ViaMedia

Category: Prayer

  • Liturgical Business? Canon B2, the Calendar, and Prayers of Love and Faith

    Sammi Tooze is a member of General Synod, a member of the Liturgical Commission, and the diocesan contact for Together in York Diocese

    When General Synod meets later this week, we find ourselves dipping into the canonical waters of Liturgical Business. This will be the first piece of formal Liturgical Business many of us will have participated in, as it’s the first occasion this Quinquennium that it’s found itself on our agenda. The proposal before Synod will be to add two entries to our Common Worship Calendar: a Festival of God the Creator and a Commemoration of the Twenty-One Martyrs of Libya.

    But why the Calendar, and why only two additions? One of the treasures of our Calendar is the framework it offers us for spiritual journeying, a pilgrimage of heart and mind through the spiral of the liturgical year. As we follow the cycle, we encounter God and God’s story, and are changed by it. In the Calendar, we also encounter the stories of saints – days intentionally set aside to remember holy people who have gone before us in faith. On their appointed days, we not only recall their names but reflect on how their journey of faith, in all its joys and challenges and messiness, inspires and shapes our own lived-faith today.

    So who decides which holy people appear in our Calendar? Roughly every ten years, the House of Bishops requests that the Liturgical Commission reviews and revises the Calendar. It is widely recognised that at this point in time, the Calendar is ready for revision, in part to review gender and racial balance, but also to discern any people who have departed this life long enough to now be considered. In order to be included in the Calendar, a person must have died at least 50 years previously – unless they are a martyr – which is why people like Florence Li Tim-Oi, Desmond Tutu and the late Queen are unable to be considered under the current rules. Having said that, the guidance issued in February 2025 under GS Misc 1409 reminds us of the flexibility we have with local commemorations, offering opportunity for each of us to integrate people such as these locally to enrich the spiritual lives of our communities.

    Back to July’s Synod. GS 2408 notes that

    The Commission resolved in May 2023 that … preparatory work is undertaken to enable a substantial revision of the Common Worship Calendar in the next synodical quinquennium

    and:

    Another part of this preparatory work for a more in-depth revision of the Calendar is the current ‘pilot’ item of liturgical business … This item will reintroduce Synod to the procedures of liturgical business after a period of ten years, which will be in itself a helpful learning exercise.

    Why is this a “learning exercise”? Because, ever since the Common Worship Calendar was created as an alternative to the Calendar in the Book of Common Prayer, any revision must be done as Liturgical Business under Canon B2. This Canon is used for any liturgical material created where an alternative provision already exists, and the current Synod has not been exposed to such a situation.

    And it’s this which is the key distinguishing point between what we will be doing with the revision of the Calendar, and the Prayers of Love and Faith (PLF). In the case of the PLF, this is a new resource, created specifically because no alternative material exists. It therefore doesn’t need to go through a B2 process in the same way as the Calendar, simply because it is not being offered as an alternative to existing liturgical material. There simply aren’t existing worship materials to which the PLF are an ‘alternative’.

    In the early stages of developing the PLF, there were many canonical routes presented as options to either ‘authorise’, ‘commend’ or ‘approve’ the PLF material. It was concluded that the House of Bishops would commend the material under Canon B5, initially to be used within existing regular acts of worship. So, when the House of Bishops commended this material for use across the Church of England, this was a clear statement that they do not present us with a departure from Doctrine.

    The use of B5 rather than B2 is important, because under a B5 process there is no requirement for a two-thirds majority vote in the three Houses of Synod. To amend the Common Worship Calendar, B2 is needed, and so we need those majorities and therefore that full synodical process of Liturgical Business.

    Synod has voted for the PLF also to be used in ‘bespoke’ or ‘standalone’ services – in fact, the suggestion of bespoke services was made after the original LLF vote took place, at a point when Synod was of the understanding that this vote would enable the resources to be used in their entirety. One objection being raised is whether a bespoke service may ‘look’ more like a wedding. Would that make it be a departure from Doctrine, requiring a B2 process and thus a two-thirds majority vote in all three Houses? It is worth reminding ourselves of one key thing here. Neither the existing commended PLF resources, nor the proposed bespoke services, have any rubrics relating to these aesthetics – what people ought to wear, who to invite, how the church may be decorated, whether bells are rung or flowers held. This means that the suggestion that a bespoke service may ‘look’ different to a regular act of worship incorporating PLF is difficult to understand as a reasoned argument, as even in a regular act of worship a couple may invite friends to celebrate with them, and may choose to dress in a certain way. And, of course, the prayers themselves are just the same; the material for a bespoke service simply offers a structure by which the already commended material can be used. Theologically these blessings are the same; it’s just that one is pre-timetabled, and the other isn’t. In itself, a bespoke service does not suggest anything more of a departure from doctrine than does a regular service where the PLF are used.

