LITURGY AND WORSHIP

A Companion to the Prayer Books of the Anglican Communion

Edited by W. K. Lowther Clarke, with the assistance of Charles Harris

SPCK, 1932

[Bible citations converted to all Arabic numerals.  Spelling selectively modernized.

Footnotes moved into place of citation or following paragraph in which cited in square brackets.]

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Contents

Part  I. – Historical

Introduction – The Editor, William Kemp Lowther Clarke

Worship In General – Frank. Herbert Brabant

Worship in the Old Testament –William Oscar Emil Oesterley

Synagogue Worship in the First Century – Paul Philip Levertoff

The Eucharist in East and West – Frank Gavin

The History of the Book of Common Prayer Down to 1662 – Frank Edward Brightman, and Kenneth Donald Mackenzie

Part  II – The Prayer Book Services: Their Sources and Rationale

The Calendar – The Editor

Fasting And Abstinence – Arthur John Maclean, Bishop of Moray, Ross and Caithness

The Choir Offices – Edward Craddock Ratcliff

The Lectionary – The Editor

The Consecration of Churches and Other Occasional Services – The Editor

The Holy Communion Service – James Herbert Srawley

Collects, Epistles, and Gospels – Kenneth Donald Mackenzie

Holy Baptism – The Editor

The Catechism and Children’s Worship – Arthur Rupert Browne-Wilkinson

Confirmation – The Editor

Solemnization of Matrimony – The Editor

Visitation of the Sick – Charles Harris

The Communion of the Sick – Charles Harris

The Burial of the Dead – Arthur Stuart Duncan-Jones

The Ordinal – Walter Kelly Firminger

Part  III – Supplementary Essays

The Lesser Hours – Edward Craig Trenholme

The Coronation Service – Leopold George Wickham Legg

Anglican Adaptations Of Some Latin Rites And Ceremonies – Kenneth Donald Mackenzie

Modern Prayers And Their Writers – Eric Milner-White

Extempore Prayer – Charles Harris

Liturgical Silence – Charles Harris

Prayer Book Revision Since 1662 – The Editor

Printers and Printed Editions of the Prayer Book – Bret Ince

The Prayer Book as Literature – The Editor

Prayer Book Translations – The Editor

The Services of the Eastern Orthodox Church – Reginald French

Additional Notes

Index (omitted for web)

Liturgy And Worship

Introduction, by the Editor

      When Prayer Book revision was being discussed in England and it was generally anticipated that a book would be sanctioned which would either stand in the same relation to the 1662 Book as that did to its predecessor, or be a legalized alternative, the Literature Committee of the English Church Union planned a Commentary on the New Prayer Book.  The idea was that it should be written on the basis of the provisional proposals, brought up to date when these appeared in their final form, and published simultaneously with the New Book.  When the revision proposals were

rejected by Parliament, the situation had to be reviewed.  Finally, the present editor was invited to undertake the work, under the supervision of an Editorial Board. [This Essay is a personal utterance of the editor which commits no one but himself.  The members of the Board have confined themselves to offering suggestions, which have been for the most part gratefully accepted.  The contributors take no responsibility for it or for any chapter except their own.]

      The resulting book has been planned on different lines, which are partly explained by the title.

      1.  Much space has been given to the Eucharist, in keeping with the increased sense of its importance in modern Church life.

      2.  An attempt has been made to study Anglican problems against a background of wider knowledge – of worship in general, of Christian worship in East and West, and of its Jewish antecedents.

      3.  The book is a companion to the Prayer Book rather than a Commentary.  It does not attempt to reproduce all the features of Procter and Frere’s History of the Book of Common Prayer.  Special attention, however, has been given to problems which have come to the front in the twentieth century.

      4.  What we mean by the Prayer Book is left undefined.  The writers being, with three exceptions, English priests, have inevitably thought first of their own local problems, though care has been taken not to neglect the revisions of the sister and daughter Churches.  What to make of the revised English Book has been a difficulty.  On the one hand, since it was not put forth by synodical authority, some regard it as possessing only an academic interest.  On the other hand, it represents in so large a measure the judgment of the Church of England as to what revision is likely to be practicable today, and with episcopal approval parts of it are coming to be used so widely, that it would have been pedantic to ignore it on account of its lack of synodical authorization.  Let it be said once for all that phrases like “The English 1928 Book,” or “Alternative Book,” are a shortened form of “The Book of Common Prayer with the additions and deviations proposed in 1928,” the official title.  As to other details of nomenclature, authors have described the traditional Prayer Book as dating from 1661, when it was approved by the Convocations, or as from 1662, when the Act of Uniformity to which it was annexed became law, according to their preference.  Recent revisions are referred to by the dates when they came into use – the Canadian 1922, Irish 1927, Scottish and American 1929.

      The present work may after all be more useful for being based mainly on the 1662 Book.  As is pointed out elsewhere, [Part III, essay on Revision since 1662] the American, Irish, Canadian and South African revisers disclaim, with various degrees of emphasis, the intention of departing from the doctrinal standards of 1662.  The Bishops’ Preface in the 1928 English Book takes the same line.  The 1662 Book, then, is recognized as the norm, or bond of union, for the Anglican Churches.  There is a danger that, if it were superseded by a new and improved Prayer Book, this bond would be loosened, since reference would then be to a document no longer in common use.  In commenting primarily on the 1662 services we are dealing with the common stock of the Anglican Communion.

      But no more than its sister Churches can the Church of England be permanently content with an unrevised seventeenth-century Prayer Book.  It would seem to follow that some variety of usage ought to be tolerated in the Provinces of Canterbury and York.  But this contention only corresponds to the facts of the situation.  The mother country of the British family of nations may be expected to welcome within its borders all legitimate varieties of interpretation of Prayer Book standards.  The Church of Ireland has thought fit to go to the extreme limit in banishing Catholic interpretations and adjuncts of worship, but few would maintain that rules possible in Belfast ought to be, or could be, enforced in a great cosmopolitan city like London.

      Having said this, we proceed to limit its application.  A distinction should be drawn between ritual and ceremonial, between liturgy and semi-liturgical or non-liturgical worship.  While the ceremonial adjuncts of a rite may vary widely, the rite itself, or its recognized varieties, should be strictly adhered to.  More is involved in this than loyalty to a solemn undertaking, important as that is.  Individualism and self-will are foreign to the whole idea of liturgy.  The Liturgy is the prayer of the Church, something given, which, if it changes at all from generation to generation, does so very slowly, with scrupulous care for the conservatism of worshippers.  There must be exceptions, we are told.  For whom?  The individual worshipper is a separate entity who forms his own devotional life within the framework of his God-given personality; every individual is an exception.  But corporate worship is a different matter.  Each member of the congregation is an exception: together they can only worship in a liturgy given by the Church.  If a congregation has come to cherish substantial variations from the Prayer Book, it is as a result of the personal preferences of its priest, who has imparted them to his people.  The stubborn individualism of the Englishman, even when he has Catholic leanings, is reflected in the numerous uses (happily less numerous than they were) to be found today.

      What is to be done?  Are we to return to the confusion of the early Gallican Church before the Roman type of liturgy became practically the norm, when each diocese was a law unto itself?  That was recognized as an abuse even when most men lived and died within a few miles of their birthplace; it would be far worse now when the population is so mobile.  The solution seems to lie along the lines of carefully regulated variation.  The policy of the Roman See is most instructive.  Not only are the minor variations of the Western Rite carefully preserved, but the Eastern Rites are also preserved in the Uniat books and the latinizing of their adherents is forbidden. [Codex Juris Canonici, Can. 98, §§ 2, 3: “Clerici nullo modo inducere praesumant sive latinos ad orientalem, sive orientales ad latinum ritum assumendum.  Nemini licet sine venia Apostolicae Sedis ad alium ritum transire, aut, post legitimum transitum, ad pristinum reverti.”]  Logically, therefore, we should expect two theories of consecration to be legitimate the Roman Communion – the Western, which ascribes it to the “Words of Institution,” and the Eastern whereby the Epiclesis is held to effect it. [However, the Western interpretation is implied in the Uniat books by printing the “Words of Institution” in capitals.]  To come nearer home: the Scottish Church allows the Eucharist to be celebrated according to three, possibly four, rites, and no ill consequences seem to follow. [See Part III, essay on Revision since 1662]  Something similar seems to lie in front of the English Church.  An instructed clergy is unlikely to be permanently content with a rite which, with one important exception, is virtually that of 1552, and the demand for the authorization of reasonable variations is likely to become stronger.  But such authorization should be at least on a provincial basis, and deviations from the authorized alternatives will, we hope, become so abhorrent to the clergy that disciplinary action by the Bishops will be unnecessary. [Yet it should be remembered that improvements in liturgy come from spontaneous variations made by priests in touch with the needs of their congregations, which later commend themselves for wider use and ultimately for authorization.]

      Similar considerations apply to the Occasional Offices.  In the present conditions of English life the services connected with birth, marriage and death have a real missionary value.  The traditional solemn rites of the Church, conservatively revised, as they are found in an authorized book, have an appeal which no individually revised versions can have.  The people are unlikely to believe in the Church if the priest is obviously apologetic for its services or discards them in part.  Mattins and Evensong, again, are the Anglican form of the Breviary and we have no authority for altering them.

      Our plea, then, is for some variety of rite, but for careful adherence to the authorized variations; for the elimination of private fancy and of desire to be wiser than the Church.  A priest cannot indulge these and keep the spirit of humility and obedience which is necessary if liturgy is to do its perfect work in his soul.  But may not a Bishop sanction deviations?  Once more let us look at Roman Catholic practice.  “Catholicism,” it was said recently, means that the laity obey the parish priest, the parish priest the Bishop, the Bishop the Pope.  The Pope, we may add, according to theory, obeys the Holy Spirit, who speaks not least in the consensus fidelium.  The Bishop is only one link in the chain and his liturgical powers are carefully defined.  Since 1588 the regulation of the Liturgy has been withdrawn from him, and he is restricted to the authorizing of extra-liturgical prayers, the watching over the observance of laws, and the prevention of superstition and abuse. [Codex .J. C., Can. 1257–1261, especially 1257: “Unius Apostolicae Sedis est tum sacram ordinare liturgiam, tum liturgicos approbrare libros.”]  The recommendation of a Lambeth Conference Committee in 1920, asking for the recognition of the principle that “full liberty belongs to Diocesan Bishops ... for the adoption of other uses,” [See below, essays on Additional Services and Prayer Book Translations.] gets no more support from Roman Catholic law than it does from English practice since the Reformation.  The Bishop’s jus liturgicum is surely limited to the sanctioning of services additional to those in the authorized service books and doctrinally in harmony with them.  In practice, as things are at present, he will probably tolerate certain deviations from the norm of the legal services, but by way of “economy,” not of jus.

      Where additional services are concerned, considerable liberty and freedom of experiment seem desirable at our present stage, even if the results are such as shock liturgical purists.  The tendency is to eliminate extravagances, and if some of the clergy, in their longing by all means to save some, seem to their colleagues to break bounds, it is best to trust to public opinion gradually to correct excesses.  The great thing is that the principle should be clearly accepted – liberty in additional and non-liturgical services, coupled with humble fidelity to the liturgical standards of the Church.  Popular devotions vary with the generations, as do popular hymns.  They should not be stereotyped, and the demand for their insertion in the official Book of Common Prayer should be resisted.  The danger of their ousting liturgical services may easily be over-estimated.  It is just as likely that, as in the Roman Catholic Church today, their toleration will lead to a reaction in favour of liturgy. [See below, Part III, on American Prayer Book for the new policy of the American Church, which is apparently actuated by the same kind of principles as are here sketched.]

      So far I have been discussing liturgy.  What of the second part of our title – Worship, the inner movement of the soul of which liturgy is the outward manifestation?  Only, liturgy and worship are inseparable; liturgy teaches and creates worship as truly as worship expresses itself in liturgy.  Readers will find Mr. Brabant’s introductory Essay a welcome innovation in a book of this description.  I should like to supplement it with a few observations on the theological aspects of worship.  The line of thought here sketched is one which I was led to work out owing to my inability to appropriate, and use devotionally, the theories of sacrifice associated with the names of Père de la Taille and (among Anglicans) Mr. W. Spens, still less the earlier theories of which they are a restatement; they seem to me to preserve Jewish elements the value of which for others I do not doubt, but personally I do not find them helpful. [In working out this train of thought I have been helped most by C. E. Rolt’s introduction to Dionysius the Areopagite and Cardinal de Bérulle’s doctrine of “adherence” to the Son of God as expounded by H. Bremond in the third volume of his Histoire littéraire.  In view of its origins I shall not be surprised if to some it seems open to the objection of being Neoplatonic rather than distinctively Christian.]

      Christian worship is offered to the Father “through Jesus Christ our Lord.”  What do these familiar words mean?  Let us begin with St. Paul, for whom Christian life was life “in the Lord”.  What pagan philosophers had held of God – “in him we live and move and have our being” – he extended to Jesus Christ, Jesus of Nazareth, the expected Messiah – King of Israel, and our Lord.  The Septuagint was his Bible, and there he found Jehovah called Kyrios; thus the same word in Greek meant the God of the Jews and the Lord of a pagan cult, and each set of associations contributed something to his setting forth of Jesus Christ. [The technical Greek terms are sometimes common to Christianity and paganism: the ideas they represent seem to me to be wholly Jewish and Christian.  The pagan associations, that is, are confined to the form in which the Gospel was presented to converts from paganism.]  In and with Christ the Christian died, rose, and ascended into the heavenly places; where Christ is, there he is.  In some respects St. Paul’s teaching was controverted, but there is no sign that this doctrine of mystical union met with opposition.  That others realized it as intensely as he did is improbable, but at least it was a natural conception for the first Christians.  Once we grasp this truth, the theological teaching about the relation of the Son to the Father in the Trinity becomes fraught with intense reality and applicability to our own souls, for since the Incarnation we share the movements of the Son.  The Father eternally begets the Son and eternally loves Him.  The Son is the stream of Godhead ever flowing from the fount of Godhead, the Light of the Sun ever streaming from the Sun.  We never see the Father in Himself, only His manifestation in the Son.  This eternal coming must be distinguished from the coming in time known as the Incarnation.

      There is another facet of truth, seen in the Prologue of the Fourth Gospel.  The Son or Word of God, the Logos, is manifest in creation.  The whole created universe is a manifestation of the Son, that is, of that side of God which is turned towards us and which alone we see.  Without the doctrine of the Trinity, emphasis on God in Nature leads to Pantheism.  For Christians the universe is animated by the Divinity of the Son.  But the Son eternally loves the Father.  Consequently, there is in Him a continual response of the Universe to the Source of all being. [This does not exclude a relation between the Son and the Father independent of all creation.]  The stream that flows out from the Throne is ever returning whence it came.  “They continue this day according to thine ordinance: for all things serve thee.”  Note, however, that they serve God by an inherent law of their being.  The stars on their way, the passing of the seasons, the instinctive movements of bird and beast, can do no other.  In creating man God parted in a sense with His omnipotence; He made beings, sons of God, who could withhold their meed of homage, deliberately standing aloof from the stream of response that ever flows back to the Throne, abstaining from participation in the love yielded by the Son to the Father.

      Modernists and orthodox differ in their conception of the Incarnation.  To the former it seems the crown of the evolutionary process, God appearing in man ab intra.  The latter maintain that Christ came ab extra; to them the modernist view seems to imply that all happened by a natural unfolding apart from the personal will of God.  But need the two conceptions exclude one another?  May we not believe that one and the same thing, considered in terms of our planet, was the culmination of the evolutionary process and, considered sub specie aeternitatis, a new and personal act of God, the latter being the deeper and fundamental truth?  The Logos, who has been in the world as the Divine principle animating both nature and human society, now takes flesh, that is human nature, and lives the life of a man.  He enters fully into the time process, and the eternal going forth from the Father is exemplified in a special sending.  “Lo, I come to do thy will” is the purpose of the Incarnation, to live the life of perfect obedience under conditions which hitherto have led men to withhold obedience.  And that homage is rendered under the most difficult conditions of all – humiliation, disgrace and intense suffering – so that the Cross is the typical and culminating act of obedience and sacrifice that saves the world (cf. Phil. 2:8).

      We now begin to see what is meant by the life of specifically Christian devotion, and by the instinct which leads the Church to conclude its prayers with “through Jesus Christ our Lord”.  Devotion is nothing less than union with our Lord, willing “adherence” to the One who has perfectly pleased God, made Creation’s response in its hardest form, that of man who can withhold it, and united the conscious response of humanity to the unconscious response of nature, thus restoring the broken unity.  The stream is still coming forth and returning.  Our part is to receive the saving, vivifying power of the outflowing stream and to identify ourselves with it as it returns.  In other words, none but Christ has been able to respond to the Father’s love in terms of created humanity.  He has responded on behalf of the human race.  He has redeemed us and made it possible for us to be true sons of the Father in Him, the eternal Son.

      Practical devotion therefore consists in entering into the stream, identifying ourselves with the perfect sacrifice of the Son to the Father which we plead in the Eucharist, and thus going home to God in and “through Jesus Christ our Lord”.  “All things are returning to unity in him through whom they took their origin, even our Lord Jesus Christ.”  But under the conditions of this life no sooner do we reach the Throne – and however dim our apprehension we believe that we do reach heaven in our worship – than forthwith we find ourselves in the outflowing stream which the Father sends in His love, and if we are faithful to our calling we proceed to share in the loving acts of the Son towards humanity, which for us, as for Him when He came in time, involve sacrifice and continued dying.

      Preachers, interpreting the Eucharist devotionally, sometimes say that its action takes place in heaven, not on earth; we are caught up into the celestial realm where the Sacrifice of Calvary is pleaded.  The Liturgy perfectly blends the two conceptions.  If in the Sanctus we rise to be with our Lord in the company of angels, we are at once reminded in the Benedictus qui venit how earthbound we are, needing Him to descend to us.  This suggests the inadequacy of the metaphor I have used above.  It savours too much of the Neoplatonic “flight of the alone to the Alone” to be fully Christian.  If it is to satisfy, justice must be done to the part played by the Church.  Which reminds us that the Holy Spirit has been left out.

      Christian worship is directed to the Father through the Son in the Holy Spirit.  Our metaphor is content with two Persons only.  Perhaps this is inevitable when we develop the thought of the Father who loves and the Son who is loved and in His turn loves the Father.  True, we add that the Holy Spirit is the love that joins them; but it is difficult for our minds to conceive a relationship between two Persons with the same vividness as we conceive the Persons.  If our Eucharistic theology is to be rich and satisfying, we must find some other way of visualizing the part played by the Spirit.

      We are accustomed nowadays to the conception of a life force, which streams in and provides the motive power of our lives.  The same force which impels a weed to find its way through the asphalt path in our garden is at work in us, at a higher level of efficiency.  The practical success with which we lead our lives largely depends on the extent to which we allow this force, largely instinctive, to take control, handing over the great mass of our bodily functions and daily actions to instinctive automatic functioning, in order to set free the conscious and rational part of us to direct those matters in which choice is necessary.  This force is often called libido, a term which is used in a technical sense.  “When we so [i.e. as instinctive energy] define libido, we ought to realize that we are speaking of what many Christians would call the Holy Spirit,” says a recent writer. [G. Coster, Psychoanalysis for Normal People, p. 51.]  The words are correctly chosen – not all Christians are familiar with such a conception, nor can the identification be made without qualification. [The Whitsuntide hymns in The English Hymnal and Hymns Ancient and Modern contain no reference to the work of the Holy Spirit in Nature.]  Something like it was familiar enough in the fourth century.  St. Basil, for instance, bids us think “of the original cause of all things that are made, the Father; of the creative cause, the Son; of the perfecting cause, the Spirit.” [De Spiritu Sancto, 38.]  “It is unseemly to coordinate the Holy Spirit with created nature.” [Ib., 55.]  The action of the Spirit on creation is “as one sees a bird cover the eggs with her body and impart to them vital force from her own warmth.”  [Hexaemeron, ii. 6.  Cf. Gen. 1:2 “the Spirit of God was brooding ... (R.V. marg.).]  Instinctive energy, or vital force, must not be identified with the Holy Spirit, but it manifests His operation.  So in the Nicene Creed the Holy Spirit is confessed as Lord, and Giver of Life (making alive), before we reach the clauses which describe His work in the Church.  The Old Testament conception of Spirit at one stage is exactly what is meant by instinctive energy; see, for example, Judges 14:6, 19, where “the Spirit of the Lord came mightily upon Samson.”

      In our theological thinking we must discriminate between the manifestation of the Spirit in Creation which continues today and the presence of the Holy Spirit, coming forth from the Father and the Son, which dates from Pentecost.  The relation between the two is comparable with that between the Logos and the Incarnate Son.  The Holy Spirit in the full Christian sense abides in the Church.  He makes the plenitude of the Father and the Son present to Christians today.  Perhaps we may express the matter thus.  Our Lord yielded Himself fully to the inflowing Spirit, so that His was a perfectly developed humanity, free from the obstacles, phobias, and inhibitions set up by all other men.  This merely expresses in modern terms the truth of His perfect manhood.  But since the Incarnation it is possible for Christians to receive the Holy Spirit in a new sense, conditioned by the humanity of Christ through which the Spirit flows to us.  If the illustration of the life stream of instinctive energy is sound, we may believe that the method of intake of energy is the same for all men, but that for Christians the stream is charged with vitality not available outside the Church, with nothing less than the life of Christ reaching them in the Spirit. [This thought, of the sap of the Vine reaching the branches, is very familiar; here I am trying to coordinate it with the other operations of the Spirit.]  This supernatural life in the Church is, however, mediated to us by the ministrations of our fellowmen, sacramentally and otherwise.

