THE REMARKABLE LITURGICAL FECUNDITY OF MERCERSBURG
Linden DeBie
THE PENITENTIAL AND DIDACTIC CHARACTER OF REFORMED WORSHIP
First of all, I want to say a very brief word about this rather dramatic title. Second, I want to review the liturgical controversy in terms of our departure from the old Palatinate rite. Finally, I want to speak about our Reformed liturgical future. So, first to the title.
I don’t mean by it that the Provisional Liturgy (published in 1857) died and fell stillborn into the earth, never to return to life. No more than did our Lord, who must be the seed of which he spoke in John 12:24. However, the liturgy was badly received by its enemies, and they did manage to keep it from becoming constitutional. They also managed to restrict its use by the wider church. And yet like that seed that fell to the ground, the liturgy has given life to significant expressions of church practice and theology. It confirms the conclusions of the great Presbyterian historian, James Hastings Nichols, who recognized that the Mercersburg Movement was essentially short-lived, but that their often-controversial ideas became a “paradigm” of future theological developments.[1] And so it was the case. We’ll get to that in our third section of this paper. But this brings us directly to the second question, what happened? What was in essence, the liturgical controversy?[2]
Perhaps nobody has surpassed Jack Maxwell and his book Worship and Theology: the Liturgical Lessons of Mercersburg, published in 1976, at least in terms of what happened in the dispute over the liturgy. His research was meticulous. But I want to augment it, and take us back a bit—keeping in mind that the Palatinate Liturgy was the shared source of worship for the German Reformed and the Dutch Reformed, essentially from the very beginning.[3] In fact, it is safe to say that both the Provisional Liturgy and the 1968 liturgy of the Dutch Reformed Church, were in reaction to and in advance of the older Palatinate rite. So, what was wrong with the old rite, such that capable leaders like John W. Nevin and Philip Schaff for the GRC, and much later Howard Hageman for the Dutch (RCA), felt the need to replace it?[4]
The simple answer is that early Protestant liturgies derived from the Roman Pronaus or preaching service, such that they remained cast in a penitential character even as late as 1563. At the same time, these liturgies were clearly obvious and in fact forced, in their need to distance themselves from Catholic practice. Arguably the main difference was to avoid any hint of Christ being re-sacrificed. And of course, some have reasonably contended that Protestant worship restored Eucharist to the laity and that the blending of Synaxis and Anaphora was more or less successful in replacing the Roman Catholic idea of a re-sacrifice which was therefore, “changed from propitiation to an oblation of praise and thanksgiving.”[5]
Theoretically that may have been the case, but I argue that the penitential overtones were not really assuaged by the sense of thanksgiving for gifts received! And although perhaps the penitential flavor served the Reformed in their era, too much austerity in this regard is no longer in keeping with today’s Church. We also know that because of the strong desire of the Reformers to refute the theology of the Mass, the liturgy was overly argumentative. The need to differentiate Reformed worship and ween people off a rite they had known for centuries, led them to lean heavily on instruction and admonition, resulting in what many consider a polemical, wordy, and didactic approach to worship[6]. Also, in terms of the way it ultimately undermined the fullest sense of the gathered community of God, Reformed worship in general encouraged a growing, modern tendency towards the privatization of worship which made it too subjective.[7] Likewise, in hindsight we recognize that the Palatinate rite was weak on the resurrection, and so missed the pivotal event which gave rise to the historic Church.[8] Nor did it do full justice to the ancient practice of Holy Communion, since the Reformers never bothered to look back further than the Roman Mass.[9]
THE ECLIPSE OF LITURGICAL WORSHIP
Although these concerns may not have been preeminently on the minds of the various liturgical committees, they were nevertheless addressed and corrected by the Provisional Liturgy (revised as the Order of Worship, 1866) and the 1968 RCA liturgy. But certainly, the bigger, historical picture must include the fact that it was the nineteenth century’s liturgical reform movement that gave rise to a new understanding of Christian worship.[10] The result was that many excellent contemporary liturgies today breathe the lighter, more inspirational and uplifting air that emanated from this movement, even if unconsciously. So, it was the case with the Provisional Liturgy of the German Reformed Church, and much later the ’68 liturgy of the Dutch Reformed Church. Here again, in the way recognized by Nevin and later Nichols, Mercersburg anticipated a late-modern trend that continues even today. But while the Provisional Liturgy corrected a significant mistake of the Palatinate rite, the RCA communion liturgy missed a great opportunity to restore the ancient and as some would argue today, essential character of the Communion Prayer.[11] We will take up this critical issue later in the paper, as it is an important neglect too often repeated in contemporary Protestant worship. Now however, it is time to return to the historical record, which ironically does not suggest that the Palatinate Liturgy had worn out its welcome and needed to be revised, as some might have guessed. That may have been the case had the liturgy been anywhere in use. But in fact, the Church did not suffer from an outdated liturgy in this case, but rather it suffered from no liturgy at all!
What was utterly remarkable was that among the Germans and Dutch, the Palatinate Liturgy had all but disappeared.[12] Yet I would theorize that the essentially penitential character, the somber pedantic weightiness of Reformed worship, continued among the German and Dutch churches who did not participate in liturgical renewal. Such a tendency remained unchecked in those churches and so the somber, didactic, wordy and penitential character of the Palatinate rite, carried over in spirit to what was essentially a “Service of the Word” of the middle eighteenth and nineteenth-century Protestant churches. It may just be that the only ones to escape this, were the so-called Mercersburg churches who recovered their catholicity in the Order of Worship. But what happened?
Essentially the modern trend was toward freer worship and away from set forms and prayers, as if the intoxicating effects of freedom; of throwing off the perceived bondage to old Europe and its institutions—but also the seductive influence of a host of proliferating sects that were no longer illegal nor utterly diabolical—all this new-found freedom and cross-pollination, became part of the fabric of American religious life. Add to this the enormous impact of revival worship which was essentially unconstrained and non-liturgical, and we have a formula for worship without a liturgy. The result: the rejection of set forms.[13] By the middle 1800’s, liturgies in general in Protestant churches had virtually disappeared. I am at loss as to the specifics, but evidence is clear that forms were on the way out.
What we do know is that by the early 1800’s, so-called ordinary worship on Sunday was not formally ordered. However, there is little doubt that worship followed an order, probably set long before by precedent.[14] Nor is it likely that there was great deviation among the congregations. We also know that as with their longstanding tradition, pastors relied on set forms or texts when it came to the sacraments and undoubtedly special services such as ordination. But these were for use by the pastors, and regulation of these forms had disappeared. It had become so much a matter of the pastor’s personal taste or the unique character of the individual church, that it is almost impossible to determine what forms were being used by the German and Dutch congregations.[15] Finally, the celebration of the Lord’s Supper was rare, only mandatory four times a year for the Dutch and twice for the Germans. So, in conclusion, by the early nineteenth century liturgical worship had become something of an oddity, something suspiciously Catholic and so spurious. Indeed, it was argued by one leading theologian of the nineteenth century, John W. Nevin, that liturgical worship had disappeared from all of the Protestant churches, including the Protestant Episcopal Church. His observation with regard to the German churches was that no set forms guided Sunday non-communion worship. But even when it came to the prescribed rites, things had become so lax, as mentioned above, that ministers were accustomed to choosing their own material from devotional sources or, for example, the Book of Common Prayer.