    With this in mind, with the material already commended demonstrating that it is not a departure from Doctrine, we can be confident too that bespoke services will meet the same requirements. So, noting that they are not offering an alternative to an existing resource, we do not need to use precious synodical time and resource to put them through a Canon B2 process. Synod has voted for the PLF to be used in ‘bespoke’ services too, and they can continue to be offered under Canon B5 as commended material by the House of Bishops.

     

     

     

  • Persona non grata: an Unwelcoming Encounter at All Souls, Langham Place

    by Anon.

    Today, at lunchtime, I embarked on a short walk to All Souls, Langham Place, with the hopeful intention of attending their 12:00 service—a Commissioning of Overseers for alternative spiritual oversight within the Church of England, followed by a light lunch.

    Unfortunately, what awaited me was not the spiritual solace I had expected but rather an unanticipated and disappointing encounter. As I stepped through the church’s historic doors, I was abruptly informed that my name was not on the list, making me ineligible to join the service. To make matters even more depressing, the staff turned cold and unwelcoming.

    This unexpected denial left me deeply disappointed. All Souls had effectively deemed me persona non grata.

    Today’s incident shows a definitive shutting of the doors to listening to one another by the Conservative Evangelical faction, which is sad, especially when it even extends to random Anglicans and passers-by. It highlights not only a rather sorry state of ecclesial affairs more broadly but, more importantly, a concerning aspect of CEEC’s modus operandi. I struggle to see it in any other way than as building a fortress within the Church of England. No analogy comes to mind other than that resembling a Trojan Horse.

    As a faithful Anglican, I was eager to gain first-hand experience of their service. Although I do not agree with the conservative evangelical position in relation to the LLF debate, we are members of the same church, and what better way to express my commitment to staying together, despite our differences, than by attending their service and being with my fellow Anglicans?

    The organisers’ decision to restrict access based on an invitation list seems antithetical to the inclusive and welcoming spirit that should characterise a place of worship, especially one within the Church of England. It is hard to see how this is not, in addition, illegal. If anything can be said about the Church of England’s policies based on today’s encounter, it is that they are far from universally applied, and CEEC seems to follow its own rules, not ones to which I am accustomed.

    This raises important questions about the nature of hospitality and openness within the ‘conservative’ circles. While logistical concerns and safety protocols may necessitate certain measures, it is crucial that they do not alienate or exclude those genuinely seeking engagement and spiritual connection, within the boundaries of respect and consideration for all attendees. But I struggle to see how I could offend anyone by simply being there and praying together? Unless, of course, my very being is deemed offensive.

    As I reflect on this experience, I hope that CEEC, along with their overseers (listed here, with some of them also having been on the panel to select them) whom I did not get a chance to congratulate, take a closer look at their approach to inclusivity, and that the Bishops of the Church of England will step up to protect and preserve the Church.

    May the doors of our church be wide enough to welcome all who need love and friendship.

    May its threshold be no stumbling block to young or old.

    May this church be, for all who enter, the doorway to Your eternal kingdom.

    Such is the Church of England, my spiritual home, and it is such an understanding of our unity and ecclesiology that I will fight to preserve.

    Your faithful sibling in Christ.

  • An Introduction to God as Child

    by Graham Adams, Tutor in Mission Studies, World Christianity and Religious Diversity at Luther King Centre for Theology and Ministry, in Manchester

    To enter God’s alternative kingdom (a realm where the world is turned upside-down), Jesus tells us to ‘become like little children’. I wonder whether this is not only because the realm itself has a childlike quality to it, but because the one who shapes it also does. But despite increasing appreciation of the need for a variety of metaphors to reflect the fullness of God’s mystery, most of our metaphors remain essentially adult (father, mother, parent, judge, king, midwife, etc). Perhaps we are so conditioned by the prevailing power of ‘adultness’, along with the other ways in which ideologies become idols, that our childlike imagination has been constrained.