      We can now try to understand the special part played by the Holy Spirit in worship.  Our worship is in the Holy Spirit.  In and through the Spirit we practice corporate worship.  If our part in worship is to put ourselves into the stream which is the Son’s response to the Father, the impulse so to do is the work of the Spirit, helping our infirmities.  Obviously the impulse results from our membership of the body – what have we that we have not received?  Can any man claim that he desires to worship, or knows how to worship, without the help of his fellowmen the yearnings of former generations expressed in the Liturgy, the instructions of parents, teachers, preachers, and books, the examples of holy lives?  To return to the metaphor of the vine, if he is a cell in the plant, they are the neighbouring cells through which the life force reaches him.

      We close a necessarily technical discussion, in which it is only too easy to overstate a view or strain a metaphor too far, with an attempt at a definition of Eucharistic worship.  Eucharistic worship is the movement by which the beloved community, expressing the yearnings of the individuals that compose it, identifies itself with the sacrifice even unto death of that perfect Life of the Son which came forth from the Father in time and eternally returns whence it came.  This identifying, this putting itself into the stream, is made possible by the Holy Spirit who links the individuals and makes them one Body and provides the Body with the will and power to worship.  The worshipping community is swept into the mighty stream that flows unto the Throne of God, and, bathed and purified anew, it returns to the world to face its task of suffering and service.

      Is worship so complicated as all that? a reader may ask.  No, it is the simplest thing in the world for the childlike, the single-hearted.  But we have travelled far from the days when the Christians, newly baptized in the Holy Spirit, broke bread “with gladness and singleness of heart, praising God,” and many of us need prolonged intellectual preparation before we can surrender ourselves in utter simplicity to the Spirit of worship; the act may be instantaneous but the preliminaries take time.

      The same reader may ask whether so long a book as this was necessary.  Nearly every contributor has complained, What can I do in the inadequate space allotted?  The fact is that there is much to be said on the subject.  The antithesis to simplicity here is not so much complexity as richness.  Liturgical knowledge is an integral part of Christian civilization.  We are no longer “in the Catacombs,” but living in a world of wonderful beauty and variety.  Every side of a worthy human life has its links with liturgy – birth, marriage, death, painting, architecture, music, philosophy, history, literature.  Even when we have filled 800 pages we have left much unsaid.  In an age of standardization and vulgarization, liturgy remains unvulgarized.  In it we see the good manners of created beings before their Maker.  The very movements of the ministers at the altar recall the dignity of the Roman gentleman.  I hope that our book will not be read only by the clergy, but that educated laymen, not content with secular education and Christian piety, will find in these pages something of the riches of the House of God, as they learn about that liturgy and worship which is an integral part of Christian civilization.

      Acknowledgments in the case of a book like this would have to be very numerous if complete.  I must ask a multitude of helpers to be content to be anonymous, and confine myself to mentioning Dr. Harris, who has been at my side all the time and has read everything both in MS. and in proof; Dr. Brightman, whose criticism of parts of the book was invaluable; Dr. Darwell Stone; the Rev. K. D. Mackenzie; and Mr. S. J. Bruton, Sub-librarian at Sion College, who waited on me hand and foot whenever I visited the library for the purposes of this book.

      The book falls into three parts.  After a historical introduction, the Prayer Book services are discussed.  The third part contains additional matter, much of which is new in books of this kind.

      Capitals are used for pronouns referring to the Persons of the Trinity, according to a common modern usage, but not in quotations from the Bible, Prayer Books, and ancient books generally.  It will be noticed that in two fields overlapping occurs.  The history of individual services is treated in the different sections and also in the comprehensive chapter dealing with the History of the Prayer Book.  Similarly Eastern Orthodox services are mentioned under their various headings and comprehensively treated in the final essay.

Worship In General

By F. H. Brabant

(a) The expressive and the suggestive Elements in Worship.

      All liturgical acts – whether they make use of words (ritual in the narrower sense), or of actions (ceremonial proper) – have a double function: one directed Godwards, expressing in outward form the thoughts and feelings of the worshippers, the other directed manwards, teaching the worshippers how they ought to think and feel by setting before them the Church’s standard of worship.

      This double aspect of our public services is the cause of many misunderstandings and perplexities on the part of those who do not take into consideration the real difference between private and public devotions.  Thus, in the case of ceremonial, how often is the objection made that it easily becomes a piece of insincere acting.  If (it is said) the genuflection does not express a real humiliation of heart before the adorable Presence, if the incense does not naturally and consciously typify the upward-soaring prayers of the congregation, how does the whole performance differ from a theatrical show, where the priests and their assistants have learned their parts and the people have (generally very inadequately) paid for their seats?  The case is still worse if the ceremonial suggests or excites transitory emotions, if the worshippers are “stupefied” by the incense or “drugged” by impressive displays of magnificence.

      The same objection is felt (in another form) in the case of elaborate liturgical forms of prayer or belief; what use can they be to me, if they are not my prayers?  How can I take on my lips language which, however true for others, does not represent my spiritual experience?  The depths of self-accusation which the Church enshrines in its public confessions, the ecstasy of its hymns, the ardent faith of its creeds – they are indeed admirable things, but they are far beyond what I have reached as yet.  By joining in them, am I not pretending before God to be what I am not?

      Certainly it is never out of place to reiterate the need for sincerity.  One word from the heart does indeed please God far more than the most splendid High Mass, where amid the blaze of the lights and the glory of the music hearts are dead and cold.  But complaints of this kind are too often founded on the insecure assumption that the only function of worship is to express what is in the individual’s mind already, and that, unless it is there before the ceremony or the prayer, his participation in them must be insincere and unnatural.

      All this demand for a worship which shall be the “natural” expression of what we feel, just like the demand for a devotional life always in the sunshine, without method or effort, is at bottom a confusion between the natural and the easy.  We do not go to church to say, do, and think “just what we like”; if we all arrived there feeling and thinking as we ought, no doubt our services would be simply the expression in speech and action of the inner state of our souls with all the spontaneous direction of children.  But we do not, most of us, arrive like that.  We come, stained and weary from a life that is largely unnatural, longing for something to lift us up into an atmosphere of spiritual peace.  We ought, indeed, to “feel at home” in church, but we come to it as wanderers returned, not like tired City men calling for our slippers and our comfortable chairs.  This is why we need all the help we can get from without, the steadiness of discipline, the beauty of holiness, the unswerving faith of the Church, upon which to lean our poor half-heartedness.  That is why the Liturgy not only expresses what we feel; it also teaches us what we ought to feel.  The genuflection, even if it is done with little conscious devotion, stands for an ideal of adoration, and often the very act itself awakens our sluggish attention.  The stately language of collect and anthem reminds us that, however far we lag behind, this is how the Church goes to the altar of God and creates in us the longing to follow as far as we can.

      Worship, therefore, has not only an expressive function but also a suggestive or impressive one. [These terms are far from being ideal; they can be used in precisely the opposite sense.  Thus a writer in Theology complains that Lutheran worship tends “rather to impress than express”; here “impressive” means too subjective, whereas in our use of the terms it is Catholic worship that is impressive and Protestant expressive.  From the point of view of God, corporate worship is “expressive” as holding up to Him the adoration of His Church; from the point of view of the individual it is “impressive,” as exciting in him the sense of community in worship.  “Individualistic” worship is “expressive” as starting from what the worshipper has already; “impressive” as seeking to heighten and intensify that feeling.]  This distinction is important for our purpose, because in Professor Otto’s theory of worship (which we shall have to consider at length) we find a preponderance of the suggestive element.  In his The Idea of the Holy he lays great stress on the fact that the peculiar element of mystery, which lies at the heart of worship, is no everyday mood; it has often been excited by the strange and uncanny, deep forests, fantastic shapes of rock and mountain.  This “sense of otherness” has its times and places, when and where it descends without warning.  We do not come to it; rather it comes upon us.

      Nor is it (he urges) the result of rational considerations.  Reflection on the order of the universe may inspire intelligent admiration of its Author, as in the eighteenth-century Deism; reflection on morality may result in an attitude of respect to the laws that govern life and history; sentimental affection towards the Work and Person of Christ may be aroused by dwelling on the Gospel narrative; but there is something far more direct, more sudden, more overwhelming in the hushed adoration of the Sanctus or the awe-struck silence after the Consecration.

      The tendency of Otto’s important study of the Holy has been to focus attention on the suggestive or evocative side of worship; his able investigation of the elements of religious awe in primitive legend and ritual, his creation of new terms that have already caught the imagination of our time (the Numinous, Otherness, the Mysterium tremendum et fascinans), his acute analysis of the idea of the Holy as something quite independent of the rational or the moral and as being the very soul of Religion – all this has produced a theological sensation the more welcome as it comes from a country we had supposed somewhat petrified by theological negation; behind Harnack and the critics we seem to see peeping out again the Germany of Grimms’ Fairy Tales.  [How curiously Professor Otto’s Protestantism holds him back from what would seem to be the Catholic implications of his doctrine may be seen in his dislike of miracles (p. 67) and his suspicion of High Mass (p. 218), both, one would have thought, admirable examples of the Numinous.  (All quotations are from the English translation, 1923.)]

      The effects of his work have been so marked that it is difficult to use the term “worship” without seeming to imply the narrower sense of “a feeling for the Numinous,” yet it is obvious that all public worship is not numinous.  The Collect for the King, the moral exhortations at the beginning of Mattins and Evensong, or the Lesson describing St. Paul’s shipwreck in the Acts do not directly aim at exciting the sense of mystery; if a feeling of “otherness” were all that is required, we could not do better than resort to unintelligible words set to barbaric music.

      Such is not, of course, Professor Otto’s meaning, but it will perhaps be well to approach the question of worship without letting ourselves be hypnotized by his masterful terminology; let us therefore return to our simpler contrast between the expressive and the suggestive sides of worship.

      We must not let ourselves be misled by prejudices against the “suggestive” element; the “stupefying” quality of incense or the “hypnotic” influence of ceremonial is no more offensive than the fact of worshipping in a church where the windows cast a dim religious light, or of hearing words read from a Book full of sacred and venerable associations.  It is true that all this lulls the critical side of us, but worship is not the exercise of our critical faculty; the place for that is the study or the lecture room, not the church. [This is the difficulty of allowing questions to be asked in church; if we are to have regular arguments in the pulpit, no doubt it seems a grievance if no answers are permitted, but a church has (or ought to have) a numinous atmosphere, which makes such arguments out of place.]

      Secondly, we should notice that there is no complete antithesis between the expressive and the suggestive.  One cannot evoke or suggest what is not there.  The Numinous (as Professor Otto is the first to admit) cannot be felt by people who have not the capacity for feeling it; as Canon Quick says, [The Christian Sacraments, pp. 114, 115.] “The divinest goodness can make no impression on a human soul, unless the soul is able to express that same goodness in response.  It is this truth which Otto’s description of the divine as wholly other so unfortunately obscures.”

      The other side of this truth needs emphasis also; if the suggestive can only work on what is already there, it is none the less true that what is already there often stands in need of the suggestion.  We cannot most of us express ourselves; unless we are geniuses, we need the poet, the musician, the saint to do it for us.  Poetry expresses what we could never have said, what perhaps we could never have felt consciously, unless it had been stirred in us by the voice that has the key to our hearts.  So in worship the voice of the Church calls up thoughts and feelings often far beyond us, yet to which something in us faintly but firmly responds.

      With this in our minds let us examine Professor Otto’s account of the Numinous in some detail.

(b) Worship and the Numinous.

      We shall begin by considering what is obviously a vital part of his position—his treatment of the ideas of the Rational and the Moral.

      Professor Otto is, of course, trying to show that the Idea of the Holy is independent of the other two; he argues that God, thought of as an intelligent First Cause or as the Author of the Moral Law, is an object of admiration and respect, but not of worship, because these ideas are not concerned with mystery proper.  In this he makes two assumptions – that worship is merely a sense of the Numinous (in his special, non-rational, non-moral use of the word), and secondly that there is no mystery properly so called except the Holy.  Let us take the second point first.

      If it is true, it follows that conceptions of God as the Truth or Perfect Goodness are not mysterious.  Professor Otto shows some reluctance to go as far as this; he starts off by saying (p. 1): –

      It is essential to every theistic conception of God ... that it designates ... Deity by the attributes Spirit, Reason, Purpose, Good Will, Supreme Power, Unity, Selfhood.  The nature Of God is thus thought of by analogy with our human nature of reason and personality; only, whereas in ourselves we are aware of this as qualified by restriction and limitation, as applied to God the attributes we use are “completed,” i.e. thought as absolute and unqualified.  Now all these attributes constitute clear and distinct concepts: they can be grasped by the intellect; they can be analyzed by thought; they even admit of definition.  An object that can thus be thought conceptually may be termed rational.

      Later on, he feels that this needs modification (pp. 145–6): –

      God’s rational attributes can be distinguished from like attributes applied to the created spirit by being not relative, as these are, but absolute. ... The content of the attributes [that is, for example, of Love or Goodness in God or man] is the same; it is an element of form which marks them apart as attributes of God.  But such an element of form is also the mysterious as such ... Our understanding can only compass the relative.  That which is in contrast absolute, though it may in a sense be thought, cannot be thought home, thought out; it is within the reach of our conceiving, but it is beyond the grasp of our comprehension.  Now, though this does not make what is “absolute” itself genuinely “mysterious” ... it does make it a genuine schema of “the mysterious”.  The absolute exceeds our power to comprehend; the mysterious wholly eludes it.  The absolute is that which surpasses the limits of our understanding, not through its actual qualitative character, for that is familiar to us, but through its formal character.  The mysterious, on the other hand, is that which lies altogether outside what can be thought and is, alike in form, quality and essence, the utterly and “wholly other”.

      I make no apology for the length of these quotations; they are of the utmost importance.  Professor Otto starts off as though the contrast were simply between the rational attributes of God (Spirit, Reason, etc.) and the irrational, mysterious attribute of Holiness.  Then, on reflection, he finds the former are not so rational after all; after calling them “clear and distinct concepts” which “can be analyzed by thought,” he now admits that they cannot be “thought out”; they can be “conceived” though not “comprehended”.  But he still refuses to call them mysterious; the rational attributes of God “surpass the limits of the understanding by their formal character” (that is, by being absolute, not as with us relative), but they are not mysterious; only that which “eludes the understanding in form and content alike” can be properly called a Mystery.

      Professor Otto is clear then that the “rational attributes” of God are not mysterious and that because, however puzzling Absolute Love or Goodness may be to our intellects, their “actual qualitative character is familiar.”  We must consider this strange doctrine, that such a tremendous difference of form, as the change from being relative to being absolute, leaves the content still “familiar”.

      If we were trying to frame the idea of a highly exalted archangel, between whose intelligence and our own there was set an incomparably wider gulf than that between us and the lowest of angels, we might say that the content was in a sense the same, while the difference was one of form; I doubt if the distinction would help us very much.  If we compare the highest human intelligence with the first dim stirrings of consciousness in an animal, it hardly seems an adequate account to say that the content is the same; to one who after only knowing the lower passed suddenly to observe the higher it would certainly seem a mysterious change.

      But, however that may be, the change we are considering is from the relative to the absolute, from man to God.  If we consider it in terms of intelligence, is the Divine Mind merely a human mind under another “form”?  A Mind which has no need of knowledge from without, but has it all from within; a Creative Mind whose thoughts are acts of will, who not only knows but sustains at every moment all that is – can we not call such a Mind mysterious?  A Mind that is eternal, ever active yet never changing, working through history, yet beyond time and development in time – can we say of such a Mind that its “actual qualitative character is familiar”?

      It is surely the same if we consider God as absolute Goodness; we can speak of certain dispositions of mind as absolutely good and yet there is always an implicit reference to something else, to which their goodness bears some relation.  They are good, human nature and its surroundings being what they are; they are good with reference to something beyond the possessor (for we can hardly conceive a goodness which could be solitary and without concerning God or our fellowmen); they are good as against a background of evil, present or at least possible.  But when we turn away from human goodness and try to imagine a goodness quite divorced from our earthly environment, a goodness self-sufficient and needing nothing beyond itself for its perfection, a goodness that existed long before evil and shall last long after evil has disappeared, our minds are staggered by a difference, which we may or may not be ready to call a mere difference of form, but which it seems hard to dismiss as not “genuinely mysterious”.

      Professor Otto includes “Unity and Selfhood” as rational attributes of God, “thought of by analogy with our human nature”.  Is the doctrine of the Trinity, then, no longer a mystery?  Can we “grasp by the intellect” or “analyze by thought” the doctrine that God is Trinity in Unity, including and transcending personality?  Or is it just because he has broken with the doctrine of the Trinity that he seems insufficiently aware of the mystery of God’s inner Being?

      This line of criticism is not a defense of obscurantism; we are only attempting to show that the so-called “rational” attributes of God lead to ultimate mystery, just as inevitably as the attribute of Holiness; the philosopher, who ponders on God’s power or goodness, needs no sudden incursion into the Numinous to awaken in him the thrill of contact with the unknown.  “Omnia exeunt in mysterium”; we reach mystery by any road, if we only go far enough.

      To all this it may be replied: “After all, there is some analogy, however distant, between divine thought and human, between divine love and human, enough to make it possible to use the same word in describing both, enough to make it possible to approach God (as Christians have always approached Him) under the categories of King, Father, and Friend.”

      Certainly this is true, but it does not touch the question at issue.  Professor Otto’s position is that there are two completely contrasted categories, under which we can approach God – the rational, where we make use of human analogies and where there is no mystery, and the irrational, the Holy, which is pure mystery, where no human analogies can be used, and where form and content are alike unknown.  We are maintaining that all the categories under which God can be approached start from human analogies and all end in mystery.  We shall now try to show that Professor Otto’s irrational category, just like the others, starts from ourselves and loses itself in the unknown.

      We speak of men as good, wise and loving, using the same words as we apply to God; can we speak of men being holy, as well as God?  Professor Otto is in a difficulty here.  Strictly, the word “holy” can only be used of God; it means the nonhuman, the wholly other, the Divine par excellence.  But it is evident that the word is less rigorously circumscribed in common usage.  Otto makes use of the word “divination” to describe the faculty of apprehending the Numinous when it is possessed by a human being, but this causes further embarrassment.  The faculty of apprehending the Numinous at once awakens the sense of being “unholy” and unclean, as in his favourite text, where Abraham calls himself “dust and ashes” before God.  We seem, therefore, less than ever able to call people in such a state “holy”.  Otto then says that people who are possessed by the Numinous are called holy not with reference to themselves but to the Power possessing them.  Thus in the chapter on the Numinous in the New Testament (pp. 85–6) he says: “The ‘kingdom’ is just greatness and marvel absolute, the ‘wholly other,’ ‘heavenly’ thing, set in contrast to the world of here and now. ... As such, it sheds a colour, a mood, a tone, upon ... the men who proclaim it or prepare for it. ... This is shown most strikingly in the name by which the company of the disciples call themselves ... the Numinous, ‘technical term,’ οι Αγιοι, the holy ones or ‘the Saints’.  It is manifest at once that this does not mean ‘the morally perfect’ people; it means the people who participate in the mystery of the final Day.”

      Men and women may then be called holy, but it would surely be a very extreme view of inspiration which held that the term “holy” only applied to the Spirit that possessed them and not to the character of the saints themselves.  St. Peter says (1 Pet. 1:15): “Like as he which called you is holy, be ye yourselves holy in all manner of living,” implying at once likeness and distinction between the holiness of the Caller and the holiness of the called.  But if the word “holy” may be used to designate men and women, what becomes of the “Otherness” of the category?  Wherein does it differ from the other rational categories, which, like it, start from faint human analogies and become mysterious as they become absolute?

      All this is of importance when we turn to Professor Otto’s treatment of our Lord’s Person, which requires some consideration.  Here it is important to distinguish (as Otto does) the objective and subjective senses of the Numinous.  In the former sense, our Lord would be the Object of worship, whose life excites the sense of the Numinous and is therefore divine; in the latter sense, as Perfect Man, He would feel to the full that sense of the Numinous which is the proper attitude of humanity towards the Divine.

      Otto has a fine chapter (pp. 159–65) on the numinous impression made by Jesus on His contemporaries.  He quotes St. Mark 10:32, where “Jesus went before them ... and as they followed, they were afraid,” but his unsatisfactory use of the word “holy” as applied to men makes it difficult to be sure whether he regards Jesus as an object of worship.  He tells us that the spontaneous and “irresistible” impression, made on one who contemplates Christ’s life in its historic setting, is: “That is godlike and divine; that is verily Holiness.  If there is a God and if He chose to reveal Himself, He could do it no otherwise than thus” (p. 174).  But when we ask what the holiness of Christ’s life tells us about His Person, we are perplexed by the fact that the prophet is also called a holy man, a “being of wonder and mystery, who somehow or other is felt to belong to the higher order of things, to the side of the numen itself” (p. 162). [Notice also that his almost Bergsonian emphasis on the fact that the sense of the Numinous in Christ is irrational discourages any theological attempt to think out the relation of the Divine and Human Natures in Christ.  “Such a conclusion is not the result of logical compulsion ... it is an immediate, underivable judgment of pure recognition, and it follows a premise that defies exposition” (p. 174).]