THE PROVISIONAL LITURGY AND MERCERSBURG THEOLOGY
A sea change came about mid-nineteenth century owing to several things including the Romantic Movement, the Oxford Movement, and the sense among some that apathy in their denominations might be addressed by liturgical renewal and, most interestingly, by renewed attention to the Heidelberg Catechism.[16] Thus there came calls for a revision of the liturgies of the Dutch and German Reformed Churches.[17] In 1820 the Germans contemplated a complete liturgical transformation with the formation of a liturgical committee. On May 3, at the meeting of the Maryland Classis, the delegates voted to recommend to the synod that the liturgy be improved and translated into English.[18]
It is reasonable to conclude that Protestant worship in general had evolved over the years in America into an odd mixture of devotions in preparation of and in conclusion after the sermon, “more ornamental than useful, a sort of fringe or red tape to the sermon . . .”[19] Maxwell shares with us a comical lampoon of revivalistic worship from an early critic (Kremer) looking back from 1890. The service is prefaced with random readings of Scripture, prayers and devotional hymns.
“As the last lines of the hymn are reached, the great man leaps upon the platform, scans his audience, looks pleased, steps to the front, and reads his text.” Where had he been during the “preliminaries”? Sequestered in a room behind the platform, “gathering himself up, getting in mental trim, keeping himself fresh for the evening’s effort, and let the small fry (the D.D.’s and other clergy) attend to the hymns and prayers.”[20]
Still, this may be more descriptive of the popular revival services or services organized to have a noted preacher, typically of the evangelistic sort. It would certainly mark the style of a revival service held at a local church which had become popular. Camp revivals were a thing unto themselves, but their influence upon worship was pronounced. Still, these church revival “meetings” might be specially organized in place of evening worship, and such services were common among the colleges where student revivals had become all the rage, and with them the introduction of altar calls in the form of setting up benches or “seats” near the chancel, named for the “anxious” yet to be saved, or saved again.[21]
Certainly, more typical of worship was the order provided by E.V. Gerhardt which outlines the service thus: With the minister taking his place at the table he began,
“In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.” Then came a hymn, free prayer ending with the Lord’s Prayer. But it could just as often be that the minister moved directly to the pulpit during the hymn and immediately launched into the morning’s text and sermon. That was followed by a prayer which again might end with the Lord’s Prayer. Gerhart confirmed our conclusion that “Liturgical prayers were commonly confined to the administration of Baptism and the Lord’s Supper . . .” as well as confirmation, marriage and the special offices.[22]
Still the “art” of worship was in dreadful shape. The German church’s English periodical, the Weekly Messenger of the German Reformed Church, printed a letter from a parishioner in February, 1855:
The minister does the preaching and praying . . . the choir is drilled to a fiddle-de-dee music, and does the singing; and the people are the listening spectators, and receive credit if only they perform that part in a wakeful and silent way . . . The preacher takes the Bible to himself, the choir takes the hymnbooks, and liturgy we have none.’ If the minister fails, the service fails. ‘For the benefit of the congregation, then, and the elevation of the ministry as an order, or institution, give us a liturgy.’[23]
Maxwell stands with the host of historians going back at least as far in recent decades, as Nichols, who attest to the general absence of liturgical interest among the Protestant churches until the middle of the nineteenth century when things began to change. Maxwell argues that mid-nineteenth century, American Protestants had no memory of worship in the sixteenth century. It had to be recovered for them by the romantic movements that reacquainted them with their heritage.[24] Indeed, when they became aware of the fact that there even was a Palatinate Liturgy, they could not come up with anything but a “partial edition.”[25]
The recommendation by the Maryland Classis of 1820 to the synod was to “improve our Church Liturgy, and at the same time to translate it into English and to promote its printing.”[26] Synod agreed and appointed a committee. The intervening years showed no progress, reportedly because travel was such a problem, but clearly the committee exhibited a real lack of interest.[27] After a decade of crooked halting, in 1834 the Classis of Susquehanna overtured the synod and a new committee was formed to draft a liturgy. The chairman was the formidable if rarely sanguine former head of the preparatory school and seminary, Lewis Mayer, and in 1837 a liturgy was distributed to the Classes for review by the committee. It was then adopted by the synod in 1840. It was known as the Mayer Liturgy, because it was essentially Mayer’s work.[28]
But the Mayer Liturgy never took hold among the German Reformed. Maxwell described it as “an extremely didactic book of forms for occasional services . . .” It was never reprinted, and almost immediately there were renewed calls for copies of the Palatinate Liturgy. This led to a regular debate on the floor of the 1849 Norristown Synod, culminating in more calls for liturgical reform. This was widely supported, indeed only one Classis, North Carolina, was opposed.[29] It may be hard to imagine, but for the next thirty years the denomination debated the question of the liturgy at each successive synod. The substance of debate was quite simple. Those who wished to sustain the ancient history of the Church as fundamentally liturgical, opposed to those who believed set forms were insincere. “If when a man prayed in the words of another man, was it not the other man who prayed?” The Reverend Joseph Berg replied, “No—unless you wish to apply the same reasoning to a hymn.” Delegate Welker of North Carolina was unconvinced. The southern churches “would never tolerate liturgical uniformity.” And on it went! [30]
The silence at Norristown of the denomination’s most famous leader and president of the seminary, John Nevin, may have surprised some but when he ended his silence, it was to inform the synod that it was not likely that the denomination was ready to be serious about liturgical renewal. He doubted that their hearts would be in it. Nor would it be courageous of them to simply repristinate the old forms. If they were truly serious about being the Church Catholic and Apostolic, then the age demanded new boldness. Armed with Scripture and the history and theology of the church of yesterday and today, they should do what was “theoretically right.” Not what was “expedient,” but what was “right.”[31] Nevin was not one to doubt he both knew the right and represented it. By this he meant, create a completely new liturgy fully in tune with the current life, force, and progress of the church. It should be a liturgy for all time, but of their time. Nevin was ever reminded of the lesson of his friend and colleague, Frederick Rauch, “A liturgy
. . . should be of one cast, a single creation, ruled throughout by the presence of one central ideal; in this respect like a poem, or other true work of art.” Concluded Nevin, unless they were willing to accept that challenge, they might as well not bother.[32]
His colleague at the seminary, Philip Schaff, who would become one of America’s preeminent Church historians, added his comments to Nevin’s Norristown speech. Agreeing with Nevin but less pessimistic, Schaff added that this liturgy, while the product of the German Reformed Church, must be a “distinctly American” liturgy.[33]
OPPOSITION TO THE LITURGY
Nevin’s mistake was to take the formation of the committee as a sign that the synod wished to have an entirely new liturgy of the German Reformed Church reflective of the church in its entirety (and not simply the German Reformed Church). He was made chairman of a committee that would eventually split into those who shared Nevin’s and Schaff’s ambitions, and those who wanted a contemporary order based on the Palatinate Liturgy (the latter were by far in the minority).
