The Leadership Structure of the Liturgy

Many parish clergy these days are trying to change the leadership patterns in their congregations. They want collegiality, active lay participation at every level of parish life. They want a vestry, for example, that not only manages money and buildings, but in conjunction with the clergy seeks to discern matters spiritual. They want a vestry that prays, that seeks the leadings of the Holy Spirit in decision-making.

But, sadly, many clergy focus just on the steps in deliberation, the methods used in meeting, the collaboration of clergy and laity in making decisions. Unconsciously, in the most powerful “tool” in parish life, they act out a very different message—we clergy are the leaders and you lay persons are the followers.

I am referring to the Sunday liturgy, that powerful sacred act at the center of parish life. Sadly, many clergy act out, Sunday after Sunday, their unconscious (or conscious) belief in the superior status of the ordained.

In this paper I will describe what I see as leadership patterns commonly expressed in the Sunday liturgy. I will begin with the “old” liturgy, the liturgy of the 1928 Book of Common Prayer, and then move on to the liturgy of today. From time to time I will suggest changes that express partnership of clergy and laity, rather than simply leaders and followers.

I do not wish to be simplistic about this. There is a very important sense in which clergy are called to be leaders. I believe they are called to preside, to watch over, to play a central role in discerning the leadings of the Holy Spirit. Perhaps the best way to make the distinction that I believe is to be made is to deny that lay people are simply followers. The role of lay people is to form a local community of the Holy Spirit, of which the clergy are presiders and teachers and discerners.

The old liturgy

It was very clear who was in charge. The Sunday liturgy spoke it loud and clear. That man in vestments, up at the altar with his back to the people, like a general leading ranked troops, surrounded by assistants (all male), that man specially consecrated for the enclosed area around the altar—the “sanctuary,” it was called, the holy of holies that only certain people could enter—that man was our leader. Everything we did proclaimed his central role.

The other center of power—lay power—was proclaimed in the taking and presenting of the offering. Sober, substantial seniors of the community (again, all male) collected money from the pews and carried it in procession to the rail around the sanctuary, where it was received by assistants and carried to the priest at the altar. The organ boomed forth the doxology. All leapt to their feet and sang in acclamation. These men were our power-brokers.

The 1928 Book of Common Prayer assumed this structure of power, and we expressed it Sunday after Sunday in our habits of worship.

Thus a first principle—

1. The Sunday liturgy expresses the leadership structure of the parish.

Notice, further, that there are two centers of power in that structure—priestly at the altar and lay in the handling of money. Priestly power from things sacred, lay power from things economic. Notice also that the lay power is in some degree subservient to the priestly, for the money is handed over to the priest and the lay power-brokers do not enter the sanctuary.

2. In the presidency of the priest at the altar we express priestly power in things sacred.

3. In the exclusion of lay persons from the sanctuary, other than assistants to the priest, we express exclusion of lay persons from things sacred except as authorized by the priest.

4. In the collecting and presenting of money by lay persons we express lay power centered in things economic.

5. In the presenting of the money to the priest to be blessed and offered to God we express some degree of subservience of lay power to priestly.

The subservient role of women is glaring in the old liturgy. They had no liturgical function other than in the pews or as members of the Altar Guild. In expression of this position they were expected to wear hats or veils, and often gloves.

Children were either not present, kept in Church School throughout the liturgy, or kept quiet and well behaved. The liturgy was well ordered.

Now let’s do a thought-experiment.

Suppose that in those days a woman had tried to take part in collecting and presenting the money. What would have happened? Resistance, incomprehension, rejection. Why? Because it would have been an assault on the established leadership structure. It would have been a claim to lay power, a rebellion against the exclusion of women from that power.

And when, in the ’60’s, with the feminist movement, women did begin to claim such power, they insisted on changing the way we did liturgy. They insisted on liturgical roles hitherto confined to men. Women could usher as well as men. Girls could be acolytes. No longer was the priest to be surrounded just by males. And, of course, it was not long before women had to be admitted to the ordained ministry.

6. The exclusion or inclusion of kinds of persons from liturgical roles expresses their exclusion or inclusion in parish leadership roles.