      Still more interesting and important is Professor Otto’s treatment of Christ as the Subject of the Numinous, that is, as the ideal Diviner of the Holy.  Here we have an important test of the whole theory.  If the typical attitude of humanity to the Divine is one of shuddering abasement (the “dust and ashes” feeling of Abraham), then in Christ, the Perfect Man, we shall see it at its highest.  It is of no use to say that He did not feel it because He was sinless, for it is one of Otto’s constant contentions that the sense of abasement has nothing to do with sin, but is the natural “creaturely” approach of man to his Creator.  Can we trace, then, in Christ’s filial attitude to His Father any such sense of abasement?  On the contrary, He seems rather to have complete confidence in God’s goodness and love; if one may say so reverently, He almost takes them for granted. “Of course He will hear your prayers and protect every hair of your heads.”  Doubtless (as Otto says) He knows of God’s anger against sin.  He says: “Fear him which is able to destroy both soul and body in hell” (Matt. 10:28), and: “He will miserably destroy those miserable men” (Matt. 21:40 – both quoted by Otto – but this expresses God’s relation to sinners, not to Himself, the sinless One.  Doubtless again, by infinitely deepening the conception of God’s purpose and love, He puts mystery into the dry and hard Pharisaic religion.  No one denies that He intensified the mystery of God’s Being for us; the point at issue is whether He did so by exhibiting a sense of abasement before the Numinous.

      Hard pressed for examples, Professor Otto points to the Agony in Gethsemane; he says in a fine passage (p. 88):

      No, there is more here than fear of death; there is the awe of the creature before the “mysterium tremendum,” before the shuddering secret of the numen. ... Even those who cannot recognize “the Holy One of Israel” elsewhere in the God of the Gospel must at least discover Him here, if they have eyes to see at all.

      The Agony in the Garden is indeed a mystery into which no reverent soul would wish to pry, but we may say this: Why should this “awe of the creature” burst on Christ just at that hour and in that place?  Nothing in the Gospel narrative suggests that it was typical of His ordinary communion with the Father; rather He seems to have been astonished at such an agony in prayer, so unlike the nights of unclouded fellowship He had often spent alone with God.  The traditional explanation (that in some sense He was “bearing the sins of the world”) seems to fit the facts better; it has received classical expression in Newman’s Sermon on “The Mental Sufferings of our Lord in His Passion”. [See his Discourses to Mixed Congregations.  Does it follow from our argument that the sense of abasement before the Numinous is connected with a sense of sin?  One hesitates to pronounce on such a subject; the Genesis narrative contrasting Adam’s happy fellowship with God before the Fall with his fear and self-concealment after it seems to suggest it.  In any case, as we are all sinners except Christ, this sense of abasement must remain part of our experience; even in heaven perhaps the saints remember their sins as a cause of joyous self-humiliation.  It would be interesting to know whether this sense of abasement exists in children before they are fully conscious of sin.  The Angels, who have known no sin, are prostrate in adoring reverence, but it is the devils who “believe and shudder”.]

      We now pass on to a second point even more important.  Hitherto we have admitted a special category of the Holy, and have contented ourselves with urging that there are other ways of realizing mystery in God; we have now to ask whether Professor Otto is justified in creating a special and independent category of the Holy.

      This is the place to consider his not very satisfactory treatment of the esthetic judgment.  He does not class Beauty among the rational attributes of God on p. 1; whether he would put it among the irrational attributes I do not feel sure; he often uses the esthetic judgment “This is beautiful” as being analogous to the numinous judgment “This is holy,” both being immediate and underivable intuitions into the nature of Reality.

      But there is one kind of esthetic judgment that he feels to be very significant, and that is our sense of the Sublime.  On p. 43 he recognizes a close analogy between the Sublime and the Numinous.  The Sublime

has in it something mysterious, and in this it is like “the Numinous” ... it is at once daunting, and yet again singularly attractive. ... Each tends to pass over into the other.

The Sublime is admitted to be a legitimate “schematization” of the Holy, and on p. 65 he goes still further.  “There exists a hidden kinship between the Numinous and the Sublime, which is something more than a mere analogy.”

      This is important, and for the following reason.  Is not Otto admitting that the Holy is equivalent to the Sublime and is really an esthetic judgment?  It will be objected that the Sublime is not necessarily religious; it can be felt before some magnificent piece of poetry or some majestic work of architecture or even in the realm of human character without our saying, “This is holy; this is Godlike.”

      But if our criticism of Professor Otto has hitherto been at all on the right lines we have an answer to that.  We have contended that in every sphere of human experience (especially in the search for Truth, Goodness and Beauty) where the mind passes from the relative to the absolute it feels the thrill of mystery.  Doubtless we are not yet at the stage of Religion; if the mystery is to become religious, there must be, as well as the thrill of contact with an absolute, that sense of response from the unknown Reality which is religious experience.  But – and here is the important point – this sense of mystery may come along any of these paths.  We may tremble before God as absolute Truth, absolute Goodness, absolute Beauty (in which we must carefully include the Sublime as equally the object of aesthetic judgment); now is not Otto’s “sense of the Numinous” merely our aesthetic judgment of the Sublime become religious?  Our recognition of absolute Goodness and absolute Truth may also become religious.  In that case there is no special category of the Holy.  There are various categories, all of which become mysterious when regarded as absolute and religious if regarded as divine.  The word “holy” is perhaps best applied to the category of Goodness when it has become religious; the epithet “numinous” is especially applicable to our aesthetic judgment become religious; our judgment of Truth, when raised to the Divine, may perhaps be called the Infinite (expressed in such terms as Omniscience, Omnipresence, Omnipotence).

      It may be said: “Well, after all, you do posit a special and underivable ‘religious sense’ to raise the categories to the Divine.”  Certainly, and this remains the immense value of Professor Otto’s work; the religious sense is unique and independent; only we maintain that it does not work through one category only.

      It may perhaps be felt that all this is too complicated to account for anything so spontaneous and immediate as an act of worship.  But it must be remembered that we do not worship with parts of ourselves.  A sudden and overwhelming sense of God’s goodness and greatness may be the result of a complex process, the mind groping after His infinity, the conscience recognizing His “awful purity,” the feelings awe-struck before His sublimity Apparently simple actions may on analysis prove to be made up of various constituent elements.

(c) The Nature of Worship.

      We have suggested that worship is not to be defined simply as sense of the Numinous; we have argued that all the attributes of God (and not merely one attribute) are clouded in mystery, but we have not attempted to deny Professor Otto’s main contention that mystery lies at the heart of worship. To proceed further, we must ask what is the nature of mystery and what possible attitudes man may take up towards it.

      A fact does not become a mystery simply because it is unknown; an insoluble mathematical problem or an historical event, that cannot now be reconstructed, is not necessarily mysterious; it depends upon our response to them whether they become mysterious.  Without seeking to refine too minutely, we may say that there are four possible attitudes when we are face to face with the unknown.

      First, there is sheer indifference; for example, I do not know the details of every conversation that went on at all the breakfast tables of England on August 2nd, 1603; I do not know what every lion in Africa is doing at the present moment, and I do not want to know.

      Secondly, I may feel curiosity; I read a detective story and I am eager to know the solution.  The fact that no solution is certain (as in Edwin Drood) may stimulate my interest; it is even possible to be curious about what we are sure can never be known.  Thus (in spite of St. Augustine’s warning) I may want to know what God was doing before the creation of the world.

      Thirdly, I may feel irritation at being baffled; I may resent the limits imposed on my intelligence; it was to this feeling that Mephistopheles used to tempt Faust.

      Lastly, I may feel wonder; a sense of the greatness of the universe and the smallness of the human mind may sweep soothingly over me and I may feel glad there are mysteries I cannot penetrate.  Such a sense is very near Religion, which longs for mysteries, as we may see in such famous phrases as “Credo quia impossibile,” or “Un Dieu défini, c’est un Dieu fini.”

      We should notice that all these attitudes of mind are possible (at least in theory) towards any fact.  An historian might feel intensely curious to know every event that happened in his period, and long to have been there, omnipresent and omniscient; he might feel irritated that so much of the past is gone beyond recall, or he might feel a sense of awe and wonder (as Carlyle often does) that all these fleeting events, so important while they happened, are swallowed up in irrecoverable night.  But the sense of wonder is far stronger when the unknown seems to be discontinuous with the known, and “unearthly”; ghost stories fascinate because they seem to give us glimpses of a world other than our own.  If we analyze the sense of mystery that accompanies the long flow of the ages, when we cast our minds back along the time process and can rest in no beginning, we shall find, I think, that it is not the mere continuity of the series that impresses us; that causes weariness rather than wonder; it is a feeling of the strange events that may have filled the eons before the earth broke off from the sun.  The sense is one of unfamiliarity – of “moving about in worlds not realized”.  The unknown has become the unknowable. [Unknowable, that is, to the imagination: whether the intellect can acquiesce in an “unknowable” is another question.]

      Now Professor Otto is perfectly right in maintaining (and it is the important teaching of his great work) that the process by which this wonder becomes religious is unique; the sense of fear and astonishment before the greatness or strangeness of the universe is not yet religious; it needs the direct and irreducible experience of personal relationship to become worship.

      But religious mystery has close analogies with “the sense of greatness and strangeness” such as we get in our experience of the Sublime; for instance, both have the double aspect of being “daunting and yet attractive” (tremendum sed fascinans); we have seen this in lower forms in the curiosity that is whetted by the fact that no solution seems possible, and in the ghost story at which we shudder and yet enjoy the shudder.  This double aspect is also present in the highest forms of worship.  To illustrate this let us examine two cases of religious mystery – Miracle and the Sacramental doctrine of the Real Presence.

      We said that in passing the frontier where the known fades off into the unknown there is always a thrill of mystery; when there seems complete discontinuity and the event appears to come from an unknowable sphere quite outside our experience, we regard it as a portent or prodigy; it is not yet religious; we regard it with dread rather than reverence.  We have no religious interest in the unexpected incursion into our world from some totally disconnected sphere of Poltergeists or Elementals; if the prodigy is to become a miracle, there must be continuity, at least in the sense that the Author of the miracle is also the Author of the “natural” order.  This may be expressed by saying that a real miracle must have two moments – the negative moment of bewilderment and sheer “otherness,” and a positive moment of acceptance, in which the miracle is seen to have connections with the Natural and even perhaps to shed light upon it. [We must not draw hard and fast lines between natural and supernatural; the “habitual” and the “strange” make a better contrast; a natural fact like a sunset may suddenly appear strange and wonderful; a supernatural fact like Sacramental Grace may to the dulled senses appear a “matter of course”.]  Whether the two moments are simultaneous or successive, they are held together in a kind of tension. [These two moments do not quite correspond to Otto’s two epithets of “daunting and attractive”; for him the attractiveness is due to the very strangeness; we are suggesting that it is partly due to a sense of kinship.]  The true miracle, therefore, has two sides; it appears to violate the order of Nature and yet to illuminate by enlarging it.  It seems at once to outrage law and yet to complete it by a higher law.  This is why we reject fantastic prodigies as arbitrary, not because they break a law of uniformity (God is bound by no law but that of His Love), but because they serve no purpose we can worthily ascribe to Him; our Lord rejected the devil’s suggestion to throw Himself from the Temple as being no real proof’ of His Messianic claim.

      All the miracles of the Incarnate Life have these characteristics.  They are beyond the natural and yet tend to illuminate the natural.  The miraculous Birth consecrates and sheds light upon all other births; in seeing Christ as more than man we see ourselves as less than man should be.  The Resurrection does not undo the law of death; it gives a new meaning to death as the gate to life everlasting.  Our Lord’s miracles of healing do not supersede the physician’s art; rather they deepen and intensify our conception of the Christian practitioner.  We can perhaps make this point more intelligible by a simile.  Let us imagine a dark dingy street suddenly lit up by the glory of the setting sun at first our eyes are dazzled; as they grow accustomed to the splendour, the familiar shapes emerge, but they emerge transformed.  They stand vested in a radiance not their own, clothed with that strange yet beautiful appearance of unfamiliarity that the evening light can give to the commonest scene.  So the sense of miracle first seems to swallow up the familiar and then gives it back to us glorified and lifted up into a higher setting.  By a new spiritual perspective we see things against a wider background.  So for the Jews, against the fires of Sinai, always present to the mind of prophet and psalmist, Nature itself stands out in a new significance; the trees become “the cedars of Libanus which he hath planted”; the sea is a rich treasure house full of His marvels: “There go the ships, and there is that Leviathan: which thou hast made to take his pastime therein.”  So to our Lord the birds and the flowers and the children He loved gain fresh individuality and a more tender outline from the dark cloud of judgment that overhangs  His doomed fatherland.  The mysterious, that lies beyond, makes the familiar seem new and wonderful. [Otto in a very striking chapter shows how in the concluding chapters of Job it is the strangeness and wonder of Creation – not its purpose but almost its purposelessness – which speaks to Job of God’s Presence.  This is, of course, true.  I say “of course,” but it has never been more deeply scrutinized or more impressively stated than by Otto himself; it is a wonderful piece of Biblical exegesis.  All the same it is not complete Otherness that Job feels, but rather the otherness of the familiar; he does not seek to express the terror and wonder of God by every kind of bizarre and eccentric simile, as is done in the extract from Bhagavad-Gita quoted by Otto in Appendix II; he finds it in the rain and the snow, the ostrich and the war horse.]

      Our second example of religious mystery brings us nearer to the question of worship.  All the controversies about the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist really turn on these two moments in the miraculous: the negative moment seems to deny the natural and gives us a “special” presence, wholly supernatural, breaking in upon our world at fixed places and times; the positive moment, when we receive back the natural, transformed, seems to give us an Omnipresence of Christ, continual, abiding, always and everywhere at the heart of the natural, needing no localized sanctuary or cult.

      But, again, it is in the tension of the two moments that the sacred mystery resides.  Professor Otto in the 8th Appendix (pp. 219, 220) has a magnificent passage of protest against the denial of “special presences” and in defense of God’s Presence as a wholly numinous idea.

      We may well be asked ... Is not God “omnipresent” and really present always and everywhere? ... One is tempted to venture a very blunt reply. ... This doctrine of the omnipresence of God – as though by a necessity of His being He must be bound to every time and to every place, like a natural force pervading space – is a frigid invention of metaphysical speculation, entirely without religious import.  Scripture knows nothing of it.  Scripture knows ... only the God who is where He wills to be, and is not where He wills not to be, the “deus mobilis,” who is no mere universally extended being, but an august mystery, that comes and goes, approaches and withdraws, has its time and hour, and may be far or near in infinite degrees, “closer than breathing” to us or miles remote from us.  The hours of His “visitation” and his “return” are rare and solemn occasions, different essentially not only from the profane life of every day, but also from the calm confiding mood of the believer, whose trust is to live ever before the face of God.  They are the topmost summits in the life of the Spirit. ... They are the real sacrament, in comparison with which all high, official ceremonials, Masses, and rituals the world over become the figurings of a child.

      That is finely said and expresses so excellently what the Sacramentalist is always trying to point out to the anti-Sacramentalist, who objects that “God is everywhere,” that it seems ungracious to criticize it.  But the closing sentence warns the Catholic that Otto is allowing the “abruptness” of his reply to carry him too far, and is over-stressing the negative moment of Otherness in the tension of the mystery.  He admits it in the phrase where he speaks of the “calm confiding mood of the believer, whose trust” – quite apart from the special visitations – “is to live ever before the face of God.”  There is then a continual Presence of God side by side with the hours of visitation and return.

      Certainly Professor Otto is splendidly right in his protest against the idea of God as a “natural force pervading space”.  Certainly “God is where He wills to be, and is not where He wills not to be,” but that is hardly the point at issue here.  The contrast is between the special visitations of God, rare and incalculable, and Christ’s promise to dwell ever in the heart of the true believer.  Our devotional life is not lived on the “topmost summits”; we kneel down to say our prayers regularly and confidently, sure of His promise to hear, whether or no He vouchsafe some special consciousness of His Presence.

      This is where the Real Presence in the Sacrament comes in; just as, in the case of a miracle, the supernatural revelation of God’s Presence beyond Nature shows us His Presence in Nature, so we pass from meeting Him in the Sacrament to meeting Him in the street.

      The Sacrament is the link between the special and incalculable hours of visitation and “the calm confidence” of everyday life.  Through the natural signs and actions there breaks the supernatural Presence of Christ, and henceforth natural life is transfigured by the light from beyond, that streams down upon it.  It is because Otto isolates the rare visitations from natural life that he misses the meaning of the Sacraments, which are supernatural but not incalculable, moments that are special but not rare. [Also, of course, his description of the visitations is purely individualistic; he pictures them as visions on the mountain-top; Sacraments are visitations to a Society – the Body of Christ.]

      The Sacrament of the Eucharist lifts us up to heaven; . joining in the worship of the angels and archangels, we ascend in spirit to that sphere where God is fully present, and which we call heaven. Yet the earthly signs and veils are not lost; the heavenly glory shines down upon them and illumines our darkness, as far as it can penetrate.*  Thus we speak sometimes of our service being exalted to the Heavenly Altar, and sometimes of Christ descending upon our altars.  Both moments are necessary; we start with the natural bread and wine, the words, the appointed minister.  Then, as we offer them, they are lost (as it were) in the heavenly reality, compared with which they seem but dreams and shadows.  Then comes the positive moment; they are given back to us transfigured, charged, as far as earthly things can be charged, with the glory of Christ for our worship and our food.  We sing to Him who sitteth on the right hand of the Father, yet we pray that He may “dwell in us”.

[*Cf. the opening of the Paradiso:

La gloria di Colui, che tutto muove,

Per l’universo penetra, e risplende

In una parte piu e meno altove;

In ciel, che piu della sua luce prende,

Fu io.]

      All worship follows the law of this its highest expression.  We start from the natural; we come to God with what we have.  We do not begin by casting from us all the familiar surroundings of life; we do not take a leap straight into the wholly Other.  We approach the altar with our definite petitions, our orderly liturgy, our meditations on Scripture, even our reasoned discourses and sermons.  We offer up the whole of our personality, and the fire descends on the offering.

      There is in worship (I speak, of course, of ideal worship) the negative moment – what Otto calls the sense of the Numinous.  Our words quiver into silence; our thoughts lose themselves in infinity; our feelings tremble before the formless; our righteousness becomes uncleanness.  Before the greatness of God we are nothing.

      But in true Christian worship there is the positive moment also.  Our human means of approach are given back to us transformed; Christ, True Man, by virtue of His Incarnation perfects and presents to the Father our poor, imperfect worship.  Our words, our prayers, our actions are accepted “in the Beloved”.  But they are given back to us consecrated and enlarged.  Our thoughts still have the quality of mystery behind and beyond them; we can praise God “with the understanding” (as in Addison’s Creation hymn), but we know that the theme is too high for us.  We repeat over to ourselves the “evidences” of His Love and Goodness but we know that they far transcend “our benumbed conceiving”; we express our emotion at His Beauty and Greatness, but we know that we only hear a whisper of His Ways.

      True Christian worship, then, is neither a formless ecstasy nor a dry “parade-service,” but a consecration of all our faculties to His Glory. [It may be well to sum up here some of the different senses in which the word worship is used.  Worship is the joyous abasement of our whole selves before the Divine Mystery as the source and sustainer of our lives (or more shortly, if less accurately, it is “a religious attitude towards mystery”).  In its negative form it is like Otto’s sense of the Numinous (we refused to regard it as a separate faculty, but we admitted it as the “moment of bewilderment” in worship); in its positive form it consists of the offering of all our faculties to God’s service.  (Public worship is also the corporate offering of the Church.)  There are parts of Public Services (e.g. the sermon, some lessons and some psalms) which do not at first sight seem to be worship proper.  But it is a matter of degree; in so far as any action is consciously done to the glory of God it is worship.  We use the word in the more special sense of those parts of the service (e.g. the Sanctus) where the human side seems to fade away, where definite petition and thanksgiving are hushed, and we praise God for what He is.]

(d) The Art of public Worship.

      We have dwelt long enough on the psychology of worship; it is time we turned to its outward expression.  We shall consider it in relation to three faculties of the soul – the aesthetic sense, the moral sense and the understanding.  We shall then add a few words on the “corporate sense” in worship.

      (1) The Aesthetic Sense – Worship and Drama. – No taunt is more commonly directed against elaborately ornate services than the word “theatrical”.  “Well, how did you enjoy it?” said a friend to a theatrical manager, who had just attended High Mass.  “Very well put on,” was his answer.  “Mummery,” “play-acting,” “posturing,” “dressing up” – such are the words that rise to the lips of a Puritan as he sees acolytes in lace cottas, censings, and genuflections.

      Yet such is the varied suggestion of words that people who would shrink from anything theatrical in worship would not feel the same repulsion towards it if it were called dramatic, and would not be in the least offended if the narrative of the Passion were called a tragedy.  After all, the connection between drama and worship is an old one.  The Greek play was (in theory at least) a religious art; the altar smoked in the orchestra, and the High Priest of Dionysus presided on his throne.  People who see the Mystery Play at Ober-Ammergau experience feelings very akin to worship.  If there are movements on the stage by which the actors express a sense of solemnity and awe, they are surely the right movements for the public representatives of religion as they approach the altar; what Newman called “the sacred dance of the ministers” at High Mass is more right, because more natural, than a general shuffle about anyhow of clergy and choir.  After all, both drama and worship have reference to life; if the dramatic or the ceremonial gesture is unnatural, it must be not because it is art but because it is bad art.

      Still it is clear there must be some point in our instinctive dislike of the theatrical; we shall find it perhaps in our feeling that the actor is “insincere” and that the audience are only there to be “entertained”.