Unlike Nevin, Schaff was encouraged by the undertaking and brought a zeal that Nevin lacked. Nevin’s reticence was the reason the committee did not meet in 1850. Nevertheless, the next synod in Baltimore went ahead to clarify and advance the Norristown proposal. But despite growing support for a liturgy, Nevin’s report to the synod, based exclusively on his own views on the matter, betrayed his wariness. He advised the conservatism he formerly decried at Norristown and weakly opined, if a formulary for public use was desired the synod should provide the denomination with a translation of the Palatinate Liturgy. Said Nevin, the committee is not of one mind that this would be the best solution, but until the question of the church is settled perhaps this would be the best course.[34]
What did Nevin mean by “the church question?” He didn’t elaborate, but surely it was the question he had been trumpeting for years, at least as far back as his sermon on church unity given in (1844) at the triennial celebration of the German and Dutch Reformed churches. Again, he felt compelled to convince American Protestants of what was “theoretically right,” that is, to bring them out from under the bondage of “Modern Puritanism” into restored fellowship with the full, historic Catholic and Apostolic Church as “believed in” and confessed by the Apostles’ Creed.[35]
His resignation from the seminary the following year (1851), as well as from the chairmanship of the committee is proof of his growing doubts about the denomination and their willingness to address the “Church Question.” Schaff took over as chairman and promoted the Baltimore agenda (Synod of 1852), confirming that it would be a progressive liturgy—a new and complete American order of worship for the pew (meaning all the forms, prayers, lectionary, and guiding rubrics for use at home and at worship by all the people). [36] From the very beginning the committee’s plan was for a complete prayer book, and unlike their sixteenth-century ancestors they were determined not only to ascertain the worship of the biblical Church as best as possible but they would also investigate the earliest liturgies and ecclesiastical writings, both Latin and Greek! Thus, the normative criteria would eschew the Palatinate rite and theoretically enhance the theology of the sixteenth century. Nor would the excessive didacticism of the Reformation liturgies be acceptable to them. What they sought to recover, according to Nevin, was the “supernatural principle of the ancient Church.”[37]
One might wonder how the Baltimore proposals got by those who looked askance at forms? Maxwell argued that by this time Nevin and Schaff had taught together at the seminary for eight years and “had more disciples than detractors.”[38] Again, the problem was that the vision of a few progressives was not shared by the denomination in general, and that would prove their undoing. We are clearly dealing here with an aspect of elitism among clergy professionals, but that is to be expected. These were idealists after all, with more than a hint of romantic exuberance. Even in Nevin’s pessimism, he was unflinching that he was in the “right!” The single difference, however, between Nevin and Schaff, was that Nevin did not believe anything would come of this, and so he was not willing to lead the effort. He did, however, remain on the committee.
We know that the committee kept the Palatinate Liturgy ever before them, but as stated above, they were not ruled by it. Nor does it appear that they realized that the New York Liturgy of the Dutch Reformed Church, was effectively an English translation of the Dutch version of the Palatinate rite.[39] Rather, they found a partial German copy deteriorating in an obscure private library, which Bomberger, a committee member, translated and published in the Mercersburg Review (Vol. II, 1850).[40]
The committee itself consisted of nineteen different men altogether, with some coming on and going off at various times. Most of the members were strong supporters of the Mercersburg Theology which had dominated the seminary since the arrival of Frederick Rauch, Nevin, and Schaff.[41] The Mercersburg professors guided the committee far beyond the Reformation, where some might have been content to concentrate their efforts. The extraordinary breadth of their investigations is exemplified by the partial list published in the Mercersburg Review. It includes most of the significant liturgies all the way back from the liturgy of St. James to the Liturgy of the Catholic and Apostolic Church, and most everything in between. Letters to the editor of the Weekly Messenger came in response to this published partial-list, which helps to explain why some in the denomination immediately complained of a dangerous “Romanizing tendency.” Of course, Nevin and Schaff argued that their approach was consistent with Reformed thoroughness, and much later Nichols pointed out that the old Reformed use of Catholic preaching orders as the source upon which their liturgies were based came from the Mass.[42] But this would not have impressed the Mercersburg critics. They saw only High-Church or worse, Roman influence being unduly exerted—perhaps even forced on the denomination.
Moreover, the committee minutes allow us no doubt that these texts were studied in earnest. But the minutes also demonstrate that the last three, the Palatinate Liturgy, the Book of Common Prayer, and the Liturgy of the Catholic Apostolic Church were of special force. However, the Palatinate stood foremost as an historic document of reverence and lasting influence, while practically speaking the Book of Common Prayer and the liturgy of the Irvingites (CAC) were the primary sources of the Provisional Liturgy’s design, as well as the source of its major services.[43] This testifies to the committee’s commitment to a sacramental liturgy which was centered on Eucharist, a commitment never abandoned even in the heat of battle.
After this first principle of sacramental focus, a second principle guiding the committee was one of constancy within change. The liturgy must change with the times but must also hold fast to its moorings in the historical forms of the ancient Church, such as the Decalogue, the Te Deum, the Lord’s Prayer, and the Magnificat, to name a few. These, reported the committee, can never be surpassed for their devotional power. A third principle was the use of scripture whenever possible. Another was to pursue inspiration but not at the expense of orthodoxy. All along the way and commensurate with the systematic bent of the committee leaders, a keen eye toward these controlling principles was maintained.[44]
It was decided that a hymnbook and lectionary were timely and indispensable to a vital Reformed worship book. Mid-nineteenth century progress in hymnody was significant, and a renaissance in church music flourished. It was also powerfully expressed by Nevin that the lectionary must be arranged according to the church year. Committees were selected and work began immediately.
What changes most dramatically in the new liturgy is that while preaching will have an important place in the service, it can no longer be called a “preaching service.” All the action prior to the hymn following the Lord’s Prayer is at the “altar,” [45] and the service is decidedly devotional in nature. Also, there is a pronounced antiphonal quality to the service, almost a dialogue between altar and pew, with eleven opportunities for the congregants to respond “Amen.” Singing is essential and the seasonal theme is celebrated in the appropriate hymns, lectionary passages and Collect, thus encouraging a festive feeling. To large measure, a sense of celebration replaced the previous sense of penitence—while both sentiments remained present. It was just that there was a new emphasis.
The committee was silent on the frequency of Holy Communion, even though it was obvious that the Mercersburg contingent would have preferred it weekly. This, however, they could not expect from the whole church. The Order does however remind worshipers that the Eucharist is not “an addendum to the preaching service.”[46] Moreover it was clear that most of the action was at the altar, [47] beginning with the Trinitarian Formula, and thus there was no doubt this was the central service of the Church.