7. Whenever we want leadership patterns to change in the parish, changes in the liturgy are a part of changing those patterns.

Our present-day liturgy

Let me describe what I see in many mid-size Episcopal parishes (those with a Sunday attendance of 100–200). I will assume that the parish is using Rite II, but most of what I say will apply to Rite I as well.

First of all, the most striking characteristic, in contrast to the old liturgy, is that today’s liturgy is messy and disorderly. It’s noisy. Gone are the old rituals of silence and private prayer when you enter the building. Gone are women’s hats and gloves and veils. Almost everyone is dressed informally, some in blue jeans. Children run about. Most parishes still have pews, but gone also is the sense of carefully controlled space.

8. A sense of freedom and informality is now apparent in Episcopal parishes.

But that’s not the whole story. A powerful element of the old order remains. It is still true, that given the choice, most people decide to sit in the rear of the church rather than up front. They want to be followers, not leaders.

Our congregations behave like sheep. If someone up front stands or sits or kneels, those behind tend to do the same. A wave of changing posture surges from front to back. We are deathly afraid of doing something “wrong” or different. The attitude of “correctness” in Episcopal parishes is breathed in the air, stitched into the vestments, cultivated in every action. We may disagree about whether to stand or kneel, for example, during the eucharistic prayer, but we agree that there is a “right” way to behave.

I sing in our parish choir. Recently someone asked whether we shouldn’t turn toward the altar during the creed. What was the “right” thing to do? The choir director responded that it was ok to stay facing sideways or to turn toward the altar, either one, but that turning to the altar was “traditional” and it was probably better for us all to do the same thing.

That conversation has been replayed over and over again down the years in Episcopal parishes—and still is—concerning every detail in the service. We are the people who do the liturgy “right.”

9. Whereas freedom and informality characterize certain moments in the liturgy—notably at the gathering and dispersing of the congregation, at the announcements, and at the passing of the Peace—there remains a strong sense of conformity, a strong fear of doing something “wrong.”

The old service began with a quiet organ prelude, followed by a hymn, a solemn entrance of priest, acolytes, and choir in procession, and then a prayer voiced by the priest. The prelude still exists, but people talk through it. The service does not open with prayer or hymn, but with an informal greeting from the priest—“Good morning!—and instructions about how to follow the service, about signing the newcomers’ book and coming to the coffee hour—that sort of thing. Then come hymn and procession and opening prayers. The priest no longer goes to the altar. He—or she!—goes to the side, and sometimes you are not quite sure where she/he is. Most of what follows is done without the priest—readings (by lay persons, both men and women, and sometimes children), psalms, short hymns—until the reading of the gospel, when the priest or another ordained minister goes down to the middle of the congregation.

What do these actions say?

Clearly, not only has the power balance between male and female changed, so also has the power relationship between ordained ministers and laity. The priest still has a central role, but lay persons have taken new leadership positions. The power structure has profoundly changed. No priest can expect to run the show as did his/her predecessors. The liturgy now proclaims that everybody has a part to play.

10. Lay power is now evident in roles previously restricted to the ordained.

11. Persons previously excluded from power—women and children—are now included in the leadership of the parish.

12. A partnership of priest and people is now more evident than before.

One important expression of partnership is found in both the old and the new liturgies—the give and take between priest and people of versicles and responses, and prayers and Amens. The priest says, “The Lord be with you,” and the people respond, “And with thy spirit” or “And also with you.” The priest voices a prayer and the people say Amen.

The Prayer Book very carefully expresses this give and take. Sometimes it labels versicles and responses Celebrant or People. Other times it puts the Amen in italics. Unfortunately some clergy violate the partnership intended by the Prayer Book by leading lay responses and by saying lay Amens. This may seem a small matter. One may even argue that for priest and people to say Amens together is more a sign of partnership than for one to say the prayer and the other the Amen. But there’s a difference of roles involved. Priests and lay persons have different roles in parish life. There are certain responsibilities for priests to take and there are others proper to lay persons. A clear give and take in the liturgy helps express both partnership and difference of role. A priest who takes the risk of not leading Amens is clearly saying that she/he expects lay persons to carry out their responsibilities. For the priest to say the lay person’s Amen is an intrusion, and betrays at least a small lack of trust. “If I don’t say it, it won’t get said.”

