To Read or Not to Read

That is (sometimes) the question. When worship is pressed for time (an unfortunate but common occurrence in today's world) we start looking for liturgical fat to trim. We might axe the creed. We might omit the Eucharistic prayer (if it has not already been axed for theological reasons). We might throw out a hymn or two. If all that isn't enough, then we might shorten the sermon...maybe...


But we might also start chopping off lessons. Traditionally, Christian worship services have read from the Law/Prophets, the Psalms, the writings of the Apostles, and the Gospels. This framework developed out of Israel's synagogue services in which a reading from the Torah would be followed by a reading of the Prophets selected to complement the reading from the Torah. Psalms were chanted antiphonally. Finally, an exposition of these scriptures would be given.

As writings from New Testament times circulated (like Paul's letters or the Gospels), these were gradually added to the list of things read in public worship, such that the Old Testament was read (maintaining continuity with the synagogue services), followed by the Psalms (Israel's prayer book and song book), followed by an epistle (a letter from one of the Apostles encouraging the church in its life together), and finally the Gospel (the words, deeds, and stories of Christ). Together these lessons complement one another, and the New Testament writers often interpret Christ and the events in his life as fulfillment, embodiment, and culmination of events in the Old Testament. Christ is often seen as living out in his life, death, and resurrection the relationship of God to Israel, the consummation of Israel's redemption. Thus the combination of readings is no accident--it is intentional.

When we omit readings, then, we subtlely tell worshipers that time is more important that what God has to say to us. When we get rid of the OT lesson, we tell worshippers that the OT is unimportant, that the history of God's saving acts isn't something that's necessary to include in worship. When we omit the Psalms, we rob worshipers of the source of the Church's prayer and the words that reflect its ongoing encounter with God. When we do not read the epistle's we miss out on the encouragement of the early church leaders, words that remind us that the challenges of living together have not changed in 2000 years. And when we leave out the Gospel, we are prevented from hearing the words of eternal life from the author and perfector of our faith. If Christ need not even be born for us to worship (that is, if we do not even hear about his life, let alone his cross) then what exactly are we gathered together for?

And once in a while, we sometimes feel the need to shuffle these readings around. If pastor so-and-so wishes to preach on the Psalm for a given Sunday, he or she may move the Gospel to some other location so that the Psalm is heard immediately before the sermon. Aurally, it makes sense, but liturgically and pastorally, it does not. Such action removes the Gospel from its rightful place of honor as the last of the readings (as mentioned before, Christ as the culmination and embodiment of God's salvation throughout history; therefore, the Gospel has been the final reading) and it fiddles with people's expectations and rhythms creating confusion.

But isn't such rigidity merely black-and-white liturgical slavery? Only as much as the Ten Commandments should be rightfully considered Ten Suggestions. The gracious gift of the liturgy is that it protects us from ourselves; it keeps us honest, and it challenges our human need to fiddle with things. Does this mean that we should never omit readings or change their order? Maybe, maybe not. My point is rather that the order we have been given has been shaped through the Church's experience and bequeathed to us as a product of the Church's spirit-led wisdom. This, of course, should be tempered by pastoral concerns, but to recklessly abandon the structure and forms that we have received from our ancestors speaks more to our arrogance than to our creativity, as if we somehow know better than the Church catholic. The liturgy is whole cloth, not a patchwork quilt, and something as seemingly insignificant as the order and inclusion of lessons in fact carries ecclesiological wisdom.

What are your reasons for departing from the historic liturgy? What pastoral considerations have shaped the way worship is lived out in your context?