By January 1858, a thousand copies of the Provisional Liturgy had been sold,[48] immediately prompting two questions which never being satisfactorily answered, led to subsequent revisions of the liturgy and ultimately to the approved Order of Worship of 1866. First, the denomination was never able to give the Provisional Liturgy constitutional status.[49]
Second was the question of distribution itself. Nevin worried that calling it “Provisional,” thus an “experiment,” would doom it, as the laity would not purchase a copy thinking it might be soon replaced. Indeed, that was precisely what happened.[50] Of course, Nevin and the committee made it clear, repeatedly, that the Liturgy could not be “forced” on the denomination. And upon this recommendation, the synod voted to approve the Liturgy provisionally, for use by the congregations. Thus, the synod effectively approved distribution, having never examined the final version.[51] This raised doubts about the credibility of the liturgy. Some of the pastors tried to introduce it slowly, in increments and were met with both hostility and limited success.[52] But the question of how widely the Liturgy was used remains a mystery. Again, the two sides were steeped in conjecture, one claiming wide acceptance, the other saying it was not winning the hearts of the congregations. Nevin, despite his role on the committee and his support of the Liturgy, believed the latter to be the case. And even where it found some traction, it was with the occasional services.[53]
Controversy spurred by unanswered questions led to revisions resulting in the 1866 Order of Worship. In 1861 the synod heard back from the various classes and all of them affirmed the need for a liturgy. But likewise, the majority of them wanted the Provisional Liturgy revised. That the Liturgy was not received without criticism perhaps emboldened John Bomberger, a committee member turned renegade, to reverse his position around that same time and under cloudy circumstances, he began his 180-degree turn-around. We may never fully know why, but at about that same time he began to refer in print to the lack of synod approval for the revisions. By 1861 he was calling for a new revision of the Liturgy. The synod agreed and sent the Liturgy back to the same committee for revision.
Despite a deadlocked committee, Bomberger wouldn’t budge, and so in the Weekly Messenger Nevin outlined what he believed were the necessary questions needing resolution for the committee to move forward. One question, however, dominated. Did the synod want a book of forms for use by the minister or a liturgy for the people in worship?[54] Nevin was characteristically philosophical in his less than objective report. Still, despite shading the argument in his favor, his depicting the choice as one between subjective, pastor-controlled worship and worship that is shared by all, is a fair appraisal of the choice to be made. Again, Nevin will depict the choice in the idealist language and with the concomitant presuppositions he imbibed. Nevin said the later choice supports the univocal voice of the unified church worshipping in an “objective” manner, such that the church is in continuity with its ancient past and singular faith (this was a common historical assumption of idealists of the age).
The vision may be an admirable one, but it is not based on any truly historical reality. Indeed, his comparison of objective worship and subjective “free thinking in religion” is less suggestive of a mythical time when the church spoke univocally. Rather, Nevin was prescient to see current developments in the church and so speak prophetically of a time to come; a time more indicative of our current age. In that sense, his earmarking individualism as on the rise and free worship as its provocateur was revealing. To move away from the principle of worship as a corporate act is to further atomize the one body of Christ. Here appears an almost clairvoyant vision—as today our sense of community is commodified and even as we come together in stadiums of worship (or sit alone in front of the TV or computer), we are ever more estranged from one another because instead of worshipping with one voice, we are being entertained by trained communicators and pop-musicians. Finally, says Nevin, to lose sight of our sacramental and confessional center (namely the Apostles’ Creed), is likewise to lose in some measure, Christ himself.[55]
Frankly, Nevin’s honesty got the better of him, especially as he boldly proclaimed that the Provisional Liturgy was unlike any other that had ever been for the German Reformed. Of course, this would be thrown right back in his face and not just a few times.[56] Tempers flared, arguments raged, culminating in a minority report from the so-called “traitor” to the committee, Bomberger. Bomberger appealed to the putative facts of the case. The denomination had spoken, and they did not want the new liturgy. It was as simple as that! This in turn fueled another round of counter arguments. In the end, a divided synod proposed that the East continue with its revisions and the West prepare its own recommended liturgy for the synod of 1866.
The essence of the work of the East, that is the old committee still intact for the most part, was to abridge the Provisional Liturgy. Indeed, the word “liturgy” was deemed too controversial and so the prayer book was titled, An Order of Worship for the Reformed Church. Still, although the Order was significantly abridged, it remained a unity controlled in its entirety by the Church Year, and it remained a sacramental liturgy. The effect was a move away from Anglican worship and toward Reformed Worship. Maxwell summarizes for us concisely,
. . . several significant changes made by the revision committee resulted in a prayer book more internally consistent, and one more completely expressive of the Mercersburg theology. Alternative forms were omitted; and all services were related more directly to the Eucharist, thus the better expressing its centrality . . . [proceeding] [up]on the basis of what they considered to be liturgically correct, regardless of the consequences; and without Bomberger to deter them, little else stood in their way.[57]
Bomberger took responsibility for the Eastern Synod’s (1866) minority report, stating that instead of less ritualistic the Order of Worship was more ritualistic, ignoring the wishes of the Synod and out of touch with the spirit of German Reformed Church. Oddly though, he appealed to early Christian worship. By that, however, he meant, as found in the New Testament. He contended that all Protestants know that by the fourth century the church was hopelessly lost to corruption and its doctrines “perverted;” that the earliest Christian worship was subjective and centered on the Word—i.e. preaching. But most revealing was his appeal to the tradition of the “American Fathers,” which if forsaken, will certainly bring “doom” upon the German Reformed.[58]
Little notice was taken, however, of Bomberger’s warnings, and the committee appointed by the Eastern Synod reported back recommending the General Synod of 1866 take action on the Order of Worship, and that in the meantime it authorize optional use of it to the churches. The recommendation was approved by a wide margin. And what had become of the “other” liturgy being prepared by the Synod of Ohio? Well, the committee hadn’t finished its work, and so the General Synod granted them time to do so but not such that it changed the decision to proceed with the Order of Worship “provisionally.”[59]
The General Synod minority report was penned by another Mercersburg detractor, J. H. Good among others. Using now familiar arguments, Good insisted that the Order of Worship would divide the church, that it was not in historic sympathy with the old faith, that it would harm mission efforts, etc. Good rehearsed what many saw as the Bomberger case. In effect, it called for a return to the standard of the old Palatinate Liturgy. In addition, free prayer and multiple forms were requested. Maxwell is clear, the move was an attempt to “kill” the Order of Worship.[60]
However, the minority’s strategy, straightforward as it was, essentially backfired. They called for an up or down vote by the synod on the Order of Worship. They believed that even if the synod approved it and sent it to the Classes for a vote, it would be rejected.[61] However, when put to a vote the minority report was rejected (narrowly) and the majority report accepted (narrowly). The Order of Worship could now be used provisionally for three years.[62]
Still, what was to be done with the West’s alternative “liturgy?” Well, in fact it was not so much a liturgy as a directory for worship—a manual for the pulpit, sanctioning free prayer and extraneous worship, avoiding entirely the use of the term “altar” and replacing it with the more Calvinistic “table.”[63] Thus the liturgical struggle became emblematic of what was now a clear rift in the church marked by two opposed parties, one High-Church and the other Low. The hostilities continued unabated until the “peace” of 1878 was forged.
