Pentecost
I belong to a liturgical church.
Liturgical churches are very good at appealing to as many of our senses as possible to remind us of our story. People stand and retell it to us so we can hear it. We use special music, and even ring bells, to remind ourselves of the story.
Our buildings tend to be filled with pictures that reflect parts of the story, some of them painted on canvas and some of them made of stained glass. We actually use the sunlight coming through the windows to reinforce the story. We even change the colors of our worship to remind us of the part of the story on which we are focusing together each week.
We use a lot of candles that give off light, heat, and smoke to keep us focused and reflecting on our story, which includes quite a bit of fire. We also share in the meal of the Great Thanksgiving each week. The taste of the bread and the wine remind us why we are there, and where we are going, each week.
Even all of this, our usual swirl of sensual reinforcement, is not enough for some of the days on our calendar. Some days need special reminders.
This Sunday is one of those days. This Sunday, 50 days after Easter, is Pentecost. In our church, this is one of the days our church uses incense.
Incense has a strong aroma. For many people, it is not always pleasant.
This week, incense reminds us that God pours power out into people. God intervenes in our lives, and gives us gifts to do what we are called to do. It can be challenging, and even unpleasant, but we always notice it. The aroma stays with us.
What reminds you of your story?
[Image by crsan - christianholmer.com]
4 Comments
Bob Holmes
May 26, 2012I was in my 3rd year of Greek, working and going to school full time, doing ministry, getting on average 4 hours of sleep a night. Married with 6 kids, I was worn slap out.
We were invited to attend a church, some missionary friends of ours were running a course at. So, on a whim, one Sunday morning, we skipped and entered the doors of this beautiful church. They talked and prayed together, before they sat down. The couple I was talking to simply said, “Welcome Home.”
The service was up and down, kneel and stand. Then we went down for communion. When I finished and sat down, I realized that God had touched me deeper than my intellect, and deeper than my emotions. There was a deep peace rising in me I hadn’t felt in years.
From that point I was ruined by Liturgy. It involved the whole of me, standing, sitting, kneeling, the art, the windows, the sights, the sounds, the smells, everything pointed to Christ. The worship was centered on God, and not on me, or the preacher, or the congregation. I was home.
Strategic Monk
May 26, 2012Thank you, Bob. I reflect quite a bit on how the language and the liturgy drew me in, “ruined” me, brought me to where I could begin to appreciate the silence and solitude of contemplation. There is a deep balance that encompasses both.
Monika
May 26, 2012Music. For as long as I can remember, I have been surrounded by music. My brother, sister and I all played the piano and other instruments, as well as sing. There were always lessons to take and concerts to perform/attend. My two children (now grown) filled the house with sound, too. Old programs and worn out sheet music fill my living room; that is a chronology of our family life, in itself!
As a church musician (organist and pianist), I have “played before the Lord” for all kinds of liturgies – ordinary, sad, joyful, and everything in between. Many times, it is the lyrics of a song that tell the story; but other times, a simple melody can evoke strong memories and emotions.
Whatever the modality, music touches the depths of my soul. God pours out His life to me, not only in the Sacraments, but in the music that flows through and around me.
Strategic Monk
May 26, 2012Thank you, Monika.
More and more, it is the silence that draws me deeper. The liturgy, words and music, is the framework that supports the silence for me. The sights and sounds, the scents and tastes; the sensations of standing, sitting, and kneeling reinforce and remind me of the power of the silence.
The silence is where I spend time with the holy.