Versicle and response, prayer and Amen— we have here a vivid interplay of roles, a dramatization of what we expect from partners in parish life.

13. The way in which a parish says the responses and Amens expresses the partnership and distinction of roles between priest and parishioner.

Leadership in matters spiritual is the foremost role of the priest. In the old liturgy this authority was symbolized not only by the priest’s standing at the center of the sanctuary, but also by his standing above the people in the solemn enclosure of the pulpit. Today many pulpits go unused. Many priests are reluctant to claim the authority implied in standing above their flocks. Some preach instead from the floor of the church, implying an equality of authority. Others preach from the lectern—still above the people, but shared with lay readers.

Here there are likely to be strong differences of opinion. I believe strongly that clergy today must explicitly share spiritual authority with lay persons. But I also believe that to be the rector of a parish means to be called to discern the spirits in that parish, to discern its spiritual state and to distinguish the calling of the Holy Spirit from the spirits of this world, and then to share that discernment with the parish, to lead the parish in corporate discernment. This is a calling of high responsibility and authority. I do not believe in a priest’s downplaying this role. But I am sensitive to the view that a priest can lead from a position of “equality,” from standing among the people and seeking to lead corporate discernment in group-centered ways. What seems to me unacceptable, however, is an “equality” that says the priest is “just one of the guys/gals,” that denies the priest’s distinctive calling.

14. The location of the sermon proclaims the spiritual leadership role being claimed by the preacher. From the pulpit he/she proclaims high authority. From the floor of the nave she/he proclaims “equal” authority. From the lectern he/she proclaims authority somewhere in between, and shared with lay persons such as those who read from there.

After the sermon come the Prayers of the People—prayers led by a lay person, prayers with a formal structure, but one that provides for people in the pews to add their own prayers at various points.

Here is another assertion of lay authority. These prayers replace the old Prayer for the Whole State of Christ’s Church, which was voiced by the priest and which had no room for lay persons to do anything except say the Amen. Now lay persons can pray for themselves; no longer must they depend upon clergy to say their prayers for them.

In some congregations lay persons add petitions and thanksgivings freely and plentifully. In other congregations only a few voices are raised. In still others the new form of prayer sounds very much like the old—the leader says it formally, does not pause for additions, and nobody adds anything extemporaneous.

15. The number and freedom of lay additions to the Prayers of the People give an indication of the quality of lay leadership in the congregation. The more additions made, the more lay responsibility revealed. The fewer additions, the more a sense of lay hesitancy.

The General Confession that comes next has been rewritten. It does not call upon us to “bewail our manifold sins and wickedness,” but we do say that we have sinned against God and that we humbly repent. This milder language is the only change from the old structure. We all still kneel—we are still humbled sinners—and the priest still stands to pronounce absolution.

Now there’s authority for you!—this person pronounces forgiveness of sins! Just like the old days! But somehow it doesn’t feel the same. The sense of solemnity and littleness that used to accompany confession and absolution just aren’t there.

The confession is often omitted, sometimes by suggestion of the Prayer Book, sometimes, I suspect, inadvertently. And I’ve never heard anyone complain about the omission. It just doesn’t seem to have the importance it used to have.

Perhaps this is because it has been preceded by the lengthy and sometimes messy Prayers of the People, and is followed by the most messy moment of the day—the passing of the Peace. Maybe it’s the constant movement—the sitting for the sermon, the getting up for the Prayers of the People, the getting down for the confession, the getting up for the Peace. It used to be that we were down on our knees for a long time before the confession and absolution, and we stayed there afterwards. That gave this moment a prominence it no longer enjoys.

The structure of confession and absolution is the same, if the context is not. Humble people, authoritative priest—but the old message is not there. Why? I wonder if it’s our psychologized sense of sin, the fact that therapists have taken the place of confessors. But that is so large a topic, I must simply leave it and note the change.