The “peace commission” was the brainchild of Clement Weiser and sensitively guided by Theodore Appel. The proposal was for a “compromise” Order of Worship but allow all the previous rites as well. Nor would a particular order be imposed on a congregation. The result of the commission was the Directory for Worship, and it was approved by a wide majority of the classes. The General Synod of 1887 was thereby able to make the Directory part of the constitution, which they did with the result that it was the required order for worship. Of course, this was utterly ambiguous as a directory leaves a great deal to the imagination. As Elizabeth Kieffer later observed, the Directory was a “hermaphrodite form which satisfied no one . . .”[64] Still, given the deep-seated division, ambiguity may have been the key to reconciliation. The older forms from the Order of Worship were watered down to avoid any taint of “ritualism.” Little else was changed from the Order of Worship. The same sort of watering down went with the Eucharist.
But now, we mentioned Appel and pause here only to say that despite his strong feelings in favor of the Order of Worship, he choose the path of diplomacy firmly believing that in time the church would adopt the spirit and eventually the letter of the Order of Worship.[65] Indeed, the peace was struck. Low-Church Germans could return to their real passion, which was missions and forget about liturgy. High-Church Germans had their Order of Worship. But this presented a huge constitutional problem. Inadvertently the synod left the congregations with both a directory and a liturgy, and when confronted with the problem by disgruntled publishers, the synod dodged the bullet saying that in the interest of peace the liturgical debate was ended.[66]
MOVING FROM PENITENCE TO CELEBRATION
The Directory was clearly more a political success than a viable alternative to the Order of Worship. So, although the parties were not reconciled by unity of practice, they managed to co-exist while following the practice of their hearts, which seemed to be sanctioned by the adoption of a directory and the fact that the denomination refused to impose a liturgy on the church. The seed had fallen and died, and in so doing changed into something different. And of course, the same is essentially true for the Mercersburg Theology itself. It would become like seed planted in soil that would bear fruit but later in time.[67] We can’t go into the various ways this is true, but rather we stick to our story of the liturgy and so move to the third and final section of this paper and our Reformed liturgical future. What we might mentioned in passing, however, is the direct connection here between liturgy and theology. So much of the focus of the Mercersburg Theology was on the question of the church and how it might realize itself as evangelical and catholic. In that respect, it is reasonable to say that Nevin and the visionary members of the liturgical committee tilted toward the principle of lex orandi lex credendi: “the law of praying is the law of believing.” [68]
The idea that worship is the best expression of what we believe should come as no surprise. After all, for better or worse, that was the case with the old Palatinate rite and for that matter the Protestant liturgies of the Reformation, along with their influence on worship among the Scots Presbyterians and the Church of England, etc. It is the case today among those that throng to mega-churches to be uplifted, inspired, and entertained (and all too often justified). They are, for better or worse, articulating their faith. At the time of the Reformation and immediately after, the didactic approach was perceived as crucial to the success of the Reformation itself.[69] Even the elector Frederick was adamant that faith in his province be standardized. He saw it as tantamount to stability in his kingdom. But it is equally true that he oversaw the entire creation of the Catechism and Liturgy, fully convinced of their theology.[70] “For better or worse.”
Thus, as we consider the influence of the Palatinate Liturgy, we can appreciate how the general weaknesses mentioned above gave way to incremental mistakes throughout that have ramifications today. I would argue that the Palatinate’s Eucharistic Prayer is only that in the weakest sense of the word. It lacks a proper Thanksgiving in the traditional sense of ancient Eucharist. And as to the “transaction” itself, notice again that no request is made concerning the elements.[71] Neither is there a rehearsal of God’s historic acts of salvation outside of Christ and no request that God fulfill his covenantal promises. No specific request is made at all. Only that the Spirit be a source of greater faith in Jesus. These mistakes are often repeated in the worship of too many Reformed and evangelical churches today.
Likewise, the Prayer and Epiclesis are not so much an acknowledgment of the change that makes Christ sacramentally present, but the hope that the Spirit will work in the people such that they change themselves. The problem is not only that it does not highlight the unique way that Christ is present, but it also leaves us wondering whether the people are up to the change. And while two of our most illustrious liturgical scholars, Howard Hageman and A.F.N. Lekkerkerker, as well as a current expert on the Palatinate Liturgy, Deborah Rhan-Clemens, spoke of the people’s transformation as the unique twist of the prayer, [72] still it is not a perfect parallel to the Mass’s transformation of the elements, which is regarded as accomplished by the Eucharistic Prayer in a mystical and objective way. Based on Dorn’s research, I would suggest that the prayer must make clear that the transaction is something that heaven does and not the people, without suggesting it is something done by the priest or pastor. This is important in order that we move away from the substantially subjective worship of many contemporary Protestant churches.
Intercessions for the sick, needy, etc. are absent. The oblation is weaved into the earlier exhortation and with the didactic repetition of the Creed, the communicants are thrust again into a “teaching moment” which, as Dorn has made abundantly clear, does not at all flow smoothly or intelligently.[73] Indeed, the Creed represents another interruption of the meal at the very moment that the meal’s effect of placing us in the eschatological moment is achieved. Much better we had eaten, sung a hymn, and gone out like the disciples on Maundy Thursday.
Throughout and repeatedly, even in the popular rehearsal of the Calvinistic Sursum Corda, the implicit warning is, “Don’t look at the bread. Look to Christ in heaven.” Of course, we can understand the Reformers’ polemic given hundreds of years of Corpus Christi observation. One might painfully ask of this last digression, “have we not covered this already?” But the answer may have been “yes, and we must do it again and again.” After all, if what is of first importance here for the Reformed is that the Word as well as the sacraments be “proclamation,” well then, the goal is reinforced by repeated repetition of the Creed and the theology supported by the Sursum Corda. But I would argue that “proclamation” is not what is best here. Where something is accomplished, something else is lost.