      We use the word “acting” as a synonym for deceit; our Lord called the Pharisees υποχριταί, and the word perhaps meant “play-actors”; the psychology of acting has been the subject of prolonged controversy.  The popular view is that a great actor so completely identifies himself with his part that for the moment he is that person.  Plato felt this so strongly that he forbade his citizens to act from fear of undermining the stability of their character.  Diderot, on the other hand, maintained that the actor must always remain outside his part; otherwise he would be swept along by his emotions and lose the self-control which is necessary to produce the right effect; and there have been actors who have told us they were so detached at moments of tragic tension that they have been trying to make one another laugh.

      However that may be, it seems very unlikely that the impersonation of a part, however deeply felt, has a very profound effect on character.  The very diversity of roles makes it improbable; the same man cannot become simultaneously like Hamlet, Macbeth and Othello.

      No one wishes the priest or the acolyte to feel only the “sincerity” of the actor, however intense it may be at the moment.  But we should recall here what was said about the suggestive element in worship; the mere doing of a certain thing tends, as we know, to create the appropriate feeling; there is nothing suspicious in the suggestive as such; it is not its source but its effect on character that matters; in the case of the actor the feelings are suggested with a view to pleasing the audience, and therefore disappear when he has gone home.  In the case of the priest, the feelings are excited to please God, who requires them as a permanent state of mind and sees through all vain pretence.  A priest who has his eye on the congregation may act a part; a priest who has his gaze fixed on God can only act in the high sense of being aroused by the dignity of his office and the solemnity of his surroundings to a worthier and holier state of mind.

      We pass to the second point.  The audience at a theatre are there to be “entertained”; no one would say that a congregation comes to church for that.  Yet, here again, the distinction is by no means as simple as it sounds.  An audience does play an important part; the actor needs the stimulus of their applause and admiration; as we say, he has “to get it across the footlights”.  At great moments of dramatic and tragic tension the audience cease to be mere casual onlookers who have paid for their seats; they are one with the actors; they are taken out of themselves; they participate in the drama.

      Whether such emotions have a real moral effect is, of course, another subject of controversy.  Do the audience leave the performance of a great tragedy “sadder but wiser men”?  Do they learn from immoral drama to despise the moral law?  Some would say that great drama gives a new sense of the greatness and wonder of life.  Others would say that the appeal of drama is aesthetic rather than moral.  A gallery of scoundrels is the first to hiss a villain, and people who show ecstatic admiration for some act of self-sacrifice on the stage will go off home and spend the evening squabbling as usual.

      However that may be, there is no doubt that the relation between priest and people in worship must be a far closer one; the minister is the representative of the people; he acts for them and they participate in what he does.  This need not be pressed too literally; it is a peculiarly Anglican idea that a person must scrupulously follow the whole service.  There is no need for the regimental idea that everybody must be doing the same thing at the same time.  The people may say their private devotions, provided they join in the more corporate parts of the service, but the priest must feel that the people are behind him spiritually as well as physically.  Here again we must stress the suggestive or evocative side of worship; the priest, the chosen trained, ordained representative, leads or directs the worship, expressing by virtue of his vocation what the people feel vaguely but cannot themselves express.  Behind this there is the Liturgy, which is the voice of the Church, expressing what neither priest nor people are able adequately to express; behind all there is Christ, who perfects and presents the worship of His people to the Father. [I feel that I have been stressing too much the tragic or solemn side of worship.  It is evident that praise, thanksgiving, holy joy and peace also find their place in worship.  They form as it were the lyrical element in it.  Possibly we might even say that a certain spontaneity and “high spirits,” a certain natural enjoyment of the colour and movement and singing, correspond to the best element in comedy – namely, its sense of freedom and “release”.]

      We may conclude then that worship is religious drama, a full expression and satisfaction of the aesthetic instincts.  It requires (just because it is religious and done in the sight of God) a complete sincerity and, because of that, an intimate union between the worshippers and their representatives.  But worship is obviously much more than that; for one thing, it is obligatory on Christians.  We are not compelled to go to the theatre, and though we might hold that it is a duty to educate our esthetic instincts, we could hardly hold either that a person who seems to have none was therefore dispensed from attendance at public services, or that forms of worship which make no appeal to the esthetic instinct are not worship at all.

      Again, we do not go to the same play week after week, but public worship has a certain uniformity; the most ardent champions of variety would hardly say that we ought to have a totally different form of service every Sunday; it is clear then that there are other elements in worship to which we must now turn. [Completely ex tempore services like Quaker meetings afford no parallel here; the proper parallel to drama would be to suppose that services were composed and had a run till they were taken off!]

      (2) The Moral Sense – Worship and Teaching. – The suggestive element in worship offers an analogy with teaching, and we often speak of public services as teaching by the eye or the ear.  Worship teaches truth (we are to consider that later); it trains the esthetic sense, as we have already seen; here we are to consider it as teaching morality, that is, as “edifying”.  It is a peculiarly English trait to overstress the moral side of religion, as though it meant simply “being good”  We are always trying to find moral lessons, and one can understand Otto’s vehement protest that worship has nothing to do with morality, but is a unique sense of God’s overwhelming greatness.  Doubtless it is unnatural to expect a saint rising from rapt communion with God to take out a copybook and write down what he has learned.  But if we remember that, for the Christian, morality – that much-battered word – does not mean the Law or the Commandments, but personal relationship to a loving Saviour; if we remind ourselves that religion does not “tinge morality with emotion,” but transfigures and transforms it, we shall see that worship is directed towards God’s goodness and excites a desire to be perfect as our Father is perfect.

      There are two ways in which in public worship this aspiration after divine goodness (with a due sense of the mystery at the heart of it) finds expression.

      First of all there is the reading of the Scriptures (the Epistle and Gospel at the Eucharist, the Lessons in the Offices, and sermons and addresses on Biblical themes); this culminates in the reading of the Gospel, generally attended by special ceremonial, when the sayings and doings of our Lord are placed before us for our meditation.  It is right that in the Divine Liturgy this should be the other central event, only second to the Consecration; Jesus in the Sacrament is the same as Jesus in the Gospel.  We want the picture we have of Him in the days of His flesh to be set side by side with our Sacramental experience of Him.  The visions of the saints, the hymns of the people, the legends of painting and devotion, the instructions of our manuals and catechisms – all have to be brought to the same relentless test.  Are they like that knowledge of Him which we have in the record of the Evangelists?

      Adoration of divine goodness involves mystery; behind every real and vivid personality there lies something mysterious; still more do we find it in the way one personality affects another.  The way in which a great leader pours out from himself a power that is infectious remains the most potent method by which the world makes any moral progress.  There is hardly any advance that cannot be traced to some such imposing figure; the personality of Jesus (so far more mysterious in its nature and in its power over others) has in its purest form this converting influence.  Men as they adore His Holy Cross are broken-hearted and changed.  Worship of Christ crucified teaches men something of the mystery of holiness.

      There is another way in which public worship teaches goodness; it helps us to love our neighbour by teaching us to venerate and love the society of the Holy Church to which we belong.  The Liturgy keeps this before us by its intercessions for the Church on earth and by kindling our sense of fellowship in worship with the Church expectant in Paradise and the Church triumphant in heaven.  It tells us of the communion of saints; it tells us to pray for the faithful departed; it assures us that the saints pray for us and mingle their petitions with our own.  This is the importance of the historical element in liturgies; to use the same words and actions as are being used and have long been used all the world over gives a Catholic atmosphere to worship and strengthens the sense of loyalty to the beloved Society which is Christ’s mystical Body; this is why religious ceremonial and rites are often so doggedly conservative, and why the study of liturgies seems rather like a branch of archaeology.  Prayer Book revisers and others do well to remember that, if public services ought to respond to the needs of the present, they must always owe much of their effect to old associations; who would wish to see cut out of the Eastern Liturgy the cry “Close the doors,” which carries us back to the secret Eucharist in the infant Church?

      Worship takes the social side of man and invests it with mystery.  We are drawn together by the “mystery of the fellowship”.  It is also true (though the subject is too vast for us to enter upon now) that the religious sense charges moral failure with a new significance, so that it becomes a consciousness of sin.  Otto says that the notion of uncleanness, which attaches itself to the notion of sin, is wholly numinous and has no direct moral significance.  Certainly wrongdoing gets a new depth of meaning, when set against the holiness of God; an offence against infinite Love seems infinitely hateful.  In the “negative moment” of repentance the sinner feels despair and horror of himself; in the positive moment he feels reconciled.  Forms of confession in our public services are helpful both because they aid us to realize sin as an offence against the fellowship of believers, and partly because they enable the Church as a body to confess its “corporate sin”.

      (3) The Understanding and its place in Worship. – The phrase “corporate sin” may perhaps suggest an objection to the whole method of discussion in the last two sections; it may be said: “You have been dealing with the whole devotional life – Bible study, Conversion, Confession, Intercession – have these any special connection with public worship?  Do they not belong equally to private piety?”  We shall try to show in a moment how far worship, as being closely related to the “corporate sense,” can be differentiated from private prayer; meanwhile we may note that some spiritual faculties seem best exercised when we are acting together with others; some seem to fit in better with less public surroundings.  Thus the aesthetic element is easily excited in a body of people (crowds being very subject to the suggestion of what is impressive and mysterious); the moral element is rather different; the sense of brotherhood is much enhanced by corporate worship, but repentance and confession are more natural in our rooms, or in the confessional, than in the course of our public services.

      When we come to the part played by the understanding, it seems to be less prominent in gatherings of men; we think of the saintly scholar sitting alone in his study, not amid the tumult of debate and contradiction.  Nevertheless, we say Masses of the Holy Spirit and sing the Veni Creator before our Conferences and Councils, invoking His blessing on our preparations to think together.

Enable with perpetual light

The dullness of our blinded sight.

      We should hesitate, probably, to call even the most Christian discussion in an assembly an act of public worship, and we should feel that the prayers for the guidance of the Holy Spirit bear their fruit afterwards in the study or the council chamber rather than during the Liturgy itself.

      Yet perhaps we may trace even there some signs of the work of the understanding; we may take two points – (1) a sense of contact with Reality; (2) a demand for a certain coherence and rationality.

      (1) Worship is far more than a pageant stimulating our instincts of appreciation, or a presentation under symbolic forms of an ideal which ought to be true.  It is nothing if not a way by which the soul passes up to the highest Reality.  It must have an object completely independent of itself and separate from its own feelings and fads, moods and caprices (hence the great stress in Catholic worship on the objective validity of the Sacraments); worship is, in part, the homage paid by our finite and fallible understanding to the Supreme Mind.  We recognize that there is far more in the Divine than we can grasp, and believe where we cannot understand.  The act of faith is directed towards facts tested and found true, and yet it sees through them the mysterious meaning behind.  Thus, in the corporate act of faith, by which we say the Creeds together, we not only assent to such concrete facts as the Crucifixion and the Resurrection on the third day; we also assent to an interpretation of those facts, which carries us beyond into a spiritual world; He died on the Cross “for us”; He rose again “according to the Scriptures”.

      (2) The understanding has another part to play, and that is to keep the expression of worship free from superstition, i.e. from unworthy, unedifying, incoherent elements.  It holds up a certain ideal of Rationality.  Mr. Shebbeare, in the last page of his book on Problems of Providence, well illustrates the meaning of an “ideal of rationality”.  He says:

      If a man should begin – on his deathbed or elsewhere –  to find the struggle of belief too hard for him, it would be well if someone asked him plainly, What is it you fear?  Do you fear that you will encounter Charon and the ferry, the Cocytuses and Styxes of pagan mythology?  Do you fear, like Dostoievsky’s madman, that the life beyond the grave may turn out to be something not sublime but mean, “a small room, a bathroom, blackened by smoke and spiders in every corner”?  If the sufferer has retained his sanity, he will laugh and say, “Such things would fail to satisfy the conception, on which I have all along relied, of a rationally ordered Universe.”

      It is obvious that Reason has had a hard battle in eliminating from primitive legend and rite many an irrational conception. [Sometimes such primitive survivals are better dropped; sometimes they can be left as of historical interest in showing the development of the religious consciousness; sometimes they can be sublimated by allegory or mystical interpretation (cf. the controversy about the use or disuse of the Imprecatory Psalms).]  St. Paul desires to pray with the Spirit and with the understanding also (1 Cor. 14:15).  A worthy Liturgy would seek to remove or harmonize statements about God that seemed to clash; for example, that He is perfect Love and that He desires vengeance on His enemies.  This will very often mean a conflict with traditional elements; because, as a result of striving to keep up the sense of the continuous life of the community, our forms of service often preserve different strata of thought and language about spiritual things, the lower embedded in the higher.  But where two attributes of God seem to us to be contrary, where we know each is true but do not see how both can be real attributes, it would be pedantry to criticize liturgical language.  Thus in the Collect for Septuagesima, we pray that “we, who are justly punished for our offences, may be mercifully delivered by thy goodness”; a precision might ask whether God’s forgiveness of sin is “unjust,” and His punishment of sin “unmerciful”.  To this we can only reply that if we are to wait for our forms of public service till we can find language adequate to the mystery of God’s Being, we had better adopt silent worship at once.

      (4) Worship and the Corporate Sense. – We have left to the end what we have had to mention again and again, the nature of public worship as being in its essence a corporate act.

      We must carefully remember what a long ladder of degrees runs between purely personal devotion and the fully corporate act, in which the worshipping multitude is of one heart and soul; nor at either end is it easy to find the pure and unmixed type; the most “private” devotions should not be forgetful of the needs of the world and the fellowship of the Church, while in the most “public” service the individual does not lose himself; he plays his part, and it is never quite the same as his neighbour’s.  Between these two extremes there are many stages, in which the presence of other people exerts its influence upon us.  If three or four people say their prayers together, even if they say them quietly, it is never quite the same as if they were saying them in different rooms; even if they do not say or do the same thing, a fellowship of silence is created.

      We are all familiar with the fact that people under the influence of the corporate sense “behave differently”; they do not do the same things as they would have done if alone; sometimes they do much worse things; mobs are often more stupid and more cruel than individuals.  Only if Christian people come together in the Spirit can we trust that a right corporate sense will emerge. [From this it follows that, if a Church is really divided, it cannot worship together; hence the primitive horror of heresy as dividing the fellowship and hence the insistence of the Church that even the most gifted of its children must not despise the gathering together.]  This is important, because we do not want to slip into magical or superstitious ways of thinking about this matter, as though, whenever we come together in sufficient numbers, we have this inspiring sense of fellowship guaranteed to us.  It is true that, from a true corporate sense, each of us gets more than he gives; he receives from the community an enlarged and heightened sense of power, but each of us has to give first.  Only on souls offering themselves and striving to do what they can does the Spirit of Christ’s Body descend.  Even a few people who are not doing their best can spoil the atmosphere.

      The corporate sense is liberating, not because it destroys the self, but because it overcomes self-consciousness, and does away with our cramped and limited way of regarding individuality.  So the spirit of a regiment gives courage and steadiness to the timorous.  So, in a choir, people, who would never dare to stand up and sing solos, catch confidence from the mass of voices which sustains them.  So, in a moment of great national joy, shyness disappears; the barriers between one person and another go down, and even in railway carriages, travelers talk to each other!  In public worship the same sense (now charged with the religious mystery of the Holy Fellowship, in which quick and dead are one in Christ) inspires and uplifts each worshipper; the sense of awe is heightened by the sacred drama seen and shared in by all together; love of the brethren is kindled by the sense of the Church made visible in ceremonial and audible in the ancient liturgies; apprehension of the mysteries of faith is made more courageous when the creeds are said by all. [Cf. Carlyle’s quotation from Novalis in Sartor Resartus: “My belief gains quite infinitely the moment I can convince another mind thereof.”  From this point of view there is much to be said for the corporate recitation of the creed (“We believe”).]

      By what special means then does worship excite the corporate sense?  The most obvious way is by making people do things together; this does not mean that the service is all chorus; the use of versicle and response teaches us that a true service is neither a mumbled sacerdotal solo nor a hearty congregational community singing, but a well-constructed drama, in which priest and people have their parts.

      This doing and saying things together creates a certain rhythm, expressed sometimes by dignified movement, as in a procession, sometimes by the prose pattern of the Collects (quite different from the pattern of private prayers).  This is naturally accompanied by music, one of the quickest awakeners of the corporate consciousness. [This is not true of all music: some suggests reverie and solitude, but marching songs, favourite hymns, tunes with a history all help to create the common feeling.]

      We have seen already how important is the historical element in liturgy; we are interested in drama written long ago because it is of the past; the local colour and the “taste of the age” are a refreshing change from the present, but the Church claims a far closer intimacy than exists in any human society.  Its Gospel and Canon have no archaeological flavour; they are not old-fashioned or out of date.  They belong to a Church which is never old, against which the gates of hell do not prevail.

      Finally, we may say that public worship stimulates the corporate sense by turning our thoughts away from personal concerns to great public issues.  There is a side of our religious life which is intimately private, a secret between our souls and God; but there are times when we want to forget ourselves in a larger whole: it is to this need that worship ministers, directing our minds towards the Glory of God and the welfare of His Church.

Worship in the Old Testament

By W. O. E. Oesterley

1. The Background of other Religions.

      Man, from the time that he first began to be capable of thinking, experienced the conviction that supernatural beings existed who were possessed of greater power than himself.  With the origin of this conviction we are not here concerned.  But it is necessary to emphasize the fact that, whatever conceptions regarding them may have arisen in course of time, the mystical element, the sense of awe, inspired by the mysteriousness and unaccountability of their existence and power, played a dominant part in every age.  These supernatural beings included two categories: (1) those whose existence was taken for granted and whose origin was not inquired into, and (2) the spirits of those who had once lived on earth as men.

      It is obviously impossible for men to believe in the existence of such supernatural beings without formulating some ideas as to the relationship between themselves and them.  Many things happened in the world of nature surrounding them which uncultured men could only attribute to the action of supernatural beings.  These things affected men in many ways, sometimes very closely; therefore contact in one way or another with those who were believed to bring about these occurrences was vitally necessary; for by getting into touch with the authors there was the possibility of influencing them to act, or to refrain from acting, in regard to things which were either beneficial or detrimental to men.

      It cannot be too strongly emphasized that uncultured man, in his dealings with these supernatural powers, thought and acted on the analogy of himself.

      The desire for contact with supernatural beings was, therefore, inspired for two reasons: (1) for gaining their favour and thus inclining them to act favourably, and (2) to avert or appease their anger which for one reason or another might be aroused.  The means for the one or the other would, naturally enough, be similar to those which would obtain among men for like purposes, viz. a gift.  But clearly, even in this early stage, a certain difference of motive is observable, since a gift to obtain favour has a positive purpose, that of pleasing, while a gift to avert wrath is of a more negative nature, the object being to prevent its results; so that one can already discern the germs of the later ideas of propitiatory and piacular sacrifices.

      So far, then, it is not difficult to follow the reasoning processes of uncultured man regarding his attitude towards and relationship with these supernatural powers.  But the ways of thought of early man are not always what appear to us as logical.  There are some other elements to be considered in this relationship which belong to the background of worship, quite apart from the mystical element already referred to.

      The institution of Totemism was, and is, very widespread among the races of mankind in their infancy and childhood.  Totemism [The name is of North American Indian origin.] is the name given to a form of society in which the members of a clan believe themselves to be descended from some animal or plant, mostly the former; kinship is, therefore, held to exist not only between the members of a clan and their animal ancestor, but also between them and every animal of his kind; the clan takes its name from the animal in question.  The totem animal is sacred, and is therefore never harmed; only on very special occasions is it killed and eaten, and this is done by members of the clan for the purpose of getting into close touch with the divine ancestor.  On such occasions the totem animal is partaken of at a sacred meal, at which the divine ancestor is supposed to be present; and because kinship is believed to exist between the divine ancestor, the totem animal, and the members of the clan, this sacramental partaking of the sacred animal is held to effect a union between the members of the clan and their divine ancestor.  Originally this proceeding was intended to emphasize and cement kinship; and though the mystical element was obviously present, it was largely utilitarian, for by partaking of the sacred animal in which the divine ancestor was immanent the members of the clan believed that they assimilated his nature, much in the same way that a cannibal, by eating a slain enemy, felt that he absorbed his courage or strength.

      Thus, we must recognize that in the religion – by which we mean the establishing and keeping up of a relationship between men and a supernatural being – of early man there were two means whereby contact between the natural man and supernatural powers was brought about; viz. by means of offering a gift and by means of partaking of a sacred animal.

      We fully realize that arising from what has been said some difficult questions suggest themselves; but it is impossible to go into these without a discussion of the earlier history of the two rites mentioned, and that is out of the question here.  We take as our starting-point the fact, the undisputed fact, that sacrifice, which lies at the base of worship, has a twofold origin, and this is to be sought in the two rites mentioned.  It only needs to be added that in their origin these two rites can only be looked upon as acts of worship in a modified sense; they developed into these; originally they were mainly utilitarian.  They were not, as originally celebrated, intended to honour the spirit or the divine ancestor; their object was merely to obtain some benefit or to avert some harm.  We desire to emphasize this, though fully aware that it is stoutly denied by some, because in the first place it explains the utilitarian element which emerges so prominently in the later history of sacrifice, and also because it illustrates the truth that divine revelation proceeds from very humble beginnings; and this, again, is but a signal proof of the love of God, who only reveals Himself to man in accordance with man’s capacity of apprehension.