    In my new book, God the Child, I am therefore not searching for a cute or innocent vision of God, as though to focus on Jesus’ early years. Nor is it about replacing all adult metaphors, but adding to them, and in some respects destabilising them. Its primary purpose is to ask what happens when we give focused attention to childlike metaphors – and how this can shape our sense of the world, both the world as it is and the world as it might become.

    In particular, it examines the questions of God’s omnipresence, omnipotence and omniscience, in order to draw out different childlike emphases – namely, the smallness of a child’s hand, present in and receptive to all belittled experiences and overlooked potential; the seeming weakness of a chaos-event, which nevertheless initiates disproportionate change, messing with the rules of our adult games in pursuit of deeper justice; and the curiosity of the horizon-seeker, empathetically yearning for greater understanding of diverse experience, making friends across borders, and encouraging us to do the same.

    So here, for instance, I affirm divine smallness –

    God is small. Small enough to be in the spaces which we neglect. The spaces we forget. The cracks. The hollows. The hideaways. Where broken toys are lost. Where the little can squeeze, either for some sense of safety, or because the giants have backed them into a corner. God is small enough to be in the margins, places of shame which are vast yet overlooked, or sites of new beginnings, ridiculous in their insignificance, but from where surprises and transformations emerge or burst, or resurrect…

    Here we greet, or are greeted by, God the Child: small enough to give value to every instance of brokenness and every site of recreation, in their very unnoticed-ness.

                  (God the Child pp.28, 31)

    Paying attention to ‘sites of smallness’ can help us not to romanticise childness; not to ignore the many real struggles of children’s experience, such as abuse, neglect, hunger, violence, lack of agency, and so on – and similarly, not to ignore adults’ pain with regards to childness: child loss, pregnancy loss, childlessness, memories of childhood traumas and so forth. God the Child, in a sense inarticulate in the face of such anguish, offers a different kind of solidarity in the midst of what might be overlooked. At the same time, I acknowledge that I am selecting certain traits – much as we select certain traits for our vision of divine adultness – and giving them a positive meaning. Of course, ‘chaos’ is not always creative or constructive – it pulls down and overthrows, just as the child Jeremiah was commissioned, in addition to building and planting – so I recognise that these ideas can be experienced in different ways. But so can our adult metaphors.

    It was also important that, in addition to the adult prose of a theology book, some of it should be expressed more playfully, creatively and poetically. Ultimately, though, I think I’m not only striving for a rediscovery of our own childlike imagination, but seeking to uncover something of God’s childlike imagination – again, this is not to romanticise it, as though to overlook the struggles of real children or any who are belittled, but to understand that such imagination does two things. God’s childlikeness not only faces the world as it is – what I call ‘the colonial matrix of adult power’, which ‘schools’ us, or conditions us, into accepting prevailing norms and patterns as inevitable – but also dares us to envisage the world as it might become. This is aided by other liberative theologies which stretch and enrich it – like Black theology, disability theology, and queer theologies. They help to expand on the location of God the Child, in solidarity with all who are belittled; the agency of God the Child, struggling against systems which disable it; and the transgressiveness of God the Child, moving across borders.

    These possibilities are gathered together in this re-working of a familiar prayer –

    God, our heavenly Child,

    May you be praised in all creation!

    May your imaginative scribbles of a new world come into being,

    May your dreams and visions be fulfilled on earth.

    May we give and receive, inspired by your open hand, until everyone has what they need.

    May we change our minds, learn and forgive, as you show us how to let go.

    May you fly a kite that guides us, caught up in the breath of hope, towards better horizons.

    May you show us how to rage against what is unfair and cruel, until these things crumble.

    For your chaos-power, your glorious imagination, and your wonder-full dream of new creation fill us with hope and determination,

    Now and always, Amen

    (God the Child, p.122)

  • Bodies at Prayer

    by Dr Karen O’Donnell, Director of Studies at Westcott House Cambridge where she teaches Worship and Liturgy. She also teaches Gender and Christian Theology for the Divinity Faculty, University of Cambridge. She has published widely in trauma and feminist theologies.

    As I’m writing this, I’m recovering from surgery on my spine to relieve a herniated disc that has been causing me serious problems for the last year or so. I’m conscious of my body in ways that are not usual to me; of the slight ache at the bottom of my back and that I’ll need to get up and stretch soon. I’m also conscious of the way in which this relatively minor injury has impacted my ability to pray. Just before Easter, as term was coming to an end, I entered Westcott’s chapel toward the end of a day for Evening Prayer. It’s a ritual I enjoy as it marks the end of my working day and helps me transition into the evening with my family. On this particular evening, my back was really painful. I hobbled down to the chapel and sat down in my usual seat. This evening, however, I found that I just couldn’t sit on the hard pew. I couldn’t stand for any length of time and I couldn’t sit down either. My body was in too much pain to pray.