16. The General Confession and absolution seem to have lost their authority, and with that, some priestly power.

The Peace, of course, with its messiness and informality and length, says a great deal. It was the introduction of this act that destroyed the old culture of the Episcopal Church. We used to keep a respectful distance from one another. We used to be side-by-side neighbors led by the man up front. But once we started passing the Peace, shaking hands all round, talking to our neighbors, we were saying something different. We were a community!

Perhaps it was also a power-grab. Perhaps for lay folk to turn around—or even walk around—and shake hands or embrace and wish each other the Peace of God meant that they were taking, or starting to take, control of the community. Their relationship in the church would be with each other as powerfully as with the priest. And the priest mingles in this community. The priest comes down into the midst. The priest does not remain within an enclosed sacred space surrounded by assistants. The priest is one of the community.

In the early ’60’s, when I was rector of Church of the Redeemer, Chicago, and was seeking to institute the passing of the Peace, we had a long parish discussion about it one Sunday. I had planned a formal passing of the Peace modeled after that done in monasteries, in which I passed the Peace to the acolytes at the altar and they in turn passed it to the congregation. “No way!” said the parishioners. The only condition under which passing the Peace was acceptable was that I would come down from the altar into the congregation and do it with them.

That was a turning point in the relationship between priest and people at Church of the Redeemer (and among parishioners as well). The rector could not institute a liturgical change without their consent and without their ideas, the rector had to listen to them as well as they to him, and they had to listen to each other. And the way we did the Peace expressed our changed relationships.

17. The passing of the Peace is a powerful expression of community. Its inclusion of the priest in the midst indicates a communal, rather than a hierarchical, relation between priest and people.

After the Peace come the announcements in some parishes. (Others put them at the beginning or the end.) Here the role the rector sees for herself/himself is acted out clearly. Some rectors make all the announcements. Some do their best to make none at all, leaving it to lay leaders to make them. Most do a mixture of the two. The rector’s behavior here may also be a sign of lay expectations. Sometimes lay persons strongly resist making announcements, demanding that the rector make it for them. In any case, parish leadership roles are acted out here.

18. The way in which announcements are made clearly reveals the leadership structure of the parish. If the rector presides over them, but does not do them, he/she is shown as watching over parish life. But if the rector makes most of them, she/he is shown as doer in parish life.

Offertory processions are very different from what they used to be. Women take an equal part with men, and occasionally children do so as well. There are often two processions. A first procession brings up the bread and the wine while the money offering is being collected. Then a second procession brings up the money. Sometimes this procession is done in the old style of acclamation—the organ booms, the procession marches, the congregation leaps to its feet in praise. There are two messages—

19. Offertory processions now proclaim the sharing of lay power between men and women.

20. The procession with the bread and the wine shows increased lay leadership and authority in matters spiritual.

21. The money offering and procession continue to proclaim lay power through money.

This emphasis on lay power through money may seem crass, but it is a fact and to proclaim it is good. The raising and spending of money is at the center of human leadership structures. The Gospel is full of messages about the giving and spending of money. But perhaps we need to ask ourselves here whether our processions are telling the truth. Do those who bring up the money—these particular persons—really represent those whose voices in fact determine how parish money is raised and spent? Perhaps the procession should be made up of just vestry members, and especially of the finance committee. And if that turns out to be mostly senior well-to-do white males—aha! Our true leadership structure is clearly expressed!

22. The membership of the money offering procession may be disconnected from the realities of parish life.

Sometimes these processions go right to the altar. Sometimes they stop at the rail around the sanctuary to be carried to the altar by acolytes. Shades of the sacred space too holy to be profaned by ordinary lay folk! Shades of priestly hierarchy!

In either case lay power is to be blessed by the priest. (See point v above.)

23. A procession that goes right to the altar expresses a degree of lay-clerical community. A procession that ends at the altar rail is more expressive of hierarchy.

Our methods of taking communion are a curious mixture of individualism, hierarchy, and community. The lines of people going up toward the altar and returning are wonderfully communal. The moments of receiving the bread and wine seem private and individual, each person and Jesus. The actions in receiving seem at least semi-hierarchical—the priest gives lay persons the Body of Christ, and, frequently, a lay person gives the Blood. Most of us kneel and the ministers stand.