2. Sacrifices in the Old Testament.

      The Hebrews, as we meet with them in the Old Testament, had reached a relatively high stage of culture even in the earliest stage of their history as we know it; therefore we must expect to find developed ideas regarding sacrifice; but, as will be seen, the more primitive ideas still persisted.  Again, it must be remembered that, in using the word “sacrifice” as commonly understood, we are using a term which by no means always corresponds with Hebrew terminology.  We shall make this clear as we proceed.

      The history of what we call the sacrificial system of the Old Testament may be divided into three periods; these must be very briefly surveyed.

      (i) The first is the nomadic period, of which we have not many data, but sufficient to give a clear insight into what obtained regarding sacrifices.  There was only one kind of sacrifice (used in the ordinary sense in connection with killing an animal), the technical term for which was Zebach, which means “slaughter,” in reference to an animal slain.  The meaning, object and ritual of this sacrifice as given in the Old Testament are inadequate; they must be supplemented by details from extra-Biblical sources if we are to understand the raison d’être and significance of this earliest type of Hebrew sacrifice.

      It is called Pesach, translated Passover, the associations of which in English do not, however, correspond in any way with the Hebrew name (on which see further, below).  The particular point of interest about this sacrifice is that in it are adumbrated both the gift idea and the communion idea; and not only so, but it contains the germ also of the two purposes of the gift, the propitiatory and the piacular.  This will become clear as we proceed.  Pesach was celebrated in the spring of the year, and one of its objects was to offer to the deity the firstlings of flocks and herds; this was a propitiatory gift to the fertility deity to incline him [Originally, so the present writer would maintain, a goddess.] to look favourably upon the flocks and herds and to give them fertility.  An equally important element in the celebration of the festival was the manner of offering the gift; the hands of the offerer were laid on the head of the animal, and the victim’s blood was then poured out at the base of the altar; this blood offering had the object of inducing the god to refrain from injuring his devotees; an echo of this is contained in Exod. 12:23 “ ... and will not suffer the destroyer to come in unto your houses to smite you.” [It is natural enough that by the time this passage was written a distinction was made between Yahweh and “the destroyer”; but it is possible that originally the fertility deity and what is called “the destroyer” were the same.]  The wrath of the god could be aroused in a variety of ways, primarily by not fulfilling the ritual in the proper way whether by carelessness or inadvertence.  Thus in this sacrifice the twofold purpose attaching to the gift idea, viz. the propitiatory and the piacular, is in evidence.  But there was a further element in Pesach.  The victim slain was partaken of at a sacrificial meal; this is where the communion idea of sacrifice comes in.  It is true that there is little, if any, direct indication in the Old Testament of the presence of the deity at the sacrificial meal or of the belief that partaking of the sacred victim effects union with the deity; but in the wider sphere of Semitic belief generally this is amply demonstrated, and there is no reason to suppose that early Hebrew belief should have differed in essentials from that of other Semites.  It must also be remembered that the Old Testament records have been much worked over in the interests of later and more developed religious conceptions; so that it is hardly to be expected that the original ideas should all find expression.  It can be shown that especially in regard to Pesach the original elements have to a considerable extent been obliterated by later developments.

      Here we must pause to consider, in the briefest possible way, two intricate matters connected with this sacrifice, and indeed with all sacrifices of a similar type, but it is at this point that they first arise; namely, what is the significance of the pouring out of the blood of the victim, and wherein is the element of worship to be discerned?

      First, as to the pouring out of the blood: in common with many peoples the Hebrews believed that the life or soul of both men and animals resided in the blood (Lev. 17:11–14; cf. Gen. 9:4, Deut. 12:23); so that when blood was poured out the life of the victim went with it.  But, further, the study of such things as blood relationship, the blood covenant, and blood revenge shows that there was a belief in a certain compelling power connected with blood on account of the vital element in it, an element which was just as active after blood had left the body as it was before. [To explain the why and wherefore of these things would take us too far afield; see, e.g., Trumbull, The Blood Covenant (1887); Strack, Das Blut im Glauben und Aberglauben der Menschheit (1900); Curtiss, Primitive Semitic Religion Today (1902).]  Therefore the blood poured out in sacrifice was not only the offering to the deity of the life of the victim, but it also had the effect of compelling the deity to give what was required.

      In answer to the question as to wherein the element of worship is to be discerned we are confronted with the difficulty of defining what worship means; we realize the inadequacy of the definition, and that it raises further questions, but we must content ourselves with saying that by worship we mean giving play to the religious instinct.  In the Pesach sacrifice the recognition of the deity, the belief that he could give what was wanted, and the celebration of the rite, i.e. the gift offered and the desire to be united with him, must all be regarded as acts of worship.  Prayer in the sense of the word as we understand it had as yet no place; but inasmuch as the sacrifice was in some sense an appeal to the deity, it is possible to regard this as a form of prayer.  On the other hand, the fact must not be lost sight of that the Pesach sacrifice was mainly of a utilitarian character.  To draw the line between the elements of utilitarianism and worship here is a difficult task; to a semi-cultured people like the nomadic Hebrew the two were so inextricably intertwined that the idea of distinguishing between them did not arise.  The general principle is well illustrated by what is said in Gen. 28:20–22: “And Jacob vowed a vow, saying, If God will be with me, and will keep me in this way that I go, and will give me bread to eat, and raiment to put on, so that I come again to my father’s house in peace; then shall Yahweh be my God ...”  The acknowledgment of a deity, even though under conditions, would have been thought of as an act of worship.  In the same way with regard to the communion meal; to absorb the deity is to semi-cultured man primarily utilitarian, since it is a means of obtaining divine protection; if a man has received that within himself which has imparted to him something of the divine essence, as he believes, then he is able to feel assured that he is preserved from harm by a protective armour, as it were.  On the other hand, the cementing of kinship with the deity, the conviction of union with him, must be regarded as a primitive act of worship.  At the same time, it must be granted that, so far as the Pesach, in its original form, is concerned, whether or not it can be thought of as an act of worship must depend upon what we really understand by worship.  We are not thinking of the rite as it is represented in the Old Testament, that is quite obviously a greatly developed form of what it once was.  When considered in the light of primitive sacrifice, as exemplified by nomadic Semites of the present day, one must recognize that a strong case can be made out in support of the contention that all sacrifices partook originally of the nature of magic rather than of religion.  This is not to deny, however, the mystical element, for even magic partakes of that.

      We have dealt at some length with the Pesach sacrifice, because it was by far the most important in nomadic times, seeing that the fertility of the flocks and herds was believed to be dependent upon it.  But that it was not the only sacrifice of the Zebach type may be taken for granted.  We have no data in the Old Testament about other sacrifices belonging to this early stage; but judging from the conditions of nomadic life among the Arabs and the customs which there is every reason to believe have been in vogue for millennia, we are justified in holding that the nomadic Hebrews celebrated rites similar to those which still obtain among present-day nomads in Syria and Arabia.  It is, therefore, probable that on many occasions, important in the lives of individuals, sacrifices were offered to the deity; these, though of the Zebach type, differed from the Pesach offering, which was sui generis so far as the communion meal was concerned.  They were in all probability offered at the birth of a son, at a circumcision, when a tent was erected on a new spot, at a marriage, and on the anniversary of the death of the head of a clan, and of a family.  On such occasions the blood of the victim was poured out, and it acted as a prophylactic – still more ancient conceptions were connected with this – the flesh being eaten at a festive meal.  The whole was a religious ceremony, but the communion idea did not originally enter in.  To put the matter quite baldly – we recognize that differences of opinion are held in regard to this – the Pesach is of totemistic origin, while other sacrifices of the Zebach type are not; in the latter, choice pieces of the victim were set apart for the deity as his share; but that duty having been performed the worshippers were at liberty to enjoy themselves at a festive meal.

      (ii) The second period in the history of the sacrificial system is the agricultural.  The transition from the nomadic stage to settled life in which agriculture was the main pursuit was a gradual process among the Hebrews.  In two parts of the land which they entered after the wanderings in the wilderness the shepherd life predominated.  The part of the land first conquered by some of the Israelite tribes was on the east of the Jordan; here the luxuriant vegetation invited the continuance of a pastoral life.  On the west of the Jordan, in the south of Palestine – the district known as the Negeb – the country abuts on the wilderness or steppe land, and here, too, the Hebrews continued the shepherd life even after they had adopted a more settled mode of living.  But in the central and northern parts of Palestine, between the Mediterranean and the Jordan (apart from the Judaean hill-country), the Hebrews came in contact with agricultural life for the first time.  Flocks and herds were kept to some extent, but the main pursuit was agriculture.  From the Canaanites the Hebrews learned how to till the soil; and from them they also learned the religion inseparable from agriculture.  With the religion of Canaan, i.e. Baal worship, we are not here concerned, excepting in so far as it affected the development of the sacrificial system.

      Religious rites which have been handed down from time immemorial are, naturally enough, retained, however altered the conditions of life may become owing to advancing civilization.  We therefore find that Pesach is still celebrated; but, as will be seen, it undergoes modification.  For the present we leave this aside.

      It is to be noted, as illustrating the tenacity of ancient custom, that even after the Hebrews had adopted a settled life in Canaan, with agriculture as their main pursuit, the chief offerings continued to be animals from the flocks and herds, i.e. the Zebach type, the slain animal, predominated.  But there was this difference: in nomadic times the sacrifice of the slain animal always took place on or by the altar; in Canaan this Zebach type took two forms; on the one hand, the old form of the altar sacrifice continued, but on the other, the animal could be slain elsewhere (Gen. 18:7, 1 Sam. 28:24, 25); yet in each case it was a Zebach, i.e. a sacrifice followed by a meal, and in each case the ritual act of the blood outpoured took place.  The development in religious conception lies in the fact that when the animal was slain on the altar the fat and other parts were burnt as an offering to the deity; so that here we get the gift idea, i.e. an act of worship proper.  But this is not the only point of development regarding the Zebach type; for a word now becomes attached to it defining its nature, viz. Zebach shelamim, (abbreviated shelem); this definition was meant to describe the effect of the Zebach offering, namely, that it brought about peace and goodwill between the deity and his worshippers, as well as among the worshippers themselves; hence the rendering “peace offering”.  The gift idea comes out clearly here again, further emphasizing that the Zebach offering has now become a pronounced act of worship.  The two terms kalil (“whole burnt offering”) and olah (“burnt offering”) are synonymous; they both belong to the Zebach type, but they were additional offerings made on special occasions (2 Sam. 6:17, 18; 24:25).  With the exception of the chattath (“sin offering”) and the ’asham (“guilt offering”), to which reference will be made below, these exhaust the animal sacrifices [Quite exceptional, so far as can be gathered from the records, was the sacrifice of the turtledove and the pigeon (Gen. 15:9); in postexilic times we have more information about this type of sacrifice.] which form developments of the original Zebach, of the period from the settlement in Canaan to the Exile; and it will have been seen, even from this very cursory enumeration, what an important place they had in the worship.

      The other types of offerings belong more specifically to an agricultural people.  In all of these the central idea is that of a gift to the deity, partly as an act of homage, partly because it is his due, he being the owner of the land which produces through his will and power, and partly as a propitiation, i.e. as a means of inducing him to continue to give fertility to the land.  It will be observed that worship and utilitarian motives again go hand in hand.  With the increasing number of technical terms applied to sacrifices during this period we do not propose to deal; it is sufficient to say that with the gradually developing conception of the nature and personality of Yahweh, as taught by the prophets, there arose concurrently a deeper sense of what was due to Him, and therefore worship in the fuller meaning becomes more intense.  True, the prophets often inveigh against hollowness and insincerity of worship, but it is just therein that the proof of a developed conception of worship lies.  Higher ideals necessarily originate in exceptional individuals, and though their teaching may not touch the bulk, a small leaven is formed, and this persists.  Elijah spoke of only seven thousand in the land who had remained faithful to Yahweh; but it sufficed.  So with the followers of the later prophets.

      As to the material of these sacrifices: the shewbread, certainly one of the oldest offerings of the agricultural period, consists of twelve loaves of bread placed on a table in the holy place as food for the deity (Lev. 21:6, etc.); to this offering belonged also the ceremonial burning of incense; the loaves were renewed each sabbath.  The other offerings consisted of corn, wine, oil, fruit, etc., everything, in fact, which the soil produced.  All these offerings came under one or other of the three heads: free will offerings (nedaboth); offerings made on the occasion of a vow (nedarim); and obligatory offerings, i.e. such as every worshipper was bound to offer to the deity (kodashim).

      During the agricultural period it was natural enough that the most prominent acts of worship should have centered in the three great annual festivals: the feast of unleavened bread (Matzoth), in the spring, which coalesced with the ancient Pesach festival, the feast of weeks (Kazir), and the feast of ingathering (Asiph).  At the first of these the firstfruits of the crops were offered; the second marked the end of the harvest; and the third, called also Tabernacles (Sukkoth), celebrated the gathering in of the harvest at the end of the year in autumn, and the beginning of the New Year (Exod. 34:22).

      We have a few details of the worshippers themselves which are worth noting, for they tend to give some insight into the ideas of worship belonging to this period.  In a few passages there is the mention of the need for the worshippers to sanctify themselves in preparation for the sacrifice (Num. 11:18, 1 Sam. 16:5); but this seems to be in reference to a sacrificial communion meal.  For ordinary sacrifices, and above all, for the feasts, the worshippers prepared themselves by purifications, etc. and by putting on festal garments.  In general, the sacrificial worship of the Israelites during the whole of this period was joyful in character; “ye shall rejoice before Yahweh your God” (Deut. 12:12) is the prevailing note.

      During the whole of the agricultural period up to the Exile the predominating idea in the sacrifices is the offering of a gift, with the object of propitiation; the utilitarian motive is still there, but to give something to Yahweh which is pleasing to Him is the main thing, and that is essentially an act of worship.

      (iii) Finally, we come to the post-exilic period.  The teaching of Jeremiah and Ezekiel, and, above all, the experience of the Exile, had the effect of arousing a sense of sin among the people with which there was previously nothing comparable.  In conformity with this, developments in the sacrificial system took place which are very instructive.  While the full and final development was not reached for, probably, a couple of centuries after the Exile, the more essential elements in the system are likely to have found a place in the earlier parts of the post-exilic period.  The basis of the whole developed system was, of course, the ancient traditional usages which had been in vogue from the time of the settlement in Canaan, but the sacrifices were increased in number and some new types of offerings were added; it is also noticeable that some of the older terms assumed an extended meaning.  Without going into details, it may be pointed out that three conceptions in regard to sacrifices are especially characteristic of the developed system.

      (a) The gift idea was, of course, not new; but it was emphasized by the use of a comprehensive term applied to all offerings, viz. korban, “gift”; this term is unknown in the pre-exilic literature; the earlier term for a gift sacrifice (minchah), on the other hand, came to have a more restricted meaning, being applied only to cereal offerings; but it was, nevertheless, included under the general term korban.

      (b) More important, because the development in a crucial direction comes out clearly here, are the two kinds of sin offering; they are called ’asham, “trespass-offering,” and chattath, “sin offering”.  Both terms occur in pre-exilic literature, but they are used there of compensation for injury; it is only in post-exilic times that they are applied to animal sacrifices on the altar.  The difference between the two is not always clear, and there is some confusion in the way in which they are dealt with in Lev. 5; but in regard to the ’asham the idea seems to have been that the guilt incurred through the trespass was atoned for by it, and was offered concurrently with the restoration of something to a fellowman; the chattath was thought of as a means of the removal of sin, and therefore it is of more sacred character; it is more pronouncedly atoning than the ’asham.

      (c) There can be no doubt that the thought of praise became increasingly prominent; not that this did not exist earlier, for the todah offering (the word means both “praise” and “thanksgiving”) was celebrated in earlier times; but in the post-exilic period this specifically praise offering rose to greater importance.  Probably also the incense offering was intended to be a special act of praise; it is not mentioned in the pre-exilic literature, [The burning of incense in connection with the shewbread is a different thing.] and occurs for the first time in the Priestly Code (Exod. 30:34–38).

      Of special importance was the Tamid; this was the daily morning and evening burnt offering (Num. 28:3–8, Exod. 29:38–42), which was a development of the pre-exilic burnt offering and evening meal offering (2 Kings 16:15).  In its developed form its importance was emphasized by having a meal offering and a wine offering as its adjuncts (Num. 15:4, 5).  The continuous burning of the altar fire was a result of this twofold daily burnt offering, and it is not improbable that the idea of the fire being never quenched was due to Persian influence.  The word Tamid means “Continuous” here [The adverbial use is earlier and more frequent.] (cf. Num. 28:3, “a continual burnt offering”); the abbreviated form “the Tamid” in reference to this sacrifice belongs to later usage, and occurs first in Dan. 8:11–14, 11:31, 12:11.  It came to occupy the central position of the Temple cultus; the feelings aroused by its cessation in the reign of Antiochus Epiphanes can be seen from the Daniel passages indicated.

      Many other details could be given to show the development of the sacrificial system in the post-exilic period, but what has been said must suffice.  It needs to be added, however, that in regard to all the sacrifices the ritual tends to become more elaborate, the growing sense of worship due to God demands more ornateness in externals.  Further, the main object of sacrifices centers in their atoning efficacy, they are the means of becoming reconciled to God.  All sacrifices, whether bloodless or otherwise, effect reconciliation (cf. Ezek. 45:15, 17), i.e. they are the means of obtaining divine forgiveness, thus illustrating the growth of the sense of sin.  The term le-kapper, to effect atonement, expresses the basic idea, and the sin cleansing power of blood becomes very marked (see, e.g., Lev. 4:5, 6, 16–18).  The idea reached the zenith of its expression in the institution of the Day of Atonement (Lev. 16); its object is stated clearly enough in Lev. 16:33, where it is said that the priest shall “make atonement for the holy sanctuary, and he shall make atonement for the tent of meeting and for the altar; and he shall make atonement for the priests and for all the people of the assembly.”  It was thus an annual complete atonement for all sin; and it gave the assurance of reconciliation with God, and of a renewed right relationship with Him. [See the present writer (joint author) in Hebrew Religion: its Origin and Development, pp. 296 ff. (1930).]

3. Other forms of Worship.

      Singing with instrumental accompaniment as an act of worship will be referred to in dealing with the Psalms as liturgical documents.  But before coming to these a few words must be said about one other element in worship which belongs to the earliest times.

      Sacrifices represent the most highly developed and elaborated of various ritual acts which from the earliest times have always been regarded as essential to worship, which, in fact, constituted worship; as such these ritual acts were of greater significance than we in modern times can well realize.  Every action of this kind goes back to a time when magic played a dominant part, and the action was believed to be the means of bringing about what was desired; it had, according to the ideas of early man, a compelling power on the deity.  A naive example of this occurs in Exod. 17:8 ff., where it is told how Moses, by holding up his rod in his hand, enabled the Israelites to prevail against the Amalekites, but as soon as he let down his hand the Israelites were worsted.  Similarly, Elisha, by laying his hands upon those of king Joash when he discharges his arrow, ensures for him victory over the Syrians; in this case, it is true, a magical formula is also uttered, but the manual act is an essential part of the rite (2 Kings 13:14–17).  The same principle holds good in the domain of worship; the raising of the hand in blessing is necessary for the full benefit to be obtained (Lev. 9:22, 23).  Of a different character, but also a sacred act, is the rite of anointing which confers kingship (1 Sam. 10:1).  But the most important of such ritual acts, and one which was closely associated with the sanctuary, was the sacred dance.  Into this large subject we cannot go here; [For a full discussion on the subject see the present writer’s The Sacred Dance (1923); on the Pesach dance which gave the festival its name see pp. 50 ff.] it must suffice to indicate a few of the Old Testament passages in which reference is made to it, more especially the processional dance, and the ritual dance round a sacred object, as these were more especially connected with the Temple worship.

      In 2 Sam. 6:5, 14, 15, we read of “David and all the house of Israel dancing before Yahweh with all their might.”  Here we must picture to ourselves a processional dance, headed by the king, which accompanies the ark as it is carried to Jerusalem.  Dances within the sanctuary are spoken of, e.g. in Ps. 149:3: “Let them praise his name in the dance”; Ps. 150:4: “Praise him with timbrel and dance”; the same type of processional dance is no doubt referred to in Ps. 68:25, 26 and 87:7.

      As to the ceremonial encircling dance, a reference to this is found in Ps. 26:6: “I will wash mine hands in innocency, and will go round thine altar, Yahweh”; this points clearly to a sacred dance in the sanctuary.  A more elaborate ritual dance is referred to in Ps. 48:12: “Encompass ye Zion and go round about her”; the context has a clear reference to the Temple worship.  An interesting passage is Ps. 118:27: “Bind the sacrifice with cords, even unto the horns of the altar”; at first sight there would not seem to be any reference to a ritual dance here; but the word “bind” is also used in the sense of “join” (1 Kings 20:4, 2 Chron. 13:3); in later Hebrew it means “to surround”; the word rendered “sacrifice” (chag) means, in its origin, “sacred dance,” [For the proof of this see The Sacred Dance, pp. 49 f., 92.] and the word “cords” is used of people dancing in single file with music on leaving the sanctuary (1 Sam. 10:5, a “high place” was a recognized sanctuary in Samuel’s time); there is thus every justification for rendering this passage: “Join the sacred dance, even unto the horns of the altar”; the latter words may well refer to some ritual act according to which the dancers ceremonially touched the altar. [See, however, the note at end of chapter.]  It is interesting to note that in the Mishnah [Sukkah 4:2.  Below we refer to the Torch dance, which was one of the features of this feast.] it is said that after the sacrifices had been offered it was customary for the priests on each day of the Feast of Tabernacles to go in procession round the altar singing this psalm; the verse quoted will, therefore, refer to this ritual processional dance.