So, while the Palatinate Liturgy, as one Dutch Reformed liturgical scholar said, takes the roof off the Upper Room such that we might look down on the Holy Gathering, a certainly transcendental experience as we are transported to a meeting of the eschatological community, [74] alas we do not sit at table with them and must remain observers, aloof in the gallery, so to speak. In contrast, the New Testament promise is by far more desirable: that we will be at the table with Christ and share his bread and wine—which is indeed to partake of Christ and be recipients of his life and benefits. This suggests a move away from both ancient Roman Catholic and Lutheran practice and toward the practice of Eastern Orthodoxy.[75]
The ancient Christian Paschal meal required a thanksgiving that rehearsed God’s saving acts in history and culminated in the central act, which is the Christ event as that central act is reconstituted in the Supper for the gathered community. Communicants must be concretely joined with the sacrificed, raised, and ascended Lamb of God, who has given his life for us, and not simply assured of Christ’s benefits accredited at Calvary toward their salvation. Instead, it seems to me, the common current practice continues to tease worshippers, and we find ourselves no longer in the eschatological moment of deliverance—but back in church, and again being reminded of God’s new dispensation and our qualified participation in it. This is supported by the liturgy’s heavy dependence on the Heidelberg Catechism and its third emphasis, which is “gratitude.” Indeed, it is the point of the prayer.[76]
Essentially, I fall in with Dorn and the host of contemporary liturgical scholars who insist that the Eucharistic Prayer must be said while in the dynamic moment itself as the full expression of communion with God. The point to be made is that the prayer is central to the meal and not an accessory to it. It is not that the meal is over and now gratitude should be expressed for what God has done in Christ and might do for us. Although such a closing prayer might have merit, rather in its better form it is an expression of what God accomplished and continues to accomplish in this meal by making all his saving acts a lived reality, especially the central act of salvation in Christ by incorporation in him.
The ancient Church followed the Jewish tradition of a Paschal meal believing it to be a reenactment of the saving acts of God, but for Christians the Paschal meal was reimagined in light of Calvary where Jesus is offered to God and more recently, for his love and bond with us, we too are offered up to God. While both concern the saving acts of God, the Eucharist includes in the Paschal meal a central sacrificial element. But where is the symbol of that sacrifice or offering in the Palatinate rite or for that matter in the host of liturgies found among Reformed churches? Once again words must suffice for the Reformed, when indeed the one who is our head, mystically and ritually but nevertheless truly, stands with us to come forward to be our oblation.
What is clearly laudable and worthy of mention, is that the Provisional Liturgy recovered so many of the potent, ancient liturgical expressions of worship, including restoring the Institutional Narrative to the Communion Prayer, and thus repairing the damage done to the natural flow of narrative, anamnesis, and self-oblation. This allowed worshippers to move coherently through the prayer. Sadly, despite the direct influence of the Provisional Liturgy on Hageman and the RCA committee, they failed to restore the sequence, and that, as Dorn points out, was regrettable.
In conclusion, the time is long overdue for us to move beyond the conflict of the Reformation and its divisive issues. It is also essential that in acknowledging that the Christian faith was a result of the Easter miracle, we emphasize the resurrection as a central feature of worship such that it shares equally with Christ’s atoning death. But just as important is the sense of mystery best appreciated in celebration of the incarnation. Too often the older liturgies dwell too deeply on the darker side, overly focused on the atonement, and so threaten the full measure of grace Calvin was convinced the meal offered.
My critique of the Palatinate (above) pretty much outlines what I believe needs to happen today at Eucharist, but in summary conclusion let me say that contemporary liturgies would thrive with: A wealth of biblical language, but not overmuch that we lose the preferable and more ancient schemata; an end to pedantic and overly wordy forms; the two-sided sacramental focus of oblation—Jesus sacrificed to the Father and we sacrificed with and in him, but without implying re-sacrifice; lay involvement throughout, with a fencing of the table in keeping with the generosity and grace of Christ; the gifts of money and the elements brought forward by the people; an Epiclesis addressed to the Holy Spirit strengthening our commitment to trinitarian worship;[77] an overwhelming conveyance of comfort and joy, without failing to acknowledge it is a joy gained by the defeat of death which was the result of our sin; clarity on the necessity of faith—but one not so much as a question of our faith, but the faithfulness of Jesus; bread broken but no fuss over the when and where of the fraction.
Finally, the two-sided sacrificial mystery of the oblation of Christ and believer is the great achievement of our mature development of an evangelical and catholic liturgy. So is unity with Christ. The latter appears obvious, and the former has the added advantage that it might further our dialogue with Rome and Eastern Orthodoxy. Moreover, it answers the hyper-Protestant question, “Can’t we just forgo the bread and wine? They are after all, merely ancillary. The Word is everything, and there is nothing in the meal that can’t be had elsewhere.” This must be answered by insisting that Jesus’ body and blood are the thanksgiving—pure and simple, the only sacrifice pleasing to God. When we show forth the cup and bread it must be him and no other going to the Father to repair what was lost.[78] We can quibble about how that happens—questioning what mode he’s in when the cup and bread are offered to God as proof and seal of our unity with Christ who is our only sure representative and the owner of our hearts. But we know that it is he and no other. Not in memory, not simply spiritually (whatever that means), but in lived experience, albeit ritually enacted through anamnesis.
And the One who does this, beginning to end, is the Holy Spirit; keeping in mind that the Spirit is no substitute Christ in the meal nor simple surrogate, but the means by which the resurrected Christ is among us. Indeed, it is the Spirit who consummates Christ’s full representation of us as our leader and identity, such that we are brought forward as sacrifice to God with him. Not merely remembering ancient history when the miracle of redemption first took place, but again here in our anamnestic memorial. Thus, there is no Christ present without the bread and cup—in terms of what is to be accomplished. Namely, that we are all together participating existentially in God’s saving acts culminating in the birth, life, death, resurrection, and ascension of Christ. And we do so in the way of the ancient Jews, with a Paschal meal where the gifts of creation are given and received and given back again. By Christ’s word he has deemed us worthy, unworthy as we are, to be our friend and leader. We in our figurehead. And because he of his own free will has done this for us, we can, in faith, offer him back to God, in the very manner that he taught us—his body as bread, his blood as wine. So, we understand the special grace of Eucharist not had elsewhere, because we know that grace means “gifts from heaven” and this gift is certainly like no other.
[1] James Hastings Nichols, Romanticism in American Theology: Nevin and Schaff at Mercersburg (Eugene OR: Wipf and Stock Publishers, 1961), 310.
[2] I want to direct most of my conclusions at the communion question. I think that makes sense, because the idea of Holy Communion as the center of worship, is gaining support in the wider Reformed community. It also makes sense in terms of what we can accomplish this afternoon. Finally, it is simply a historical fact that the Palatinate Liturgy and the Heidelberg Catechism directed Reformed church worship and theology in America since their appearance in 1563, and in so many ways the reigning question of the day was how to celebrate Holy Communion. However, many other aspects of the liturgical controversy will be touched on briefly throughout the paper.
[3] More precisely, since the Palatinate Elector, Prince Frederick III, had it published in 1563.
