 15 to imply that adhering to traditional worship and customs amounts to sinful legalism. I could sense that many attendees, myself included, were offended and even disgusted.

A gross misunderstanding of worship, coupled with Christian freedom untempered by Christian love, creates a dangerous environment—one in which I am convinced God-pleasing worship cannot survive. While the workshop got off to a wonderful start, set godly goals for itself, and featured some excellent speakers, there were a number of people there whose obvious intent was to "gather around them a great number of teachers to say what their itching ears want to hear" (2 Timothy 4:3). It perhaps seems judgmental of me to say that, but I do know this: 1) Satan is hard at work within the church, 2) some of the most outspoken supporters of contemporary worship were also the least knowledgable about worship, and 3) the same people showed little regard for legitimate concerns raised by other attendees or their own members.

There is a lot of work to do, folks. I am primarily addressing laymen, because an informed and active laity is worth its weight in gold. It's hard to say whether this all-out push towards contemporary worship is coming from the laity or the clergy. I suspect the latter. But just because we (i.e., laymen) do not wear frocks does not mean that we cannot read the scriptures and make informed decisions about music, worship, and art. Lutheranism is wonderfully democratic in that way; God's Word is the ultimate authority—not the church.

I hate to end on a downer. But the workshop was overall a positive experience, and I will conclude my review tomorrow.

"Hearts and Hands" Part I

This summer I was invited to speak at a worship arts conference at Wisconsin Lutheran College, entitled "Hearts and Hands of David." They asked if I would give two sessions of a 75-minute presentation, and the topic they left open to me (as long as it had something to do with the visual arts and worship). I was very honored to accept this invitation, and began by researching my intended audience.

The workshop was co-hosted by Koiné, a Lutheran music group that seeks to put strong and beloved hymns to contemporary instrumentation. So when I looked up the web page for the workshop, I began having second thoughts. There were break-out sessions for guitarists, bassists, drummers, vocalists, etc., and I feared I had just agreed to present at a "How to praise God with your electric guitar" workshop. (Thankfully, that turned out not to be the case.)

When I asked myself what it was that I most wanted people to learn about the arts in worship, I knew that the focus needed to be on the "worship" aspect. An improper theological understanding of worship serves as a flimsy foundation, regardless of what you build on it. Worship that is self-centered will naturally produce self-centered artwork. We've seen it all before. A simple web search of "worship art" returns scores of images of people with upraised hands, hands folded in prayer, etc. The fact is that many Christians believe that worship is an act that is performed for God.

I entitled my presentation: Vehicles of the Gospel: The Visual Arts in Lutheran Worship (feel free to read, download, and distribute). In the first part of the paper, I examined what worship is from a biblical perspective. I cited examples of worship and discussed the sacramental focus of worship in Old and New Testament. Every song recorded in the Bible declares the works of God, from the song of Miriam at the Red Sea to the song of the redeemed in heaven. There is no such thing as "empty praise." If a song does not declare God's salvation for us, it is not praise! In addition to proclaiming his gospel through song, God fills our worship with his life-giving gifts: the forgiveness of sins, Word, and sacrament.

The presentation continued with the theological distinction between personal worship (Christian living) and public (corporate) worship. What may be appropriate and worshipful in the former may be distracting and even harmful in the latter. I then discussed Luther's evolving view on the arts, and how that affected artistic practice in the early Protestantism. While some reformers were radically iconoclastic, it is noteworthy that Luther (eventually) sanctioned the artistic tradition as a vehicle through which the gospel could be proclaimed. He argued that it should therefore not be discarded, despite its abuses in the church. There are many examples of art that was very "Catholic" in flavor, but was retained in churches that had adopted Lutheranism. (See photo: "The Annunciation" in St. Lorenz Church, Nuremberg. Note the large rosary beads hanging from the circumference of this near-life-size wooden sculpture.)

(source: wikipedia)

The presentation continued with a brief outline of art history from the sixteenth century to the twentieth. There are countless factors that probably contributed to the decline of artwork in the church, but certainly one of the most important was Modernism. It embraced church art and architecture as a means of self-expression and of meditation on transcendence. It emphasized newness and altogether despised and discarded tradition. Christian artists who were trained in the Modernist aesthetic apparently did not sense the oxymoron in the notion of self-expression in liturgical art. If Christ or the gospel message appears at all in Modernist and Postmodernist worship art, it is usually forced to compete with the artist's emotions or stylization for our attention. (I'll give you one guess as to which one usually wins out.)

(source: liturgicalartblog)

My next post will continue with a discussion of the "Hearts and Hands of David" workshop.

Thesis: Visual Component

Here's what I've been working on for the past two or three weeks. These drawings were part of the visual component of my thesis, and were displayed at our Illustration thesis exhibit on March 4th. They are studies for the proposed Risen Savior Triptych.

11 x 14 pencil on bristol, 2011

24 x 17" charcoal on Arches cold press, 2011

8 x 6" watercolor on Arches cold press, 2011

11 x 8" digital, 2011

MFA Thesis Proposal

Beyond being an illustrator, I aspire to be a liturgical artist. The world that the contemporary Christian artist faces is one that is still reeling from the iconoclastic effects of Modernism. It generally believes that adhering to tradition is destructive to artistic innovation. This thesis will be an investigation into the various historical instances of iconoclasm in the church, the roles that tradition and innovation play in art for worship, and how these ideals can be positively applied to the present situation. The final part of the thesis, however, will be to propose, plan, design, and pitch an altar painting to the congregation of an actual church. This will put into practical effect all of the key issues dealt with in the thesis.

Apprenticeship

I began my first day as an intern/apprentice with artist James Langley (website) today. He is in the planning stages for a commissioned project on the stations of the cross. I'll probably be doing a lot of go-getting and cutting and preparing panels, but hopefully a lot of learning as well. I'm excited and very honored to be working with such a gifted artist—and especially one who shares a love and appreciation for spiritual artwork.