      Various other instances could be given of sacred dances during worship; in addition there are a number of other dances, all of a religious character, which were performed on stated occasions; the very fact that no less than eleven words for dancing occur in the Old Testament shows the important part it played.  That it was an essential element in worship from the earliest times does not admit of doubt.

4. The beginnings of the Synagogue Worship.

      For dealing with sacrifices it seemed advisable to take a rapid glance at the subject from the earliest times to their final development.  This involved some consideration of their form in post-exilic times onwards.  We must now return to the period of the Exile in order to observe the beginnings of the worship of the synagogue.

      The idea of non-sacrificial worship was not unknown in pre-exilic times (cf. e.g. Jer. 6:16, 20; 7:21, 22); but in the cultural stage of the Hebrews even as late as the sixth century B.C. it was only here and there that a man could be found with a sufficiently exalted soul to contemplate the possibility of purely spiritual worship; for the bulk of the people only the absolute force of circumstance could have brought it about.

      And it was the circumstance of the Exile that did this.

      However unhistorical the tradition of the origin of the Great Synagogue may be, it is impossible to doubt that the germs of the later synagogal worship are to be sought in the period of the Exile.  Something had to take the place of the sacrificial system; and we are not without certain indications as to what did take its place.

      In the religious life of the Hebrews in their own land the great events of the year were the annual festivals; these were of supreme importance from a religious point of view; they were also seasons to be looked forward to from a social point of view.  It is in the highest degree unlikely that when in exile the people would forget all about those seasons which had been of such importance in their lives.  We have no proof of the fact, but later practice justifies the belief that during the Exile the great yearly festivals were observed as memorials of historical events in the history of the nation; this is the case in the later Synagogue liturgy, and it is reasonable to look for the origin of the custom during the Exile.  Thus, the Passover was, and still is, celebrated in memory of the Egyptian bondage, the Exodus, and the birth of the nation; the Feast of Weeks in memory of the giving of the Law on Mount Sinai; the Feast of Tabernacles to commemorate the dwelling in booths during the wanderings in the wilderness.

      Further, judging from the denunciations in Ezek. 20:12–24 against those who profaned the Sabbath, we may gather that much stress was laid on its observance during the Exile; and this is borne out by what we read in Neh. 10:31, Isa. 56:2–6.  The Sabbath, in fact, continued to be the day of weekly worship as it had been in pre-exilic times, but now in place of the prescribed sacrifices some other form of worship arose.  And what this form was is not difficult to surmise, for there was not much in the way of alternative.  The presence during the Exile of both priests and prophets necessarily postulates the reading of such books of the Law as existed, as well as the prophetical writings which had been preserved; nor will the written word have sufficed, for the preachers, i.e. the prophets, cannot have been wanting in fulfilling their traditional calling.  At those Sabbath meetings it may be stated with confidence that public prayer was an essential element; prayer was offered during the sacrificial rites in the Temple; but the absence of the sacrifices could not have affected the continuance of the prayers.  Finally, since the singing of sacred songs had for centuries been customary in the Temple worship, as we shall see in the next section, these, like the prayers, would obviously be continued irrespective of sacrifice.

      We have, thus, the four elements in worship: the reading of the Scriptures; the preaching of the word; prayers; and psalmody, which became the essential and integral parts of the Synagogue liturgy.

      It is worth pointing out, further, though want of space forbids our going into details, that in the account of the great congregational meeting described in Neh. 8 there are various points of procedure which correspond with traditional use in the Synagogue worship; there can be little doubt that Ezra, in conducting the ceremony, was following the precedent formed during the Exile. [The argument is not materially affected if it be urged that the procedure described in Neh. 8 bears the marks of what was customary in the chronicler’s day.]

5. The Psalms as Liturgical Documents.

      (i) It is no exaggeration to say that in order to grasp to the full the essence and content of the Psalms as liturgical documents we must look back to a time many centuries before that to which in their present form they belong.  The Psalms are, above all things, human documents, and the human feelings to which they owe their origin are very much the same in every age.  The mode of expression will differ, but the emotions which prompt the utterances do not.

      Given the belief in personal supernatural beings, whether gods or goddesses, it is a matter as obvious as it is necessary that the believer will seek to communicate with those in whom he believes; and the nature of these communications will naturally correspond with the conception and feelings in regard to the divine personality entertained by the believer.  The nature of such communications will differ according to circumstances, but, speaking generally, they may be described as four in number: first, there are the material requirements, primarily food and drink, which it is believed the god can supply, and which are therefore asked for; then there are evils, such as sickness, enemy onslaughts, etc., which it is believed the god can remedy; following upon deliverance from these, there is the innate feeling of gratitude which will find expression; and, finally, closely connected with gratitude is the desire to please the god with whom the worshipper is on good terms, and this, too, must in one way or another be expressed.  All these things are common to humanity in all ages; and if they are proper to men in the polytheistic stage of belief, the more will it be so in a henotheistic stage, and still more in that of monotheism.  The nature of these communications is expressed in modern language by the terms: petition, supplication, thanksgiving, and praise; the first two like the last two, being really variations of similar underlying ideas.

      We have here four categories of utterances addressed by the worshipper to the deity; and it is obvious that each will be characterized by a mode of expression proper to it.  The worshipper whose thoughts are concentrated on a petition will not be thinking of praise; nor will one who is pouring out thanksgiving be tormented with the thought of troubles.  Thus, terms and forms proper to the occasion gradually take shape and traditional types of utterances become stereotyped.  In course of time further developments arise following upon changing conditions of life, extraneous influences, advance in culture, and growth of religious conceptions.

      Two other preliminary considerations must be noted: in regard to the four types of utterances referred to, it is in the nature of things that in their origin they will be short and pithy, a fact which of itself will tend to stereotyped terms.  And further, it can be shown from many sources that from the earliest times utterances of this kind were always recited in rhythmic form; it is always the case that words of importance, from the very utterance of which something is expected, are in a primitive form of poetry.

      The second thing to be noted is that inasmuch as all these types of utterances are addressed to a divine being, they are, in effect, the essential elements of which the later more formal and elaborated forms of divine worship were composed.

      (ii) What has been said may be briefly illustrated by Hebrew usage in early times; though it will, of course, be realized that the cultural stage of the Hebrews as we know them, even in the earliest periods, from the Old Testament, is a relatively advanced one; so that the forms in which the few illustrations to be given now appear in the Old Testament are developed ones.

      As an illustration of a petition we have one which is of high antiquity even in the form in which it has come down to us; it occurs in Num. 10:35; the accentuation in the following rendering does not quite correspond with the Hebrew; but it is near enough to give some idea of the rhythmic form:

Arise, Yahweh, that thy foes be dispers’d,

That thine Enemies flee from before thee.

      As this was uttered in the presence of the ark there is no doubt that the worshippers in whose midst the petition was offered believed that Yahweh Himself was present; and in this case the words were spoken during what was a form of divine service.

      As illustrating the supplicatory utterance we have, in the form of a blessing, the words of Num. 6:24–26; it is in its present form post-exilic, but in its origin must go back to much earlier times; each of the three lines of which it is composed is divided into two unequal parts, the first being longer than the second:

            May Yahweh bless thee                                                      and keep thee,

            May Yahweh make his face to shine on thee                  and be gracious to thee,

            May Yahweh lift his face toward thee                              and give thee peace.

It is hardly possible to reproduce the rhythmic form of the Hebrew in English; the lines are skillfully constructed in an ascending scale; thus, the first line has three words, and the second five, and the third seven.  Though the form is that of a blessing, it is in reality a supplication, as the context shows.  As this is the utterance of a priest it was clearly spoken in the sanctuary when something in the nature of divine service was taking place, – indeed, that is proved by the words which follow: “So shall they put my name on the children of Israel, and I will bless them,” i.e. Yahweh is conceived of as being present; it is He (the pronoun is emphatic) who blesses, the priest making it a prayer.  Another instance of a supplication occurs in 1 Sam. 1:10, 13, and this, too, is offered in the sanctuary; it is the case of Hannah, but the words of the prayer are not recorded.

      Thanksgiving is a form of praise, but the Song of Hannah (1 Sam. 2:1 ff.), being uttered after her prayer has been heard, is in the nature of a thanksgiving.

            My heart exulteth in Yahweh,

                        [The force of the preposition in each case is “through,” or “by means of”.]

            My horn is exalted in my God.  [So the Greek and Latin Versions, no doubt rightly.]

Here again the original is strongly rhythmic, three beats going to each line.  And again, the thanksgiving is uttered in the sanctuary.  The song is a late composition, but there can be no doubt that it reflects the ancient custom of coming to the sanctuary to offer thanks to God.

      Finally, to give an illustration of the utterance of praise, we have in Exod. 15:21, a very ancient little poem, also strongly rhythmical in construction, with four beats to a line; it is, however, hardly possible to reproduce the rhythm in English:

            Sing to Yahwe’h                   highly exalted is he;

            Horse and rider*                   he cast into the sea.

                        [*So the Septuagint; the Hebrew has “his rider”.]

That this was sung in the sanctuary is certain, and for two reasons: in the previous verse it is said that all the women went out after Miriam “with timbrels and with dances”; the reference is thus to the sacred dance accompanied by the timbrel, or hand drum, which took place while the dancers sang their hymn of praise to Yahweh; that such a ceremony took place in the sanctuary is self-evident.  Further, the words which introduce the song are: “And Miriam answered them”; but this does not quite express the Hebrew term, which might be better rendered: “And Miriam sang in responses with them,” i.e. the song was sung antiphonally, which implies that it was sung at divine service.

      (iii) We have thus four types of sacred utterance (representative of countless others which have not been preserved), in regard to each of which it can be stated with confidence that in its essence it belongs to the earliest period of Israelite history, and each of which was either sung or spoken in rhythmic form in the sanctuary; in other words, they are all what we should rightly call liturgical pieces of a primitive kind.  They are the germs from which the corresponding types of psalms have been evolved.  It cannot be doubted, in the light of what has been said, that many of the psalms in the Psalter were sung during the Temple services in pre-exilic times – not, it is true, in their present form, because there is every reason to believe that they have undergone elaboration in course of time, but certainly in some less developed form.

      Corresponding to these four early types of sacred utterance a few illustrations from our present Psalter may be given; they are all taken from Book 1 (1–41).

      One cannot always draw a clear distinction between supplication and petition; but we are using the former in reference to prayer for spiritual wants (in Ps. 5 it is uprightness in the sight of God that is asked for), the latter in reference to prayer for material wants.  As an example of the latter we have Ps. 17, which is a petition for protection from an enemy (verses 8–14); verse 15 shows it was uttered in the sanctuary:

            As for me, may I in righteousness behold thy face,

                  And sate myself with beholding [Following the Septuagint.] thine appearance.

      Ps. 20 is of the same type, though in this case the prayer is uttered on the eve of battle, during the offering of sacrifice (verse 3).

      Ps. 5 is an example of the worshipper bringing his supplication before God in the sanctuary; verse 2 tells of his prayer:

            Hearken unto the voice of my cry, my king and my God,

                  For unto thee do I pray.

Verses 3 and 7 show that it was uttered in the Temple; the latter runs:

            But as tor me, in the multitude of thy lovingkindness will I come into thy house,

                  In thy fear will I worship toward thy holy temple.

                                    [Pss. 13 and 28 belong to the similar type.]

      An illustration of thanksgiving is Ps. 9; it was originally joined to Ps. 10 (so in the Septuagint), as the acrostic shows; [Each verse begins with a letter of the alphabet which runs through the two psalms.] that it was sung in the Temple is seen from 9:11.

      Psalms of praise are, for example, 8, 24, 29.  The first of these was sung in the night, judging from verse 3, and in the Temple court which was open to the sky (cf. Isa. 30:29); the two others were, from their contents, so obviously sung in the Temple that there is no need for any words to prove this.

      The four types of psalms mentioned may without hesitation be pointed to as the earliest, so far as content is concerned, to have taken shape; but various other types came into existence in course of time; and in most cases, though probably not in all, they were sung in the Temple worship during the offering-up of sacrifices.  The evidence for this is derived mainly from the Mishnah; and although this evidence is comparatively late, it must be recognized that, in view of the tenacious character of religious uses, much of it must reflect traditional custom.  Nothing will show more clearly the liturgical character of the Psalms than a glance, brief though it is, at what is said in the Mishnah about the Psalms in the Temple worship.

      During the daily sacrifices – i.e. burnt offering, sin and trespass offering, peace offering and drink offering – the psalm for the day was sung; each day of the week had its special psalm; [Tamid vii, and the tractate Sopherim xviii. 1 (the latter does not belong to the Mishnah.] the singing of the psalm here was subsidiary, the offerings being the central part of the worship.  There is no doubt that this usage, like that on the Sabbath, which was more elaborate, is post-exilic; on the other hand, the singing of a psalm during the offering of sacrifice is pre-exilic as well.

      According to Sukkah iv. 5 a liturgical psalm was, as a rule, divided into three parts; after the singing of each part the priests blew three times on their trumpets, and the people fell down and worshipped; [Cf. also Tamid vii. 3.] it is impossible to say whether this post-exilic usage reflects earlier tradition; but a psalm long enough to be divided into three sections is an elaboration which suggests later development.

      Of the Festival psalms the “Hallel” was the most important element.  The “Hallel,” meaning “praise,” is so called on account of the oft-recurring term “Hallelujah” in these psalms; it consists of Pss. 113–118, and is called the “Egyptian Hallel” [See Ps. 114:1.          ] to distinguish it from the “Great Hallel” (Ps. 136), and from Pss. 146–148, each of which begins with “Hallelujah”.  The great importance of the “Hallel” in the Temple worship can be seen by its place during the great Festivals.  When the Passover lambs had been slain, two rows of priests were drawn up in the Court of the Priests, in which the great altar stood; they received into gold and silver bowls the blood from the lambs which the head of each family had to offer at this feast.  These bowls were passed up to the officiating priest at the great altar; as he received each bowl he emptied it at the base of the altar, and then handed the empty bowl back.  The ceremony lasted from the ninth till the eleventh hour (i.e. 3–5 p.m.), and during it the “Hallel” was sung by the Levites.  The congregation repeated the first clause of each of the six psalms, and after every other clause or line they shouted “Hallelujah”; when they came to the last of the six (Ps. 118) they repeated not only the first clause, and shouted “Hallelujah” after each clause, but they also repeated after the Levites the three clauses contained in verses 25, 26:

                  Save now, we beseech thee, Yahweh;

                  Yahweh, we beseech thee, send us now prosperity.

                  Blessed is he that cometh in the name of Yahweh.

The “Hallel” was repeated in this way until the whole ceremony was completed.

      Similarly, at the Feast of Tabernacles, the “Hallel” was sung after the pouring out by the altar of the water and wine libations; [Sukkah iv. 1.  Psalms were also sung at this feast during the brilliant ceremony of the Torch dance performed in the Court of the Women.] it was sung to the accompaniment of flutes.  It was also sung at the Feast of Weeks during the offering of the sacrifices; on this occasion it was accompanied by the playing of a single flute, the reason being that at this feast boys’ voices joined in singing the “Hallel”; the sons of the Levites sang it in unison with their fathers.  The part taken by the congregation was the same as at the Feast of Passover.  Finally, the “Hallel” was sung at the Feast of Dedication (Chanukkah), and, possibly, at the New Moon festivals, though there is no direct evidence regarding this.

      This, of course, is far from exhausting what the Mishnah and the tractate Sopherim have to say about the liturgical character of the Psalms; but what we have endeavoured to illustrate is the very large number of psalms used for the festivals, and which are therefore psalms of praise.  It is to be noted that the four types of psalms to which attention was first drawn were, with one exception, such as were in their origin individualistic; the one exception (if it was an exception) was the praise utterance.  We conjecture, therefore, that utterances of petition, supplication, and thanksgiving, which in course of time developed into psalms of these types, were originally used by an individual worshipper, and that later many of these were adapted to congregational use.  In the case of the praise utterance – though one speaks tentatively – the evidence seems to point to their having been from the first of a congregational rather than of an individualistic character.  However this may be, the psalms of praise which are now incorporated in the Psalter are markedly congregational.

      All the four types of psalms so far considered may be said to have extended, in their origin, back to the earliest times, and in their developed forms to the latest times.  There are some other types of psalms of which this cannot be said; but as they, too, were used in divine worship and are therefore liturgical documents, one or two must receive a few words of notice; to deal with all the varieties is out of the question here. [For the fullest treatment of the whole subject see Gunkel, Einleitung in die Psalmen (Part I, 1928).]

      (iv) A type of psalm which at certain times occupied an important place in the Temple Liturgy was what may be termed a Dirge; this type has a long history behind it, and in its origin goes far back into pre-exilic times.  It occurs in two forms in the Psalter: the dirge of the individual and the national dirge.  The content of the former, and it applies also in part to the latter, consists of the wailing in regard to some untoward occurrence, prayer for divine help to avert the evil, and often some further utterances calculated to give comfort in the time of trouble; in the case of the national dirge, it is almost always some external, political crisis which prompts it.  Nothing is more striking than this custom of the individual in the one case, the people as a whole in the other, bringing before God in His sanctuary the trouble or perplexity whereby they are confronted, and making it part of their liturgical worship.  In most cases these dirges have been incorporated in psalms which contain other matter, so that in the Psalter as we now have it one cannot often say of a particular psalm that it is a dirge; what is actually the case is that it contains the dirge together with other material.  As an example of this, we may quote some words of the dirge of an individual occurring in Ps. 94:12–19:

Who will rise up for me against the evil-doers?

Who will stand for me against the workers of iniquity?

Unless Yahweh had been my help,

My soul had soon dwelt in silence (verses 16, 17).

What has prompted the worshipper to come and pour out his complaint in the sanctuary is not definitely stated, but in general terms is spoken of as “the days of adversity” (verse 13).

      Regarding national dirges there are many indications in the Old Testament as to the cause of these: war, captivity, pestilence, drought, famine, locust plague, etc.;[ See, e.g., 1 Kings 8:33–40, 44–50; Joel 1:2–20, 2:1–14.] it is also implied, or directly stated, that in consequence a fast was proclaimed, and the people flocked to the sanctuary. [E.g. Joel 2:15–17.]  As an utterance of the assembled congregation on such an occasion we have, e.g., such words as these:

Remember not against us the iniquities of our forefathers,

Let thy tender mercies speedily prevent us;

For we are brought very low ... (Ps. 79:8, 9);

the context tells of a national calamity; and the nation is in sore trouble because of Gentile enemies.  Other psalms of a similar character are 44, 74, 80,83.  The manuscript copy of such psalms was either kept in the Temple archives to be used as occasion demanded, or possibly it may have belonged to one of the Temple guild of singers, such as the sons of Asaph, [This is a possible meaning of the title “Psalm of Asaph”.] and brought out for the use of the congregation when required.

      Of the number of other types of psalms, we select one more; it is a type which is of particular importance and interest because it introduces into the Liturgy one element which seems incongruous: the type of psalm is that in which prophetical influence comes to the fore.  To be sure, this influence is to be found in many of the psalms, but in some of them it is more particularly striking, one may say typical.  A good example is Ps. 82:2–4:

How long will ye judge unjustly,

And respect the persons of the wicked?

Judge the oppressed and the fatherless,

Do Justice to the afflicted and destitute;

Rescue the poor and needy;

Deliver them out of the hand of the wicked.

A comparison between these words and such passages as Amos v. 14, 15 ; Isa. iii. 15; Micah vi. 8; Jer. iv. 14, v. 28 and many others, shows that they are of the very essence of prophetic teaching. Priest and prophet often stood in antagonism, but here is an instance of the prophet’s words entering, as it were, into the Liturgy, the priestly preserve par excellence.

      Still more striking are those psalms in which the traditional prophetic depreciation of the cultus finds expression. Thus, in the well-known words of Ps. 1. 53, 54:

Will I eat the flesh of bulls,

Or drink the blood of goats?

Offer unto God the sacrifice of thanksgiving;

And pay thy vows unto the Most High.

See also Ps. 40:6, and cf. such passages as Amos 5:21, 22; Isa. 1:11–14; Micah 6:6, 7.

      The consideration of other types of psalms would show what a remarkable variety of thoughts and prayers must have filled the minds of the worshippers in the Temple.  It is small wonder that the Psalms have played such a leading part in worship for three millennia. [Did space permit, there is much of liturgical interest to be noticed in the titles of the Psalms; late as these titles are, it can be shown that they reflect, in a number of cases, ancient traditional use.

      Note. – The words from Ps. 118:27, quoted above, should be rendered, following the Septuagint; “Marshal the procession with the leafy (branches),” in reference to the palm branches which were carried during the Feast of Tabernacles; the verse would then run:

Join the sacred dance,

Marshal the procession with the leafy (branches).

See, further, Thackeray, The Septuagint and Jewish Worship, pp. 75 f. (1921).]

Synagogue Worship in the First Century

By Paul P. Levertoff

      It is a truism to say that Christianity spent its early days within the walls of the Synagogue, and that it only left it when it was forcibly expelled.  Yet not only is the study of the Synagogue Liturgy, so far as its origins are concerned, still in its infancy, but even how the institution itself originated, and what causes gave it shape, are questions which cannot be answered with absolute certainty.  It is probable, however, that it had its rise in the exigencies of the period that intervened between the fall of the first and the inauguration of the second Temple.  The post-exilic Jewish community, especially, endeavoured to make the Law the principle of life not only for the community as such but also for every individual – “This multitude which knoweth not the law are accursed” (John 7:49).  Both knowledge and practice of it were required, and thus eventually developed a kind of parochial or congregational system, for the purpose of the reading and exposition of Scripture on Sabbaths and festivals, and later also on Mondays and Thursdays (market days).

