We need to begin moving our liturgical efforts into the realm of hospitality. What I mean by this may appear obvious, but it is quite complicated on a large scale. Some congregations may desire to move into that arena but find themselves paralyzed by self-inflicted wounds. They are more interested in showing their distinctness than in proving their distinctives by tangible actions.
We have a saying we use in our inquirer’s class that goes something like this, “We need to bathe our weirdness with a deep sense of commonness.” Internally and behind the scenes, we don’t view ourselves as weird, but we are quite aware that the perception exists in a thoroughly de-liturgized culture.
This came across in an observation from a mother who raised her daughter in a Reformed context and saw her daughter go into a different tradition altogether. Now, mind you, the daughter was not antagonistic towards Reformed Theology, but she found the practices of this largely evangelical environment more friendly and more inviting. For the record, I am the last person to give much credence to an impressionable young adult. Still, I do want to take the opportunity to offer some general thoughts on the art of commonness and why black coffee Calvinists like myself think our churches need more than mere liturgism.
The first observation is that our Reformational theology/liturgy should be inviting. However it is communicated–paraments or stripped tables–it must carry on the gravitas of joy from beginning to end. We live in a culture that craves the normalcy of joy. If we are inviting younger generations to taste and see Geneva’s God, we also need to make sure that we don’t portray Geneva as some ogre attempting to tyrannize conscience. Geneva needs to show up with smiles and greetings, not five points of inquiry.
The second note is that the sweetness of worship ought to give folks a sense of the holy. We need liturgical worship that brings people to see the sovereignty of God resting in every element of worship from beginning to end, in every line and every response.
One time we had a visitor who told one of our congregants that it was one of the most joyful experiences they’ve had, even though much of what happened was foreign to him. But even if the impression is viscerally oppositional–and it has happened–we should still communicate a culture where the holy is a common ritual of the people. You cannot control reactions, but you can control interactions. You can control a sweet disposition towards a visitor. You can sit next to them when they walk in alone, and you can guide them through the order of worship.
Third, and finally, if the liturgy really is a living liturgy–contrary to modernistic ritualization experiences in mainline churches with alternating “Mother God” lines–then that liturgy must breathe life into the home. It needs to be perpetuated with food and drink for those strangers who visit. If they are not invited to see your lived-out liturgy, it is unlikely they will find pleasure in your acted-out liturgy on Sunday mornings. It will continue to be strange and foreign rather than warm and inviting.
Out liturgical efforts must move into hospitable efforts. In fact, I wish to argue that liturgy necessarily moves into homes. Ultimately, we may still appear to be strange, and our songs may still give a Victorian vibe, but at the very least, we will have given visitors a sense of the holy and an invitation to joy. Our Reformed churches should contemplate that model in our day.