[4] It is important to point out here that the significant changes in Dathenus’s Dutch translation of the Palatinate Liturgy for Morning Worship, which became universal for the churches in the Netherlands, and which would come into use for the Dutch in America and eventually be translated into English, only exacerbated the problem. Indeed, Dorn writes that the substitute prayers for the regular Sunday service did not maintain the Palatinate’s “symmetry,” failing to confirm the forgiveness and deliverance from sin that should have proceeded from the sermon. He writes, “Confession and supplication for pardon predominate throughout, unrelieved by the comfortable words and the absolution.” Christopher Dorn, “The Lord’s Supper in the Reformed Church in America: Tradition in Transformation,” (diss. Marquette, 2006), 30-31. Daniel Meeter likewise laments the changes and contends that the morning service “breathes the penitential spirit of the Roman Mass that was the very agony of the young Luther.” Meeter, Bless the Lord, 202. Finally, Dorn reports that Hageman and the committee were aware of the problem. (See “The Lord’s Supper,” 32).
[5] James Hastings Nichols, Corporate Worship in the Reformed Tradition (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1968), 12. Quoting Nichols, Jack Maxwell, Worship and Reformed Theology: The Liturgical Lessons of Mercersburg (Pittsburgh: The Pickwick Press, 1976), 51.
[6] The case is made minimally, that the Palatinate Liturgy was austere, to the more critical conclusion that it was “frightening” in its effect. More recently, additional criticism has been expressed that it was didactic and polemical. For a wide range of views, cf. Deborah Clemens, “Foundations of German Reformed Worship in the Sixteenth-Century Palatinate (diss. Drew University, 1995), Yngve Brilioth, Eucharistic Faith and Practice: Evangelical and Catholic, trans. A.G. Herbert(London: SPCK, 1930), Howard Hageman, Pulpit and Table: Some Chapters in the History of Worship in the Reformed Churches (Richmond, VA: Knox, 1962),Daniel Meeter, “Bless the Lord, O My Soul”: The New-York Liturgy of the Dutch Reformed Church, 1776 (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, Inc., 1998), and Christopher Dorn, “The Lord’s Supper in the Reformed Church in America: Tradition in Transformation,” (diss. Marquette, 2006). On the view that wordiness was not a problem (“Words did not tire people”), see A.C. Honders, “Remarks on the Postcommunio in Some Reformed Liturgies,” in The Sacrifice of Praise (Rome: Edizioni Liturgiche, 1981), 146 in Meeter, Bless the Lord, 243.
[7] The modern tendency towards the privatization of worship is covered in several recent volumes. Cf. George Marsden, Johnathan Edwards: A Life, (New Haven: YUP, 2003),Leigh Eric Schmidt, Holy Fairs: Scotland and the Making of American Revivalism (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2001), Christopher Dorn, “The Lord’s Supper,” Brad Gregory, The Unintended Reformation (Cambridge: HUP, 2012), Charles Taylor, A Secular Age (Cambridge: HUP, 2007). Likewise, Meeter comments on the Palatinate’s excessive “individualism.” Meeter, Bless the Lord, 260.
[8] We speak here of the historic Church’s beginning and not its pre-existence before creation as understood by Eastern Orthodoxy, nor its beginning at Creation, as understood by the Reformed.
[9] Granted they felt they took their departure from the biblical Last Supper, but they did not look at the early liturgies and gave only passing consideration to for example, St. Augustine. Also, Maxwell echoes Nichols saying, “. . . the Reformed preaching orders shared a common theology with those of the Mass type . . .” Maxwell (with reference to Nichols), Worship, 51 & 200.
[10] Maxwell, Worship, 50 and Dorn, “The Lord’s Supper,” 83-95.
[11] That is, in essence, the argument of Dorn in “The Lord’s Supper.”
[12] It is quite likely that all that remained of it were the sections used for special services, like for example, ordination and for prayers used with certain parts of the communion service as selected by the pastor.
[13] Some have argued that part of this can be explained by the lack of ordained clergy on the frontier, as well as the lack of printed material and its prohibitive cost. Keep in mind, that the government was not engaged in providing for worship as was the case in Europe. But clearly there was a growing antipathy toward liturgy bordering on hostility. Maxwell reports of the German Reformed Race Street Church that, “So fearful was the congregation at times lest the high church or liturgical tendencies should creep in to their worship that they often discussed the advisability of repeating together the Lord’s Prayer and the Apostle’s Creed. Indeed, the sentiment on occasions was so strongly against all forms of formalism that there were periods when the congregation had absolutely no part in the service except the singing of hymns.” Maxwell, Worship, quoting Bomberger and Good, 55, footnote 12.
[14] This is certainly the case with the Dutch. See Meeter, Bless the Lord, 184.
[15] Maxwell, Worship, 58.
[16] This was of first concern to Nevin. See Linden DeBie, ed, Coena Mystica: Debating Reformed Eucharistic Theology (Eugene, Oregon: Wipf and Stock Publishers, 2013), xxxiii.
[17] In fact, calls for reform by the German Reformed had begun much earlier, in the first years of the nineteenth century. But in spite of a great deal of discussion, not much was done.
[18] Maxwell, Worship, 61
[19] Maxwell, Worship, quoting A. R. Kremer, from 1890 page 49.
[20] Maxwell quote of a quote, A.R. Kremer, A Biographical Sketch of John Williamson Nevin (Reading, Pa: Daniel Miller, 1890), 5863.
[21] See John W. Nevin, “The Anxious Bench,” in Catholic and Reformed: Selected Writings of John Williamson Nevin, ed., Charles Yrigoyen and George H. Bricker (Pittsburgh: The Pickwick Press, 1978), and DeBie, Coena, xxxv-xxxvi. This type of worship was characteristic of the so-called “new methods” revivalism in the popular style of Charles Finney.
[22] Maxwell, Worship, 57 quoting E.V. Gerhart, “The German Reformed Church in America: Faith—Government—Worship,” (Mercersburg Review, Vol. 14, 1867), 272-273.
[23] Maxwell, Worship, quoting Weekly Messenger, February 28, 1855.
[24] Maxwell, Worship, 50.
[25] Maxwell, Worship, 50.
[26] Maxwell, Worship, 61
[27] Maxwell, Worship, 62.
[28] Ibid.
[29] Maxwell, Worship, 62-63.
[30] Maxwell, Worship, 67.
[31] Maxwell, Worship, 68.
[32] Maxwell, Worship, 68, quoting Nevin on Rauch, from Vindication of the Revised Liturgy (Philadelphia: Jas. B. Rodgers, 1867), 8-9.
[33] Maxwell, Worship, 71.
[34] Maxwell, Worship, 72.
[35] Nevin was characteristically methodical. A liturgy reflective of their catholicity must wait for the theological articulation of that theology. Having accomplished the conversion of the denomination, they could then move on to the liturgy. While Nevin would probably have appreciated the principle of lex orandi lex credendi, his idealistic, philosophical bent was certainly behind his view that it would be ultimately pointless to proceed unless those who prepared the forms and those who used them, first sought to reflect a coherent theology. In other words, Nevin would have preferred to come to a conclusion on the “Church Question” such that a clear theological vision shared by the entire denomination, would guide the committee. That perhaps might have been the case with the Catholic and Apostolic Liturgy, but it was not a possibility for the German Reformed at the time.
[36] Maxwell, Worship, 73.
[37] Maxwell, Worship, 134.
