by J. Barrington Bates
In the 1928 Book of Common Prayer, as with its predecessors, there was quite a lot of material interposed between the proclamation of the gospel at the Holy Eucharist and the sermon that broke open this Word for today’s world.
By contemporary standards, of course, this was a very encumbered liturgy—although praxis had streamlined various options and incorporated the faithful into others. The opening Lord’s Prayer and the Decalogue, for instance, were often omitted—more frequently than a strict reading of the rubrics permitted (over the years, the General Convention authorized some rubrical flexibility that was never incorporated into the published text). The inset text of the Ten Commandments was basically never heard at all. And, by the ’70s, the post-communion prayer was recited by everyone, not just the priest.
The liturgy of 1928 still imagined that many a congregation’s Sunday-morning worship experience would consist of Morning Prayer, the Great Litany, and at least the first part of the Holy Communion (so called “ante-Communion”)—a practice that was basically abandoned in the late nineteenth century.
Following the gospel, then, came the Nicene or Apostles’ Creed, a declaration of holy days or fasting days, “notice of the Communion,” the banns of matrimony, and “other matters to be published”—in other words, the announcements. (Remember, there was no explicit exchange of the Peace, and thus no mid-service break for announcements.) Then, in addition, the priest could say the Bidding Prayer or “other authorized prayers and intercessions.”
While it was uncommon by the ’70s to have all of this in a given liturgy, it was not at all uncommon to have both creed and announcements in between the gospel and the sermon. This practice doubtless derives from the medieval “prone,” the section of the liturgy that was given in the vernacular. The only time the priest addressed the congregation in a tongue they understood was for the announcements and the sermon; after the adoption of a fully vernacular rite, the announcements simply kept their attachment to the sermon, for no reason other than continuity.
In this context, a prayer or Trinitarian invocation often served to indicate the end of the business and the beginning of preaching. It signaled a return to the liturgy, as it were.
In addition, in the heyday of the Episcopal Church of the ’6os, the standard service on Sundays was Morning Prayer, not the Eucharist. In this practice, the whole of Morning Prayer was said, followed by announcements, followed by a “sermon hymn,” during which the preacher frequently made a pious show of kneeling in prayer for guidance and inspiration. A similar “sermon hymn” was sometimes inserted in the monthly Eucharistic celebration, as well. As the people were standing, a prayer or invocation served as a cue to be seated. These prayers were often more personal than communal, such as the still-common quotation of Psalm 19 (“May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be alway acceptable…”).
One of the fundamental tenets of the Liturgical Movement that culminated in the twentieth century was a return to lectionary preaching on the gospel text of the day. In order to emphasize the essential connection between gospel and sermon, then, they were placed back in their pre-English and more ecumenical order, with the creed following the sermon.
As an aside, the Orthodox theologian Alexander Schmemann used to quip that the gospel, sermon, and creed represented one unified unit in the liturgy. In his view, the creed often corrected unintentional heresies in the sermon!
In recent times, liturgical scholars have asserted an essential link between the hearing of the Word and the preaching of it. [See James W. Farwell, The Liturgy Explained, new edition (New York: Morehouse, 2013).] According to Patrick Malloy, “The sermon should follow directly upon the proclamation of the Gospel since it is a direct response to it.” [Patrick Malloy, Celebrating the Eucharist: A Practical Ceremonial Guide for Clergy and Other Liturgical Ministers (New York: Church Publishing, 2007), 157.] Malloy further asserts that gestures beginning a sermon—such as the sign of the cross, a prayer, or a scriptural verse—have become the poetic equivalent of asking the assembly to sit down, which he prefers to the clumsy “Please be seated.”
Experience, however, has shown that a congregation can be taught to sit without a verbal cue. A visual cue may be helpful in the transition, but can be phased out over time. The congregation will understand its responsibility to sit when the music ends (if there is a retiring procession following the gospel proclamation) or after proclaiming, “Praise to you, Lord Christ” (if the gospel is read from the ambo or pulpit). If the congregation really exhibits full active conscious participation, they need not be cued or led from liturgical element to liturgical element—over time, they will simply learn how to participate fully.
If music is needed to cover the return of the gospel procession, Howard Galley suggests it be instrumental and not a recapitulation of the sequence hymn or anything else that brings words to the minds of the congregation. [Howard E. Galley, The Ceremonies of the Eucharist: A Guide to Celebration (Cambridge, Mass.: Cowley Publications, 1989), 90.] Marion Hatchett simply reminds us
It is to be noted that the permission in many of the previous Prayer Books to allow announcements, hymns, or prayers to be inserted between the Gospel and the sermon has been totally deleted in this present revision. [Marion J. Hatchett, Commentary on the American Prayer Book (New York: Harper & Row, 1979), 332.]
Remember, “protracted and self-referential prayers create a space between the rest of the liturgy and the sermon, and draw attention to the preacher rather than the preaching.” [Malloy, Celebrating, 158.] I even know of one bishop who begins his sermons with this prayer: “Heavenly Father, behold a sheep of your own fold, a sinner of your own redeeming”! The hope is to emphasize the essential connection between the proclamation of a text, the preaching inspired by it, and the life lived in response: now that’s the Gospel!
© 2013 J. Barrington Bates
Barrie Bates is a priest of the Episcopal Church, a member of the International Anglican Liturgical Consultation, and a seminar convener for the North American Academy of Liturgy. He is indebted to the Liturgical Language seminar group for insights shared in this blog. He holds a Ph.D. in liturgical studies from Drew University. He currently serves as interim rector of St. John’s Episcopal Church in Montclair, N.J. He welcomes questions, comments, suggestions, and other conversation: revdocbates@gmail.com.
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