24. We have not found a communal method of sharing the Body and Blood of Christ for the Sunday liturgy. Communion is physically a one-to-one action and feels one-to-one rather than communal.

25. It also feels, even when a lay person is the giver, hierarchical. The bread and the wine come from the altar and only such bread and wine, consecrated by the priest, will do.

26. In weekday communions or on retreats and the like, sometimes the communicants stand in a circle and pass the bread and wine to each other round the circle. That comes closer to expressing and binding community.

The Prayer Book provides that lay people may say Amen on receiving communion. But few do. And why would you do this? What does it express? I believe it signifies partnership, communion between priest and people. The priest puts the bread into the people’s hands; they say Amen. It’s a corporate act.

27. A wave of Amens down the communion rail, as parishioners receive communion, is a clear sign of community and partnership.

After the final hymn a lay person usually dismisses the congregation (e.g., “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord”), to which the congregation responds with a final and hearty “Thanks be to God.” More lay authority. More community.

28. The dismissal is a further sign of lay authority and of community.

Then comes a slow departure. The priest stands at a door and greets people, holding brief conversations. Once more we are priest-centered. Occasionally lay people act as additional greeters, but that usually doesn’t last very long. It’s hard to get laity to do it regularly. “What’s wrong with the priest? Why can’t she/he take care of it alone? People want to talk to the priest, not to you or me.”

Most clergy are people-centered. They like one-to-one relations with lay folk, and most lay folk appreciate this characteristic in their pastor. So this practice feels good to a lot of people.

But if we are to build community and share leadership, we need somehow to have it become natural for lay folk to take part in these exchanges as a matter of course. That it is not yet so in our parishes indicates how much we still look to the priest as pastor (which is fine) to the exclusion (which is not fine) of the community as a pastoral community.

29. Our greetings between priest and people at the church door express our priest-centeredness in pastoral care.

It is curious that there is not much in the liturgy that is strongly expressive of pastoral care; that is, of parishioners seeking and receiving help in their personal troubles. Most such troubles are cared for privately, outside the liturgy, except in the Prayers of the People. And in the latter we usually hear a name (and sometimes just the first name) without knowing what we are being asked to pray for. Does this person have cancer or a cold or financial problems or what?

I know one parish in which the Prayer Book rubrics concerning the ministry of healing are followed—

When the Laying on of Hands or Anointing takes place at a public celebration of the Eucharist … it is recommended that it take place immediately before the exchange of the Peace. (BCP, p. 453)

Those wishing to receive this ministry go to the altar rail and kneel. Other parishioners gather behind them. The priest moves down the rail, pausing briefly at each person just long enough to anoint them, saying the prayer of anointing as he/she goes. Then the standing parishioners lay their hands on the heads of those kneeling. Someone says a prayer of healing for them all. And the group disperses. It takes about five minutes and is a powerful expression of pastoral community.

Another sign of lay pastoral care found in some parishes is the taking of communion from the altar by lay persons to the sick and shut-in. Some parishes provide a short ceremony of sending these persons out, and sometimes the names of the sick or shut-in are given.

30. A corporate ministry of healing at the time of the Peace is a powerful expression of pastoral community. So also is the corporate sending of lay persons with communion to the sick and shut-in.

Priests differ in whether or not they give directions throughout the service—page numbers and hymn numbers, indications for standing or sitting or kneeling. Such directions are helpful for newcomers, but, once again, they tend to build priest-centered dependency.

Now that we have computers to help us print up service leaflets, we could print special ones designed just for newcomers that include absolutely everything and lots of directions and helps. But even better, just as we need to nourish our parishes as pastoral communities in which we support one another as an ordinary matter of parish life, we need to learn how to mobilize parishioners to recognize, welcome and help newcomers during the liturgy.

31. For priests to give directions during the service tends to build dependency and priest-centeredness.

During the Lord’s Prayer especially, but occasionally at other times, I observe a few people holding their arms up and out in prayer. Usually this posture is quite modest. You may not even notice it if you’re looking from behind the person. I see it from a choir pew up front; so it’s more obvious to me.