      It may seem paradoxical to compare the synagogues with the Bamoth, i.e. the local sanctuaries at high places, condemned by the Deuteronomic legislation, but, with the lapse of time and the coming of new conditions, it became necessary to revert to local religious centers.  What is more, the Book of Deuteronomy, emphasizing as it does the necessity of instruction, can be justly considered one of the main factors in the rise of the Synagogue as an institution.  In New Testament times it was firmly established: “Moses from generations of old hath in every city them that preach him, being read in the synagogues every sabbath” (Acts 15:21).  Palestine, including Jerusalem (notwithstanding the presence of the Temple), was dotted with synagogues.  In Rome, too, there were a considerable number; and, in fact, wherever there was a Jewish settlement, at least one synagogue would be found.  In consequence of the constant intercourse of the Jewish communities of the Dispersion with Jerusalem, and inasmuch as many Jews often returned there with their families, several synagogues for these “foreigners” had arisen in this one city alone (Acts 6:9).

      Exposition of Scripture and preaching must from the beginning have formed the essential parts of the service, particularly on special feast days and Sabbaths.  We have no examples from pre-Christian times of the manner and substance of Synagogue homilies in Palestine, but the Haggadic portions of the early Midrashim, [“‘Midrash’ was the higher exegesis of Scripture, especially the derivation from it, or confirmation by it, of the rules of the unwritten law. ... ‘Haggadah,’ the non juristic teachings of Scripture as brought out in the profounder study of its religious, moral, and historical teachings.” – G. F. Moore, Judaism, i. 319.] and later collections of Synagogue homilies, contained in the Pesikta Rabbati, reflect, to a considerable extent, the type of preaching in the first century.  The Hellenistic communities had many patterns of oratorical diction, and a few portions of such discourses have been preserved, such as an oration on the power of reason (the so-called “Fourth Book of Maccabees”) and some fragments in Philo’s writings (e.g. the sermon on Samson).  Acts 13:16–41 shows that a “sermon” could be independent of a Scripture text.

      But although the chief purpose of the synagogues was the reading and exposition of Scripture and religious exhortation (Matt. 4:23, Mark 1:21, Luke 4:15, 21; 6:6, 13:10; John 6:59, 18:20; Philo, De Sept., 6; Jos. Apion, ii. 17), prayers, at first probably in connection with the Lectionary, and on special occasions, must have also been said there (cf. Matt. 6:5).  In fact, even before the Christian era, some more or less fixed prayer formulas must have been in existence.  These were apparently something new in religious history, for, although fixed forms of prayer are found in every more or less developed religion, they are generally more in the nature of magical formulas than of prayers in the modern sense of the term.

      Two examples of such prayers are preserved in the Greek text of Daniel: one can be designated a “eucharistic litany” (Song of the Three Children, 29–68), the other a Litany of Penitence (3–22).  We gather that already in the Maccabean period certain liturgical formulas were taken over from the Palestinian into the Hellenistic Synagogue.

      Nevertheless, it is very doubtful if we have the material for a complete outline of the Synagogue Liturgy of the time of our Lord.  We have to depend on Rabbinical sources, and, valuable as they are, it must be remembered that the Rabbis, especially those of the second and later centuries, whose references, usually casual, to liturgical matters are discussed in Rabbinic literature, were often inclined to project back into “generations of old” the conditions which really existed in their own time.  Besides, even according to the earliest traditional literature, the Liturgy, even in its simpler elements, took definite form only by degrees, and, as will be shown later, contained polemical references to Jewish Christians.

      That synagogues were sometimes erected by private individuals, even by non-Jews, we know from St. Luke (7:5).  The names of the benefactors, Gentile as well as Jewish, were often inscribed on the synagogue walls, or at least on those parts of the building towards which they had contributed.  Thus a Greek inscription tells of a heathen priestess, Julia Severa, who gave Jews a synagogue (Ramsay, The Cities and Bishoprics of Phrygia, i. 649).

      According to later Rabbinic legislation, a synagogue was not to be used for any but religious purposes, but in practice what we might call “socials” seem to have taken place in them, and discussions of communal affairs.  In Caesarea, for instance, there was even a “revolutionary” synagogue.

      On the lintels of the doors of some of the Galilean synagogues were different forms of ornamentation: a seven-branched candlestick, an open flower between two paschal lambs, or vine leaves with bunches of grapes, or, as in the synagogue of Capernaum, a pot of manna between two representations of Aaron’s rod.

      Some synagogues were simple halls.  The only indispensable article inside would be a movable chest (’arona, tebuta) for the scrolls of the Law and the Prophets, which, on fast days, was taken out and carried in processions.  Others were built in a grander style, e.g. the great synagogue in Alexandria, which must have been modeled on the pattern of the Jerusalem Temple, to judge from the description of it in Tosephta Sukkah iv. 20.

      Contrary to what we should expect, there was no special gallery for women in the early synagogues, and, what is more remarkable, women were sometimes asked to read the lessons (Tos. Meg. iv. 55).  On the other hand, lepers had to sit in a special enclosure (Mishnah Neg. xiii. 52).

      Another article of furniture deserving mention is the laver in the synagogue court for ceremonial ablutions.

      The question has often been asked, What was the initial relationship of the Jewish Christians to the Synagogue?  We know, of course, that the synagogues were the scenes of no small portion of our Lord’s work.  In them were wrought some of His mightiest works of healing (Matt. 12:9, Mark 1:23, Luke 13:10); in them were spoken some of His most glorious recorded words (Luke. 4:18–27; cf. John 6:59), and probably many of His sayings, especially as recorded in the first Gospel, may have been connected with the Synagogue Lectionary. [See P. P. Levertoff on “St. Matthew” in A New Commentary on Holy Scripture.]  That the disciples, even after Pentecost, were still attached to the Temple, is certain (cf. Acts 3:5, 5:52).  That many Christian Jews of the priestly class continued to discharge priestly functions in the Temple is probable. [Cf. Harnack, Mission and Expansion of Christianity, i. 46.]  But whether they continued to attend the Synagogue ritual as well is not clear from the New Testament.  From Rabbinic sources, however, it can be inferred that, at any rate till the beginning of the second century, Jewish Christians used to take part in the Synagogue services, so that a special enactment (Takkana) had to be made concerning one of the most solemn responses in the Liturgy, “Blessed be the Name of the glory of His Kingdom for ever and ever,” said by the “Messenger of the congregation” (see later) after the proclamation of the faith in the Divine unity (the Shema’).  The enactment referred to the manner of recitation.  Originally, so it stated, it used to be said quietly, but because of the “Minim,” in this case the Jewish Christians, who evidently mentioned the Name of Jesus in connection with the Kingdom, it was commanded that it should be said loudly, so that Jewish believers in the Messiahship of Jesus might be detected (Pes. 56a).  There is also a tradition that originally the Decalogue used to be recited after the Shema’, but that it was abolished “because of the Minim,” i.e. because Jewish Christians were supposed to claim divine revelation exclusively for the Ten Commandments.  This enactment must have taken place in the first century, since Rabbi Nathan, who records it as something that had taken place in the past, lived in the middle of the second century (Ber. 12a).  Again, the so-called Birkat ha-Minim (see later), which, according to the earliest recensions, was enacted chiefly with the view to driving the Hebrew Christians out of the synagogues, shows that, notwithstanding the spasmodic persecutions to which the Church in Palestine was exposed almost from the beginning (Acts 8:5, 1 Thess. 2:54), individual Jewish Christians at least were still attached to the synagogues.  This subject deserves much fuller investigation than it has ever received.  On the one hand, it would seem that the position of Jewish Christians within the Jewish commonwealth precludes the idea that they made a practice of establishing a special Synagogue for themselves on Jewish soil; on the other hand, as a simple hall was sufficient for synagogal purposes, it is not impossible that from the beginning such an “upper chamber” as that in which the disciples gathered for prayer after the Ascension (Acts 1:53, 54) constituted for them a synagogue (cf. James 2:2; Hermas, Mand., xi. 9, 53, 54).  This would be regarded by the other Jews as something quite normal, and not as a desertion from national associations and obligations.  Moreover, in Jerusalem such assemblies would not have attracted much attention, since there were already various synagogues for different Jewish groups.

      What we know about the Synagogue organization is very little indeed.  The New Testament speaks of the “elders of the Synagogue,” of a “ruler,” and of a “minister”; we meet the same persons in Rabbinic literature.  It can be taken for granted that in Palestine, especially in purely Jewish localities, the communal affairs were under the charge of “elders” (Hebrew zekenim, Greek presbyteroi).  In the Apostolic age they may have formed a kind of “presbyterate” in connection with discipline (e.g. excommunication, Luke 6:22, John 9:22, 12:42, 16:2) and charity.  In the New Testament they are often mentioned together with Pharisees and Scribes, but according to Rabbinic tradition the zekenim as such were scribes, i.e. scholars.  In fact, “scribes” and “elders” are interchangeable terms.  We read, for instance, of the “elders of the house of Shammai and of the house of Hillel” (Ber. 11a); of the “elders of the court,” and of the priesthood (Yoma 18b); of the “elders of the south”; of the “commandments of the elders” (Sab. 23a); of the “traditions of the elders” (Matt. 15:2), and of the “ordination of elders” (Tos. Sanh. i. 1).  As successors of the elders” of Moses (Num. 11:16),* and, as such, transmitters of the oral tradition, like the zekenim in Ezra’s time (cf. Pirke Abot i, 1), the spirit of God was mediated to them (although, of course, not for a particular office in a local synagogue), by the “laying on of the hands” of three zekenim.  This rite was called Semika, the “laying on” (of hands), i.e. ordination (Tos., ibid.).

      [*Cf. the same reference to the 70 elders in the prayer at the ordination of a Christian presbyter, in the “First Church Order” (quoted by Dr. Frere in Early History of the Church and Ministry, p. 284): ... et gubernet plebem tuam ... sicuti respexisti super populum electionis tuae, et praecepisti Moysi, ut elegeret praesbyteros, quos replesti de spiritu tuo ...”  It is, however, uncertain whether in the Apostolic Age, when this method of ordaining Rabbis was probably practiced, it was in any way based on the conception of the transmission of the Holy Spirit to the ordinands, or whether this idea was projected back by the later Rabbis, who, probably in opposition to the manner of Christian ordination, were ordained merely by nomination.  Cf. Bacher, Monatsschrift für Geschichte and Wissenschaft des Judentums, 1894, p. 122.]

      The “Ruler” (Hebrew rosh ha-keneset, Mishnah Sota vii. 7; Greek αρχισυνάγωγος, Mark 5:22, Luke 8:41, 13:14; Acts 18:8, 17, in the plural) was probably (although there is no reference to this in Rabbinic literature) chosen from among the elders.  His (honorary) office was that of Synagogue overseer and director.  He had, for example, to decide who should read the lessons, and who should preach (Acts 13:15).  Although there is no direct reference to the “ruler” in connection with alms (cf. Matt. 6:2), yet the collecting and distributing of these (Pea. viii. 7) was probably also under his control.  His office was not limited to time, but was usually held for life, and was not infrequently hereditary. [The almoners, Demai iii. i.; Kid. iv. 5 belonged probably to a later period.]

      The “Minister” (Hebrew hazzan ha-keneset, or simply hazzan, Sota vii. 7, 8; Sab. i. 3; Greek υπηρέτης, Luke 4:20) executed the orders of the “ruler,” invited the appointed readers, took out the scrolls from the Ark, and put them back again after the reading.  He it was who wielded the scourge when punishment had to be meted out in the synagogue (Matt. 10:17, 23:34; Mark 13:9, Acts 22:19; cf. Mishnah Makk. III. 12).  He was also the elementary teacher, and probably “served the tables,” to use a New Testament expression, at the daily distribution of food to the poor (Tos. Pea. iv. 10).

      The position and status of a “minister” was certainly higher than that of a “verger”.  This is evident, among other things, from the fact that, according to Rabbinic tradition, at funerals a special “collect” was recited in his honour, as was done in honour of the αρχισυνάγωγος (p. Ber. 23a). [There is thus a kind of “threefold Ministry of the Synagogue,” analogous to that of the Christian Church.  The elders, not being specially appointed for a particular synagogue, could be considered as belonging to “catholic”’ Israel. The αρχισυνάγωγος was the head of the local synagogue, and as such, in a sense, the executive officer of the former, as the Bishop, the αρχισυνάγωγος of the local church, was of the original Christian πρεσβύτεροι, the apostles.  The υπηρέτης would correspond exactly to the deacon, the servant of the Bishop (cf. the role of the deacons in the Pastoral Epistles).]

      Apart from the above, there were no other permanently appointed officials for the conduct of the services in the early Synagogue.  The collectors and receivers of alms, mentioned above, had nothing to do with public worship as such, and besides, it is not at all certain whether such functions existed before A.D. 70.  The “delegate of the congregation” (Hebrew Sheilah Zibbur), i.e. the one who was asked by the “ruler” to lead in prayer, who probably belonged to a later period, cannot be regarded as an official.  The same is true of the “reader” of the lessons.  Neither was the translator (turgeman) of the Scriptures into Aramaic and Greek, according to circumstances (Meg. iv. 4; Tos. Meg. iv. 20 f.), an official in any sense.

      According to the Mishnah (Meg. vi. 3), ten male persons (boys over thirteen counted as men) were necessary for the invocation, “Bless ye the Lord, the blessed One,” with its response “May the Lord, the blessed One, be blessed for ever and ever,” recited before the first benediction of the Shema’ in the evening and morning services, for the recitation of the “Eighteen (or seven) benedictions,” for the reading from the Law and the Prophets, and for the recitation of the blessings connected with them, as well as for the Aaronitic blessing, “When ten men pray together, the Shekina is in their midst” (Ber. 6a; cf. Matt. 18:20).  But whether these rules and customs existed in the time of our Lord is not certain.  In later times a few unemployed men (asara batlanim) were paid for the purpose, so that they might always be present in the synagogue at the services (Meg. i. 3).

      The part taken by the congregation at prayer consisted (at least after the destruction of the Temple) in saying the responses, the most important of which were the “Amens” after the benedictions recited by the “messenger,” the “reader” and the priest, or priests (i.e. Aaronites), if such should happen to be present at the service.  In the synagogue of Alexandria, for instance, the “minister” used to signal with a flag to the congregation, at the conclusion of the reader’s doxology, to remind them of the “Amen” (Tos. Suk. iv. 6 f.).

      At the recitation of the Shema’ the congregation sat on the floor; at the “Prayer” proper they stood up together with the “messenger”.  At morning prayer, except on Sabbaths and festivals, the Tephillin (φυλαχτήρια, Matt. 23:5) were worn.  There were two of them: one for the arm – a small dice-shaped hollow parchment case, in which lay a small roll of parchment, on which were written the passages Exod. 13:9, 10, 16; Deut. 6:4–9, 11:13–21; it was fastened, by means of a strap drawn through it, to the upper part of the left arm; and the other for the head, a case of the same kind, but differing from the former by being divided into four compartments, holding four little rolls of parchment, on which were inscribed again the above-mentioned passages.  This was fastened by means of a strap to the forehead, just below the hair.  In the time of our Lord, the Tephillin were worn all day, and not only during prayer.  The same is true of the so-called prayer shawl (tallit, ιμάτιον), i.e. the upper garment with the fringes of hyacinth blue, or white, wool (zizith, Matt. 9:20, 14:36, 23:5; Mark 6:56, Luke 8:44; cf. Num. 15:37 sqq.; Deut. 22:12) at its four corners.  In the first century it probably resembled the abayah, or blanket, worn by the Bedouins for protection from the sun and rain, and which has black stripes at the ends.  The finer tallits, however, worn by distinguished persons, were very likely similar to the Roman gallium.

      The “messenger of the congregation,” as well as the “reader” and the translator, had to be particularly careful concerning the kind of garments they wore in the synagogue (Tos. Meg. iv. 30).  As the tallit had a headgear attached to it, the congregation must have had their heads covered, although Rabbinic legislation has no rubric concerning this point.

      There is no mention of singing at the synagogue, but it is probable that those parts of the Liturgy which were connected with the Temple worship, like the recitation of psalms, the Aaronitic blessing, and that connected with processions on the Feast of Tabernacles, were sung.

      In the Old Testament there is no commandment concerning prayer.  There are patterns and models of benedictions (berakoth; cf. Num. 6:24, 2 Chron. 30:27) as well as of prayers proper (tephilloth; cf. Deut. 26:10, 13; Lev. 16:21, 1 Kings 8:22), but they are not set forth as elements of a legally regulated divine service.  Rabbinic tradition ascribes the institution of a definite ritual of Scripture reading and prayer to the so-called “men of the great Synagogue” in the time of Ezra and Nehemiah.  However that may be, the custom of praying three times a day, derived probably from Ps. 54:18, was most likely introduced in the third century B.C. (cf. Dan. 6:11,9:21).  Later, however, there were only two congregational services, morning and afternoon, and full “liturgical” worship took place only on Sabbaths and festivals.  Yet it is uncertain whether an afternoon service took place in the synagogue while the Temple was still in existence.

      The earliest and most important eulogies and prayers are considered to be those that group themselves round the so-called Shema’ and the “Eighteen benedictions”.

      The Shema’. – In obedience to the precept, “Thou shalt speak of them (the commandments) ... when thou liest down and when thou risest up” (Deut. 6:7), every Jew was obliged to say twice daily the three paragraphs, Deut. 6:4–9, 11:13–21, and Num. 15:37–41.  Technically the performance of this duty is called Keriat shema’ (“the recitation of the Shema’ ”), because of the first word, shema’, “hear,” with which the first paragraph begins, and the sections are individually known by the words with which they begin (Ber. ii. 2; Tamid v. 1).  According to Rabbinic tradition, this “Creed” of Judaism, together with the benedictions belonging to it (see later), as well as the Decalogue, formed a part of the Temple Liturgy (Tamid v. which assumes the use of it at least before A.D. 70, and Josephus regards it as an enactment of Moses (Ant., iv. 8, 13).

      But the question is, When exactly before A.D. 70 did it become a liturgical “Creed”?  It is not at all improbable that it owed its inception to an “enactment” (takkana) in opposition to our Lord’s teaching about Himself in the Temple and in the synagogues (cf. Mark 2:7, 14:64; John 10:11), especially as similar innovations in the Liturgy actually took place, both in Temple and Synagogue, because of the “Minim” (see above).

      As to the benedictions connected with Shema’, these are four liturgical pieces which group themselves round it, two of which are to be said, according to the Mishnah, before, and one after, the morning Shema’, and two before, and two after, the evening Shema’ (Ber. i. 4).

      The Yotzer, the first benediction before the Shema’, is so called because of its initial word yotzer (“who forms”), and, in fact, the whole nucleus of the Shema’ is often thus designated.  In its present form, however, it contains alphabetical acrostics in the style of mediaeval liturgical pieces, and cannot, therefore, be considered as belonging to the first century.  But even in its shortest, and therefore earliest, form it cannot be said that “there is a high probability” [Oesterley, The Jewish Background of the Christian Liturgy, p. 47.] that it formed a part of the Synagogue liturgy at the beginning of the Christian era, and even earlier; on the contrary, it shows distinct traces of Christian influence.

      Its earliest form was probably as follows: “Blessed art thou, O Lord our God, King of the world, Former of light and Creator of darkness, Maker of peace and Creator of all things; who gives (third person) light in mercy to the earth and to those who live thereon, and in his goodness renews every day, continually, the work of creation (lit. the work of ‘in the beginning,’ the Rabbinic term for ‘creation’).  Let a new light shine over Zion and thy Messiah’s light over us.”

      Thus, it deals with creation and Messianic redemption.  The first part is directly taken from Isa. 45:7 (“evil” being changed into “all,” hakol); the second part contains the genuine Rabbinic expression for “creation,” not found in pre-Christian Jewish literature (M’ase bereshit).  But what is of greater significance, it seems to reflect two sayings of our Lord, one in the Sermon on the Mount (Matt. 5:45; cf. Luke 6:36) and the other in the Fourth Gospel, in reference to God’s continuous work in creation and redemption, even on Sabbath (John 5:10–18). [When on a visit to Rome, in about the year 95, Rabbi Gamaliel II and other Rabbis referred in a discourse to God as keeping His own laws, a “Min” (Jewish Christian) asked: “But what about keeping the Sabbath?”  Midrash Ex. R. xxx.]

      It is not within the scope of the present study to investigate the Jewish and Christian relationships in the first century, and whether, notwithstanding the severance between Church and Synagogue, reciprocal influences were not only possible but probable.  But Jewish Christians of one kind or another continued, as we have seen, to officiate in Synagogue worship as “messengers of the congregation,” so that eventually certain alterations and modifications had to be made in the Liturgy in order to hasten the breach between them and the other Jews.  This is sufficient to prove that, as to certain prayers at least, one may speak not only of “the Jewish background of the Christian Liturgy,” but also (and perhaps with more justification since, after all, even the earliest Rabbinic literature where the Jewish liturgical material is contained belongs to times subsequent to the second century) of “the Christian influence on the Jewish Liturgy.”