    It is at times like this that we notice the place of our bodies at prayer: when they struggle to conform to our expectations, or when they are in pain. The rest of the time, we’re quite good at ignoring our bodies when we pray. Unlike our Muslim sisters and brothers, we do not have a set pattern of bodily movements to engage in when we pray. It is easy for prayer to become a cerebral thing –something that happens in our heads. Our bodies are (or can seem to be, at least!) largely superfluous.

    This isn’t new and is, I argue, a long-lasting result of the influence of Greek philosophy in the early church. The brilliant Hillary McBride charts the development of this thought in Christianity like this:

    We did not find our way to a disembodied existence on our own: we had millennia of help. Western philosophy and Gnostic religious thought influenced a popular line of thinking that goes something like this: The soul and the mind are distinct from the body (that’s Plato). The mind is where the truth is, but the body has needs, desires, and limitations (that’s Descartes, and some translations of the apostle Paul). Around the same time as Descartes lived, the Christian Reformation happened, which emphasized our mind’s ability to grasp the who and what of God: feminist and liberation theologians have written that this put the body in the straitjacket. (1)

    The result of this understanding of the body is that the body has been feared and distrusted and it is something that many spiritual seekers across the centuries have felt they have to transcend and subdue in order to make spiritual progress. When we bring our bodies to worship it is often as a problem that needs to be solved – a body that needs to be healed, a body that has accessibility requirements, a body that is in some way different to the other bodies around it. What might it mean to come into prayer recognising that we are our bodies, our bodies are not neutral, and that our bodies are not problems that need to be solved before we can really pray?

    In his new book, A Body of Praise: Understanding the Role of our Physical Bodies in Worship, W. David O. Taylor takes these questions seriously as he explores the ways in which our physical bodies engage in worship (2).  Christian liturgy – corporate, public acts of worship – is disposed to engaging the body. Not only does liturgy require our bodies in order to engage with worship (indeed, our bodies are the entrances into worship and sacrament), but Christian liturgy has great opportunity for embodied engagement.

    I used to be part of a very charismatic evangelical church and, as a youth leader, would regularly attend youth camps/festivals that included highly produced times of worship – a large rock band, lights, images, projections – all of which were, at times, accused of being manipulative. Perhaps these components were, but more traditional aspects of Christian worship do similar things. Yes, material things like incense, flowers, candles, art, architecture, the sharing of the Peace, participation in the Eucharist all have richly symbolic theological meanings but they also serve to make our worship distinctly sensory. Our senses are deeply connected to our memories, meaning that the way in which we encounter worship in our bodies can be profound. In our olfactory senses, for example, “odors take a direct route to the limbic system, including the amygdala and the hippocampus, the regions related to emotion and memory” (3).  The smell of incense, for me, is the smell of the divine.

    In a culture that has a curious relationship to bodies, sometimes acting as if completely disembodied, sometimes treating the body as something to be subdued and tamed, sometimes celebrating bodies, sometimes ignoring them completely, it is important that our spiritual encounters – both individual and corporate – attend positively to our bodies. It is important that we remember that it is only through our bodies that we encounter and come into relationship with God. It is through our bodies that we enter into prayer and liturgy. It’s not manipulative to engage the senses in worship but rather a mode of curating embodied encounter with God. It is important in our worshipping lives that we don’t replicate the dualistic ideologies of Greek philosophy but rather recognise the sense of whole being that is being human. Our bodies are not problems to solve in order that our minds or souls might be able to pray. Rather our bodies are how we pray; the very places in which we meet God.

    Notes
    (1) Hillary L. McBride, The Wisdom of Your Body: Finding Healing, Wholeness, and Connection through Embodied Living (Brazos Press, 2021), 215.
    (2) W. David O. Taylor, A Body of Praise: Understanding the Role of Our Physical Bodies in Worship (Baker Books, 2023).
    (3) Colleen Walsh, “How Scent, Emotion, and Memory Are Intertwined — and Exploited,” Harvard Gazette (blog), February 27, 2020, https://news.harvard.edu/gazette/story/2020/02/how-scent-emotion-and-memory-are-intertwined-and-exploited/.