[38] Maxwell, Worship, 139.
[39] See Meeter, Bless the Lord.
[40] Maxwell, Worship, 50.
[41] For a brief summary of the movement and of John Nevin’s most important book, the Mystical Presence, see Linden DeBie, ed., The Mystical Presence by John W. Nevin (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2012), xxiii-xlii.
[42] See footnote #8 & Maxwell, Worship, 200.
[43] Maxwell, Worship, 201.
[44] Maxwell, Worship, 133-139.
[45] It is interesting in reading in the Mercersburg corpus that the term “altar” is used almost exclusively without any sense that it might be controversial. But in fact, it was and represented an important difference between Mercersburg and the traditional members of the denomination. Although Lutheran influence may have softened what would have been a provocative term for many (“altar”), we will learn in the subsequent controversy that one critic, Bomberger, voiced his disdain for the idea of an altar in Reformed worship. Nevin did not counter with an historical argument in support of his preference of “altar,” but rather said it better reflected the “mystical” nature of the meal. Maxwell, Worship, 329
[46] Maxwell, Worship, 227.
[47] Again, it was as common for the German Reformed to use the term altar as table, something the Dutch Reformed and Presbyterians wouldn’t dream of. It may be that this was always the case, but it has also been suggested that this comes from their close association with Lutherans and indeed the fact that in the early days in America, in order to manage costs, Lutherans and Reformed would often share a sanctuary together.
[48] Maxwell, Worship, 177.
[49] Maxwell, Worship, 249.
[50] Maxwell, Worship, 251.
[51] Maxwell, Worship, 252.
[52] Maxwell, Worship, 253.
[53] Maxwell, Worship, 258.
[54] Weekly Messenger of the German Reformed Church, May 14, 1862.
[55] Maxwell, Worship, 276.
[56] Ibid.
[57] Maxwell, Worship, 296.
[58] Maxwell, Worship, 297.
[59] Maxwell, Worship, 299.
[60] Maxwell, Worship, 300-301.
[61] Maxwell, Worship, 301.
[62] Maxwell, Worship, 303.
[63] Maxwell, Worship, 329.
[64] Maxwell, Worship, 326.
[65] Maxwell, Worship, 331.
[66] Maxwell, Worship, 332.
[67] Much of this was indeed accomplished by the Provisional Liturgy and it became the seed that would bare amazing fruit, certainly for the Dutch Reformed and even today, it anticipated what many are experiencing as liturgical renewal in our churches. But other groups benefitted as well. A. Bonar who in 1857 compiled Presbyterian Liturgies with Specimen Forms for Public Worship, referred to the Provisional Liturgy. In 1867 the very influential Scottish Church Service Society’s Euchologion included the Eucharistic liturgy from the Provisional Liturgy, and the eucharistic prayer found there for use by the church was a blend of the Provisional Liturgy and the Catholic and Apostolic Church’s prayer. Dorn, “The Lord’s Supper,” 72.
[68] A close study of Nevin’s Christology, especially in his confrontation with Isaac Dorner, shows this to be true.
Yet I am doubtful that Nevin knew of this principle, as such. You get a better sense of where he is coming from in his quote of Rauch, liking a liturgy to a poem and by his admiration for the work done by the Irvingites. As a committed philosophical idealist his viewpoint puts him squarely among the better Protestant liturgists of his era, that done right, the liturgists must determine the theology of their age, capturing the reigning spirit of Christ in the Church for the present moment, and create from that a meaningful liturgy. But his work on the early Church and on the Apostles’ Creed was moving him significantly nearer to this remarkable idea of lex orendi lex credendi, such that he began to speak as if the confession works to bring us to faith, and in that respect he seemed to be closing in on the idea that the confession speaks us rather than we speak the confession.
[69] We see the didacticism most everywhere. Christopher Dorn’s compelling example is of the unique Reformed act of breaking the bread during the Institutional Narrative, something we are all very familiar with. But as Dorn has shown, the fraction although important, became a lesson for the Reformed—that “we are not Lutherans,” and so we do not seek Christ in the bread. Granted there was much to the point, that where we have Christ in this rite was in the holy transaction itself and not corporally in the elements. We understand how important that was to them. But the result was a serious if unintentional disruption of the natural flow of the ancient rite. The ancient sequence from the words of institution to the anamnesis and then to the self-oblation, which makes perfect sense, was lost. Dorn convincingly argued that since the Reformed pray with their eyes closed, this may have forced them to place the narrative outside of the Communion Prayer, or else the act of breaking the bread would not be seen. Again, the visual lesson had to be rehearsed! The weight of Calvin’s influence and of those who followed him, was such that as visible sign of the word the fraction must be clearly seen with the eyes of the participants. Thus, the entire narrative was pulled from the Eucharistic Prayer. Either way, the overweening drive to teach the faith may have trumped the desire to celebrate it throughout the liturgy. Dorn, “The Lord’s Supper,” 180-184.
[70] Clemens, “Foundations,” 13-14, 109-110, 114-115.
[71] As Hageman argued, no “sacramental” gift is given or received.
[72] Meeter, Bless the Lord, 250-252. Clemens, “Foundation.” The idea of the people’s transformation rather than the transformation of the elements comes up as a preeminent theme in Clemens’ work.
[73] Dorn, “The Lord’s Supper.”
[74] Meeter, Bless the Lord, 253.
[75] A move already made by many Roman Catholic liturgical scholars. This was pointed out to me by Christopher Dorn.
[76] Gratitude, we learn, is the appropriate response to the previous offering of grace, after of course, we have been convicted in our guilt. All three, guilt, grace and gratitude, admittedly figure prominently in the Gospel, but never in so static an order. Here a brilliant pedagogical framework and order can degenerate into a somewhat mechanical scheme of lived experience. The moment of grace gives way to the last stage which is gratitude. But the movement is overly abstract and instructive. Rather, I would contend that gratitude can just as easily precede guilt in human experience, and that the relationship is best described dialectically. Gratitude is not the sign of grace bestowed—it is grace expressed.
[77] This is by no means to suggest that Reformed worship lacked any zeal concerning the Holy Spirit. However, the liturgies of the period did not include prayers offered directly to the Holy Spirit encouraging a surrogate role for the Spirit, and missing the Spirit’s full and unique participation in worship. See Colin Gunton, The Promise of Trinitarian Theology (London: T&T Clark Ltd, 1991). On the other hand, we need to avoid any hint of tri-theism in the way of some contemporary worship. Thus, we need to recover the order of classic prayer, which by addressing “God” in prayer, holds together the orthodox sense that we thank God for his gifts which culminate in the saving act of the Son, whom the Holy Spirit makes know to us and unites us with in our worship. This important caveat was offered by Christopher Dorn.
[78] So, it is not only a question of real presence, but of real procession—of Jesus going up to Father as offering with us and on our behalf. This is key to the mystery of the eschatological moment, which is of first importance, more so than of substantial change.
Mercersburg Today 