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‘Liturgy’ usually refers to those words that accompany the time that an assembly of Christians meet to worship God. But it is not only words that define this time. Architecture, art and music are also present in this event. For this reason we can think of church architecture, art and music as liturgical. If we were to think of these aspects of worship diagrammatically, they should form a Ven diagram in which words, architecture, music and art coincide.
My own life in the church is as a Western Protestant (Uniting Church in Australia) and as an icon artist in the Eastern Orthodox traditions.
As a student of liturgy, I am influenced by the story of the vision of Isaiah.
In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of his robe filled the temple. 2 Seraphs were in attendance above him; each had six wings: with two they covered their faces, and with two they covered their feet, and with two they flew. 3 And one called to another and said: “Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory.” 4 The pivots on the thresholds shook at the voices of those who called, and the house filled with smoke. 5 And I said: “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts!” 6 Then one of the seraphs flew to me, holding a live coal that had been taken from the altar with a pair of tongs. 7 The seraph touched my mouth with it and said: “Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out.” 8 Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I; send me! (Isaiah 6:1-8)
Here the prophet finds himself in a heavenly temple in the presence of God, enthroned, robed gloriously and attended by angels who sing God’s praises. In the presence of this divine holiness, Isaiah is aware of his sinfulness and the ministrations of angels absolve him. God speaks and asks who will speak his word on earth. The prophet commits himself to this task.
This is a pattern for liturgies across many traditions of the church. Worship begins with the people assembling in a holy place and praises are sung. Confession and absolution follow before the Scriptures, the word of God, are read and expounded. In this sense the people are fed by word, then by the sacrament of the Eucharist in which we hear an echo of the angels’ song of praise in Isaiah chapter 6. Holy, holy, holy Lord, God of power and might, heaven and earth are full of your glory. Hosanna in the highest.
The response to all this is a commitment by the people to be in God’s mission in the world. We depart forgiven, fed and blessed.
Not all the liturgical elements share common characteristics. For example, the words and music in liturgy have a time element unlike that of architecture and art. The words and music begin and end within a relatively short period of time. When the words and music end the architecture and art continue in the space after the worshipers venture into the world. They stay in place awaiting our return.
On our return we find in the architecture and art many of the elements of Isaiah’s vision. The building is spacious – high and lofty and awe inspiring. The space provides a special acoustic transformation for the music. In the images angels attend Christ and the saints. The assembled congregation finds itself in a foretaste of Isaiah’s vision of the divine throne room. This may be more obvious in the icons of Eastern Orthodox churches, but it is also true of many Western churches in their stained-glass windows.
In a Ven diagram of the different languages of liturgy, what can we expect to find a space formed by their overlapping characteristics? Each is a human construct claimed to be inspired by the Holy Spirit. Each is perceived by human senses of touch, sight, hearing, taste, smell. Each aspires to draw the divine close to our human experience. In Celtic spirituality they could be described as making a thin place between heaven and earth. These creative languages seek to create a numinous place, a space filled with awe and wonder.
I am nervous about analysing liturgy. It is like a joke. When we analyse humour, we have stopped laughing. When we find ourselves assessing the quality of a worship event, we can close ourselves to being met by God.
When I was learning lead-lighting I noticed that whereas before, when I looked at stained glass work, I looked at the glass. As a learner of the craft, I found that I was looking at the lead. Rather than appreciating the art of the artist I was assessing the glass cutting and lead soldering skills.
The musicologist, Karl Haas, advised his music students to attend a concert twice; once with a copy of the score in hand to study the performance, another time without the score in order to be engulfed by the music. This advice encourages me that there is a place for analysing worship and assessing the quality of the various elements of liturgy. Nevertheless, be open to the Holy Spirit’s power to bestow God’s blessing through our faulty words and singing, our decaying architecture and fading images, and our sinful nature that wants to judge things over which only God is judge.
Indeed, we are in danger of allowing our liturgical languages to become objects of veneration. Like tourists standing in awe in a gothic cathedral marvelling at the engineering and the craftsmen’s skill, or concert patrons giving a standing ovation to musicians who have interpreted the music of a renowned composer, worshippers may be more enamoured of the space, or the sound created by human ingenuity than of God to whom worship truly belongs.
Builders and composers have been mindful of the problem that their art and skill intended to support liturgy can distract from liturgy’s intention – to worship God. It is very common to see carved as the first words on a church’s foundation stone the words, “To the glory of God this stone was laid by…”. On the music manuscripts of musicians including Handel and JS Bach can be seen the letters ‘SDG’, a shorthand for Soli Dei Gloria (to the glory of God alone).
In Christian art the Iconoclastic Period could be attributed in part to the problem of the admiration of human objects replacing devotion to the divine. The golden calf founded in the Exodus story epitomises the issue. Moses smashed the tablets of stone containing the commandments of God when he learned of the making of an image to replace God.
But we do have art to support our liturgy, and we can return to St John of Damascus (died December 4, 749) to hear again how he argued for the place of icons in the life of the church.
I have seen God in human form, and my soul was saved… In former times God, who is without form or body, could never be depicted. But now when God is seen in the flesh conversing with humans, I make an image of the god whom I see. I do not worship matter; I worship the Creator of matter who became matter for my sake, who willed to take his abode in matter; who worked out my salvation through matter.
It is inevitable that our languages of liturgy fall short of providing everything needed to unite us to God. A gothic spire points to heaven in the hope we lift our eyes. Beautiful music cannot even imitate the celestial choirs. Even the bread and wine of the holy Eucharist is a foretaste only of the heavenly banquet. Nevertheless, in his gracious love for humanity, God, who came and is coming in His Son Jesus, by the power of the Holy Spirit, God comes again to us in the liturgies of the church.
Peter Blackwood – Easter Time 2025