I find this a welcome change. I read this posture to express an opening of the person’s heart to God. But in a recent parish conversation we got to talking about differences in posture and one woman said that she had been thinking about holding her hands out in prayer during the service, but was afraid to do it because that would make her different from those around her. The group encouraged her to go ahead. Maybe she should sit in the back, they said, where she would feel less self-conscious.

I am not sure what we should do about the problem of “correctness” and conformity. As a priest I am glad to advocate standing, for example, during the eucharistic prayer. And in this paper I am certainly advocating certain practices as “better” than others. But now that I’ve come to see this problem of conformity, I want to add to my advocacy the hope that there are a lot of contrarians who will not follow my advice.

We have children running in and out of the service. We have people dressed both formally and informally. We have a lot of talking and noise. Now I hope we can add diversity of posture to the mix.

32. Our atmosphere of conformity tends to intimidate differences. But there are signs of change. Some persons are daring to be different. Others are wanting to be.

And the music! It’s important. In some parishes it’s a matter of performance: the parish takes pride in having good music that people come to hear for itself. There’s our good taste and correctness once again. We Episcopalians have the right ceremonial, the right décor, the right music. Poison!

33. Parish music as performance tends to entrench the Episcopal sense of “correctness” and conformity.

A new and lively spirit has begun to move in our music over the last twenty years or so. To our traditional body of hymns many parishes have now added various “popular” styles of music—“praise” music, African-American and “gospel” music, Taizé chants, and many new compositions.

Singing together builds community. Breath is spirit—in Hebrew, Latin, and Greek “spirit” and “breath” are the same word—and in breathing together we share spirit. You can see this fact vividly in the behavior of social movements. Demonstrators march together chanting slogans, singing together, moving in rhythm together.

We Christians are not, of course, a movement as was the church of the first years, but we are called by our Lord to move forward in mission. We are a called people. So we must sing together, breath together in the one Spirit. We must voice our convictions, our mission, our solidarity. That means music that people can sing and want to sing.

34. Our music needs to be by all of us, and to express conviction, mission, solidarity.

The difference size makes

My observations above concern what I called “mid-size” parishes, those with a Sunday attendance of 100–200. Parishes in the lower range of this size are sometimes called “pastoral” parishes. Parishes in the higher range are said to be on the verge of becoming “program” parishes. These terms designate, among other things, a leadership style. In a “pastoral” parish it is possible for many parishioners to have a one-to-one relationship with the priest, and most people want such a relationship. The priest’s leadership style needs to reflect this reality. But as a parish gets larger this kind of relationship is not possible for everybody. There are just too many people for the priest to have one-to-one relationships with them all. And the leadership style needs to change. That’s one reason—and a powerful one—for seeking the kinds of changes I talk about in this paper.

The other reason, also very powerful, concerns the breakdown of the old hierarchical model in American life and the deleterious effects of that model. I have written on that topic elsewhere¹ and will not expand upon it here. But I do wish to enunciate a general principle in regard to the form of the liturgy as expressing the leadership structure of the parish.

35. Just as parishes vary in leadership structure and needs, so also the structures expressed in the liturgy should vary in accordance with those needs. Just as there is not one leadership structure appropriate for all, there is not one style of liturgy appropriate for all.

The apostle Paul

Paul’s letters discuss the first gatherings of the church. His remarks are still relevant—

When you come together, each one has a hymn, a lesson, a revelation, a tongue, or an interpretation. Let all things be done for building up. (1 Corinthians 14:26, NRSV)

Encourage one another and build up each other… respect those who labor among you, and have charge of you in the Lord and admonish you; esteem them very highly in love because of their work. Be at peace among yourselves. And we urge you, beloved, to admonish the idlers, encourage the fainthearted, help the weak, be patient with all of them. (1 Thessalonians 5:11–14, NRSV)

Teach and admonish one another in all wisdom; and with gratitude in your hearts sing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs to God. (Colossians 3:16, NRSV)