      The second benediction before the Shema’ is known by its opening word Ahabah (Love), which Dr. Abrahams considered to be “one of the most beautiful prayers in the liturgies of the world.”  The theme of this prayer could be compared with the words of 1 John 4:19: “We love, for he first loved us.”  Omitting the later interpolations, the benediction runs: “With everlasting (or ‘abundant’) love hast thou loved us, O Lord our God; with great and exceeding compassion hast thou pitied us.  Our Father, our King, for the sake of our fathers who trusted in thee, and to whom thou didst teach the statutes of life, be gracious also unto us, and teach us.  Merciful Father, have mercy upon us; enlighten our eyes in the Law and let our hearts cleave unto thy commandments.  Give us a single heart to love and fear thy Name.  For in thy holy Name we trust; we rejoice and exult in thy salvation.  Thou art a God who worketh salvation, and hast chosen us from all peoples and tongues, and hast brought us nigh unto thy great Name for ever [“Selah.”  This word in a liturgical piece is not, as is sometimes assumed, a sign antiquity, but in Rabbinical phraseology it has the meaning of “for ever”.] in truth; to give thanks unto thee and to proclaim thy unity in love.  Blessed art thou, O Lord, who hast chosen thy people Israel in love.”

      For this prayer also it is claimed that it was recited by the priests in the Temple, before the Decalogue and Shema’ (Mid. v. I) . But we are left again in the dark about the exact date of its inauguration, and it is not unlikely that it also contains traces of a polemical character against Jewish Christians, and perhaps especially against St. Paul’s teaching. That there is, in fact, a direct reference to St. Paul’s teaching and activity in one of the earliest Rabbinical documents has been shown by scholars. [See G. Kittel, Rabbinica, and P. P. Levertoff, St. Paul in Jewish Thought.]  The above prayer emphasizes, for instance, God’s unchangeable love to Israel, [A “Min” said to Rabbi Gamaliel: “You are a people from whom God has withdrawn himself,” and quoted Hos. 5:6 (Yeb. 102b).] the eternal significance of the Law, the divine unity, and cf. with this, for instance, the first ten chapters of Romans, Gal. 4:21–31, and especially Eph. 2:4.

      The same is true of the concluding benediction, cited in the Mishnah, and known as Emeth we-Yatzib (“true and constant”; cf. 1 Tim. 1:15: “This is a faithful saying”).  It is also known as Geullah (“Redemption”).  It has subsequently been considerably increased, and now contains some alphabetic acrostics in its latter part.  For this prayer also great antiquity is claimed by Jewish authors, it having, according to Rabbinic tradition (Mishnah v. 1), been recited by the priests after the Shema’ in the morning service, in the Temple hall (lishkat ha-gazit); but, as we hear nothing concerning a definite date when it first began to be recited, it is not improbable that this prayer also was one of the “enactments” between the period of the Crucifixion (A.D. 30) and the destruction of the Temple (A.D. 70).  Originally it must have run somewhat as follows:

      “True and faithful (or ‘constant’), established and enduring, right and faithful, beloved and precious, desirable and lovely, awful and mighty, well-ordered and worthy of all acceptation (mekubol; cf. 1 Tim. 1:15), good and beautiful, is this word (i.e. the Shema’) to us for ever.  True it is that the God of eternity (or “ the world “) is our King, the Rock of Jacob—the shield of our salvation. From generation to generation he endureth, and his Name endureth, and his throne is established, and his Kingdom and Faith (emmuna in post-Biblical Hebrew = ‘Religion’) endure for ever.  His words live and endure, they are faithful and desirable for ever and for all eternity, for our fathers and for us, for our children and for our generations, and for all the generations of the seed of Israel, thy servant.  For the past and present generations (lit. ‘upon the first and last ones’) it is a good and constant word for ever and ever; it is true and faithful, an established thing that shall never pass away.  True it is that thou art indeed the Lord our God and the God of our fathers, our King, the King of our fathers, our Redeemer, the Redeemer of our fathers, our Creator, the Rock of our salvation, our Redeemer and Saviour from everlasting; such is thy Name; there is no God beside thee.”

      The Hashibenu is the second prayer prescribed in the Mishnah to be said after the Shema’ in the evening. Originally it was not intended to be a congregational prayer, and it was probably not connected with the Shema’ at all, but eventually became a part of the Liturgy. [Apart from the recitation of the Shema’, which is independent of congregational worship, prayer in the evening was not “obligatory”.]  The ending suggests that it was inaugurated after the destruction of Jerusalem.  The following form is according to the so-called Palestinian rite:

      “Cause us to lie down, O Lord our God, in peace, and raise us up, O our King, to life.  Spread over us the tabernacle of thy peace, direct us by thy good counsel, and save us for thy Name’s sake.  Protect us, and keep from us (every) enemy – pestilence, sword, famine and sorrow.  Drive away the adversary (lit. ‘Satan’) from before us and behind us.  Shelter us beneath the shadow of thy wings.  For thou art a God who is a gracious and merciful King.  Keep then our going out and our coming in, unto life and unto peace, from this time forth and for evermore, and spread over us the tabernacle of thy peace.  Blessed art thou, O Lord, who spreadest a tabernacle of peace over us and over thy whole people Israel, and over Jerusalem.”

      Shemone ‘Esreh. – This is the designation given to a group of prayers, the keynote of which is praise.  They are constructed in regular form and strung together, and end invariably with the formula: “Blessed art thou, O Lord .. .” etc.  Although at first it probably consisted only of six prayers for weekdays and seven for Sabbaths and feast days, and in its final and fixed form, of nineteen, it is generally known under the above name, which means “eighteen”.  It is also called Tephillah, i.e. “the Prayer”; or Amidah, “standing,” because it is recited standing.

      It is extremely difficult to reconstruct the basic text of these benedictions, as the current versions do not represent their earliest form.  The following is of Palestinian origin, and probably the earliest of all.  The hypothetical dates we assign to the individual benedictions agree on the whole with those given by the Jewish liturgical scholar, Prof. Finkelstein, in the Jewish Quarterly Review, Vol. XVI, No. 2.

      Benediction I (Pre-Maccabean ?): Blessed art thou, O Lord our God and the God of our fathers,) the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, the great, mighty, and awful God, the God most high, Possessor of heaven and earth (cf. Gen. 14:19), our shield and the shield of our fathers, our trust from generation to generation.  Blessed art thou, O Shield of Abraham.

      {It is possible that this benediction goes back to pre-Maccabean times, as the appellation of God as the “Shield of Abraham” is found also in the book of Ecclesiasticus.  But what is particularly significant about this recension, and what has not been noticed by liturgists, is that, unlike most other recensions, it does not contain the words, “and wilt bring a Redeemer to their children’s children,” which evidently must have been added later, in opposition to Jewish Christianity, especially as these words are according to the Babylonian rite; and in Babylon, long before Aphraates, the Syrian Christian homilist of the fourth century, the Jews had frequent intercourse with Christians.  Josephus speaks of “innumerable myriads” of Jews in that region (Ant., xi. 5, 2)and, moreover, “Parthians and Medes and Elamites and dwellers in Mesopotamia,” i.e. Jews from those countries, were present in Jerusalem at the first Pentecost (Acts 2:9), and a considerable number of them, doubtless, became Christians.}

      Benediction II (Ante-Sadducean): Thou art mighty for ever, O Lord; thou quickenest the dead; thou art mighty to save.  Blessed art thou, O Lord, who quickenest the dead.

      Benediction III (about A.D. 40?): Thou art holy and awful is thy Name, and there is no God apart from thee.  Blessed art thou, O Lord, the holy God.

      Benediction IV (about A.D. 40?): O our Father, favour us with knowledge, understanding, and discernment from thy Law.  Blessed art thou, O Lord, gracious Giver of knowledge.

      Benediction V (about A.D. 40 ?): Turn us unto thee, O Lord, and we shall turn; renew our days like unto the days of old.  Blessed art thou, O Lord, who delightest in repentance.

      Benediction VI (beginning of Christian era?): Forgive us, our Father, for we have sinned.  Blessed art thou, O Lord, who dost abundantly forgive.

      Benediction VII (after A.D. 70?): Look upon our afflictions and plead our cause, and redeem us for thy Name’s sake.  Blessed art thou, O Lord, the redeemer of Israel.

      Benediction VIII (beginning of Christian era?): Heal us, O Lord, from our afflictions, and vouchsafe a healing to our wounds.  Blessed art thou, O Lord, the Healer of the sick.

      Benediction IX (beginning of Christian era?): Bless this year unto us for our good in all kinds of the produce thereof.  Blessed art thou, O Lord, who blessedst the years.

      Benediction X (after A.D. 70 ?): Sound the great horn for our freedom, and lift up the ensign to gather us.  Blessed art thou, O Lord, who gatherest the banished ones of Israel.

      Benediction XI (after A.D. 70?): Restore our judges as at first, and our counselors as at the beginning, and reign thou alone over us.  Blessed art thou, O Lord, who lovest righteousness and judgment.

      Benediction XII (A.D. 110–117: chiefly against Jewish Christians ; Ber. 28a): Let the apostates have no hope, and may the wicked kingdom (Rome) soon be rooted out, and the Nazareans and the Minim (heretics) perish as in a moment, and be blotted out from the book of life.  Blessed art thou, O Lord, who humblest the arrogant.

      Benediction XIII (beginning of second century A.D.?): May thy tender mercies be stirred towards the proselytes of righteousness, and give us a good reward with those who do thy will.  Blessed art thou, O Lord, the Trust of the righteous.

      Benediction XIV (168–165 B.C.?): Have pity, O Lord our God, on Israel thy people, on Jerusalem thy city, and on Zion the dwelling place of thy glory, and on thine altar, and on thy Palace, and on the Kingdom of the house of David, the Messiah thy righteousness.  Blessed art thou, O Lord, the Builder of Jerusalem.

      Benediction XV (pre-Maccabean?): Hear, O Lord our God, our voice and have mercy upon us.  Blessed art thou, O Lord, the Hearer of prayer.

      Benediction XVI (after A.D. 70?): Be pleased, O Lord, our God (with our prayers); dwell in Zion, and may thy servants worship thee in Jerusalem; have pity and restore thy Shekinah into Zion thy city, and the order of (sacrificial) worship into Jerusalem.           Blessed art thou, O Lord, our God, whom alone we fear and worship.

      Benediction XVII (pre-Christian?): We give thanks unto thee; thou art the Lord our God and the God of our fathers; we thank thee for all thy benefits, the grace and loving kindness with which thou hast rewarded us and which thou hast shown (lit. “done”) to us and to our fathers before us.  Blessed art thou, O Lord, whom it is good to thank (or, “the good God, whom it is meet to thank”).

      Benediction XVIII (A.D. 40–70?): Grant peace upon Israel thy people and upon thy city, and upon thine inheritance, and bless us all together (lit. “as one”).  Blessed art thou, O Lord, the Maker of peace.

      There was always an aversion among the Rabbis to making prayer a matter of fixed formulas.  Some Rabbis, for instance, held that one should include something new in one’s prayer every day (Ber. 29b); and even in the third century A.D. much latitude prevailed as regards personal deviations in phraseology.  There are, in any case, conflicting statements in the Talmud concerning the compilation of the Shemone ‘Esreh.  On the one hand, we read that a certain Simeon Ha-Pakoli edited this collection in the academy of R. Gamaliel the second (grandson of Gamaliel I, teacher of St. Paul) at Jabneh; on the other hand, again, it is traced to the “first wise men,” or even to the “hundred and twenty elders, and among these a number of prophets” (Meg. 17b).  Neither is there agreement among modern Jewish scholars as to when the bulk of the benedictions received something like the present form; but it is recognized that not only was the benediction directly ordered against “Nazareans” (Benediction XII), but that also whenever, for instance, the sovereignty of God or the eternal significance of the Law is emphasized in any prayer, it carries an anti-Christian point.

      All this shows how difficult it is to visualize an early Synagogue service, especially the manner in which it took place before the destruction of the Temple in the year A.D. 70.  The only certain data are found in St. Luke (4:15–21), and these are, of course, very slight, and only concern Scripture reading and exhortation.  That certain prayers, especially in connection with this reading from the Law and the Prophets, were said, is, however, most probable, and the following benedictions may already have been used in the time of our Lord: The one who was asked to read from the Law would say: “Bless ye the Lord, the Blessed One.”

      The congregation would respond: “Blessed art thou, O Lord, who gavest us the Torah of truth and plantest eternal life in our midst (John 5:39: “Search the Scriptures, of which ye think that in them ye have eternal life,” probably refers to this benediction).  Blessed art thou, O Lord, the Giver of the Torah.”

      Having read, he would say: “Blessed art thou, O Lord our God, who hast chosen us from among all the nations, and hast given us thy Torah.

      “Blessed art thou, O Lord, the Giver of the Torah.”

      Before the prophetic lesson the following benedictions were probably also already said, in substance, at any rate, in the time of our Lord.

      “Blessed art thou, O Lord our God, who hast chosen good prophets, and hast found pleasure in their words which were spoken in truth.  Blessed art thou, O Lord our God, who hast chosen the Law, and Moses thy servant, and Israel thy people, and the prophets of truth and righteousness.”

      Gladden us, O Lord our God, with the prophet Elijah, thy Servant, and with the Kingdom of the house of David, thy Messiah.  May he come soon and gladden our hearts.  Suffer not a stranger (Herod?) to sit upon his throne, nor let others any longer inherit his glory; for by thy holy Name thou didst swear unto him (David) that his light should never be quenched.  Blessed art thou, O Lord, the Shield of David.”

      That psalms, especially on festivals and “distinguished” Sabbaths, were said or chanted is also probable if, as it is usually assumed, the Synagogue services were meant to be replicas of those of the Temple; and if the present writer’s hypothesis, that the Shema’ and the benedictions connected with it, as a liturgical confession of faith, bear the marks of opposition to the primitive Church soon after the year A.D. 30, is correct – these were added about that period, together with a number of prayers contained in the so-called “Eighteen benedictions”.

      It is not possible to describe here a number of other Synagogue prayers which doubtless belong to later periods, nor to discuss the antiquity or otherwise of the Kaddish, of which Dr. Oesterley, following Jewish scholars, thinks “there is some reason to believe that the identical thoughts in the first paragraph of Kaddish and the first three petitions of the Lord’s Prayer point to a knowledge of it on the part of Christ.”  In its shortest form it runs as follows :

      “Magnified and hallowed be his great Name in the world which he created according to his will.  May he establish his Kingdom in your lifetime and in your days, and in the lifetime of all the house of Israel, speedily and in the near time.  And say ye, Amen.”

      Jewish scholars, in order to show that not only the two first petitions in the Lord’s Prayer, but also the third, are derived from Jewish prayer formulas, point to a prayer ascribed to Rabbi Elieser ben Hyrkanos (end of first century): “May thy will be done in heaven above, and give spiritual satisfaction to those who fear thee (here) below, and do what is good in thine eyes.”

      Now, as there can be no doubt that according to Rabbinic statements this Rabbi not only had frequent intercourse with Jewish Christians but was, for a time at least, suspected of being attracted by their teaching, it is not improbable that the Rabbi’s prayer is itself an echo of the Lord’s Prayer.

      To sum up: as the original purpose of the Synagogue was not worship but Scripture reading and exposition, it was probably only after the fall of Jerusalem in the year 70 that it began to be considered as a “little sanctuary” (based on Ezek. 11:16; cf. Meg. 29a) and as a substitute for the Temple.  Hence it is also probable that in the time of our Lord there was no fixed Synagogue Liturgy, but that the benedictions before and after the readings from the Law and the Prophets were already formulated, and John 5:39 seems to refer to one of them.  That in the provincial synagogues, like those of Galilee, psalms and certain prayers were chanted, especially on feast days and by those who could not go up to Jerusalem, can also be assumed, but we have no documentary evidence as to the content and wording of these prayers.  After the Crucifixion, however, and in opposition to Jewish Christianity, the Shema’ probably became a “Creed” proper, both in Temple and Synagogue, and special prayers were formulated in connection with it, to emphasize the Divine Unity, the permanency of the Law, and Israel’s prerogatives.  The additional prayers, probably those contained in the early recensions of the “Eighteen benedictions,” were added in the Synagogue from about 70 to 117, but it was not until the middle of the second century that these prayers acquired a definite general binding force.

      Further: that until about the year 60 the Jewish Christians, notwithstanding persecutions, continued to take part in Temple worship, can be seen from St. Paul’s keen desire to keep the feast at Jerusalem (Acts 20:16).  The services at the Palestinian Christian assemblies were at that time still regarded as supplementary to those at the central Jewish place of worship.  But eventually, even before the destruction of the Temple, the early Church must have come to the conviction that the Messiah fulfilled all the types of Jewish sacrifice (cf. the Epistle to the Hebrews).  As to the influence of the Synagogue on the Church, there can be no doubt that the earliest Christian meetings and meeting places were modeled on the pattern of the synagogues, and also probably took over the Synagogue Lectionary, which goes back essentially to pre-Christian times.  That some Jewish Christians during the second half of the first century, and even later, seem to have attended Synagogue services, as witness the Rabbinic enactments against them, does not, however, show that it was a regular practice.  Still less is it probable that the prayers “referred to in Acts 2:42 included the Eighteen benedictions,” as Oesterley [Jewish Background of the Christian Liturgy, p. 127.] suggests.  There is more likelihood that “if we knew more of the Synagogue services in Palestine as they were before the fall of Jerusalem, we should perhaps find that these Christian prayers replaced Synagogue prayers, as the Apostles’ teaching may be supposed to have replaced that of the scribes.” [Hort, Judaistic Christianity, p. 44.]

      The following short outline may be regarded as a more or less normal Synagogue service on a Sabbath morning, at least after the year A.D. 70.

      The “ruler,” summoning the “minister,” would bid him invite someone among the congregation to recite the Shema’ and the group of benedictions connected with it.

      The person thus invited would come forward and begin, by turning toward the congregation, with the words, “Bless ye the Lord, the Blessed One,” to which the congregation would respond, “Blessed be the Lord, the blessed One, for ever and ever.”  Then the former would go on to say the Yotzer and the Ahabah.  The congregation all this time would be seated upon the floor with the leader standing in their midst.  The elders and other distinguished persons alone had special seats provided for them.

      The Shema’ proper would be said antiphonally.  The leader would say: “Hear, O Israel,” and the congregation respond by repeating that and then continuing to the end.  As soon as the congregation got to the word “One,” the leader would respond at once with “Blessed be the Name of the glory of his Kingdom for ever and ever.”

      After this, “True and firm” was probably said in unison.  The Shema’ ended, the “ruler,” again summoning the “minister,” would bid him call upon an appropriate person to lead in reciting the “Prayer proper,” i.e. the “Eighteen benedictions,” which on a Sabbath were reduced to seven.

      At this point the congregation would rise to its feet, and the “messenger of the congregation” ascend to the platform where stood the Ark of the Law.  Standing there, and facing the Ark, he would begin to recite the benedictions, to each of which the congregation would respond with Amen.

      If it should occur that a priest, or priests, happened to be present at this service, between the 6th and 7th part of the Prayer, he, or they, would “lift up the hands” to pronounce the Aaronitic blessing, standing beside the “messenger of the congregation,” their faces turned to the congregation the while.

      {It need not be pointed out that the priests, i.e. the Aaronites, were not in any sense Synagogue officials; their only sacerdotal function was “the raising of the hands.” [Technical term for the priestly blessing, cf. Lev. 9:22.]  Moreover, it is problematic whether before the year 70 this “blessing” was at all a Synagogue function.  Rabbinic tradition affirms it for the “provinces”; to the present writer, however, it seems probable that it was only after the destruction of the Temple that the priests, deprived of other sacerdotal functions, began to exercise this, their prerogative, in the synagogues.} [Not enough attention has been paid to the influence of converted priests on the development of Christian institutions.  What if those numerous priests who were “obedient to the Faith” (Acts 6:7) were naturally looked to in Christian gatherings to “give the blessing,” and, later, because of their status, to officiate at the Eucharist, which, at least after the destruction of the Temple, if not earlier, became the Service which summed up the profound thought of the Epistle to the Hebrews on the Sacrifice of Christ as fulfilling the sacrificial Temple worship?  These first priests in the Christian Church would thus be Aaronites, and actually form links between the old and the new Covenants.]

      This Liturgy would be followed by the Pentateuch lesson.  Originally, when it probably consisted of only a few verses, one person would be asked to be the reader.  Later, when longer portions were read, it was divided into seven sections (on Mondays and Thursdays into three), and the like number of persons were invited to read.  As Hebrew was not understood by all, the translator (turgeman) rendered the reading, verse by verse, into Aramaic.

      “This was followed by the Prophetic lesson, called the “Haftora,” “dismissal,” because this was considered to end the service.  This was also read in Hebrew and translated three verses at a time.

      “If there should be a suitable person, or persons, present, the “ruler” would ask through the minister: “If ye have any word of exhortation for the people, say on” (Acts 13:15).

Bibliography

Zunz, Die gottesdienstlichen Vorträge der Juden (1892).

Dembitz, Jewish Services in Synagogue and Home (1898).

Schürer, Geschichte des jüdischen Volkes im Zeitalter Jesu Christi (4th ed. Vol. II, pp. 497–554).

Oesterley and Box, The Religion and Worship of the Synagogue.

Elbogen, Der jüdische Gottesdienst in seiner geschichtlichen Entwickelung (1913).

Oesterley, The Jewish Background of the Christian Liturgy (1925).

Dalman, Jesus-Jeshua, Eng. trans. (1929).