How little we consider our bodies in worship! During coronavirus, this has become even more apparent to me. While we haven’t been able to use them, they have intruded upon our notice. And when we have considered them, we have found them very awkward.
Take the use of the body during the sharing of the peace. Before coronavirus, the invitation was typically ‘Let us share a sign of peace’, and the congregation shook hands or occasionally hugged or kissed cheeks. There was often awkwardness in whether the sharer was really present to the other; the give-away to me was whether the sharer made eye contact or even looked in my general direction.
When the congregation came back together after lockdown, the awkwardness was compounded by the lack of touching and the wearing of face masks hiding our mouths. Different presidents at the Eucharist took different approaches, from non-acknowledgement of the issue, to clumsy attempts to address it that may or may not have been considered beforehand. None were really satisfactory. For example, this invitation was given in a service from just after the 4-week-long second lockdown in November 2020: “Whilst we can’t physically move, we can acknowledge one another with smiling eyes.” While it does encourage eye contact, it denies the fact that we can actually physically move.
I have thought for a while that we in the West have bought wholesale into Cartesian dualism – considering the mind separate from the body, and the inferior body as a receptacle for the superior mind. We seem to pay great attention to the body. It is endlessly painted and primped, shrunk or expanded, nipped and tucked. But these are treating body as mask, an object that is separate from our self. We are not accepted and valuing the body for what it is, for part of who we are. Modern medicine often sees the body as a machine that we can fix, the mind as mysterious and resistant to easy probing and understanding, and each independent of the other, which has resulted in a bizarre imbalance between huge spending on physical health and neglect of mental health. Worse, we have been destroying our bodies’ life support systems – air, water, soil – through the inventions of our minds.
The Western Church is unquestioningly immersed in this context.
Yet the Eucharist and the Eucharistic prayers arose out of Jewish liturgies, providing the context and model for the early Christian communities in their celebrations, and Judaism sees the person as a whole and inseparable. The Eucharist is about the whole of the person. We bring body, mind, soul, spirit, emotions and feelings to God, as whole beings, formed, knit together, wonderfully made, intricately woven by God (see Psalm 139.13-15).
Then, of course, the Eucharist is a remembrance of the Incarnation, God becoming flesh and dwelling among us, God becoming fully human, God modelling wholeness.
The Eucharist is not just words and remembrance in the mind. Whatever view the worshipper takes regarding the presence of Jesus in bread and wine, the bread and wine are physical symbols bringing that presence to reality. And however wordy and mind-based the service, the liturgy involves frequent appeals to the spirit – ‘Lift up your hearts!’ – and a substantial amount of movement.
So I have been reflecting on a couple of questions: How do I bring my body to the Eucharist and use it to express my participation in the liturgy? And why do I do what I do? This isn’t necessarily what has been handed down through the priestly classes. At a Week of Prayer in the Cathedral, Fr George Guiver CR spoke of the lack of teaching and explanation of the structure and content of the Eucharist. He also suggested that the occasional annotated Eucharist might be very helpful. I agree. I am reasonably observant and have some understanding of what is going on, but it is only partial.
I have observed, adopted and adapted what is happening at the altar, such that what I do feels right and meaningful to me. Different priests perform different actions, anyway, and I have a suspicion that many priests don’t actually know why they do what they do!
My regular haunt is Exeter Cathedral, and I might use different actions in different places to reflect their practice. I am writing this while on retreat at Malling Abbey, where they have a particular choreography towards and at the altar.
I don’t necessarily articulate in my mind my understanding of an action as my body performs it. Most of the time, I let that physical action be my expression of intention and my offering. As I think things through, it becomes apparent that I haven’t thought things through, and actions and meanings change as life circumstances change or God leads me further along the path. So what follows is also provisional.
My actions
Travel to the Cathedral – I prefer to cycle or walk to the Eucharist whenever I can, getting outside, getting exercise on the way, moving intentionally and slowly enough to be able to pay attention to what I am passing and to greet people. I try and get there in good time, so I am not rushing, and I am arriving in a calm frame of mind.
On arrival – I enter the building slowly and greet the welcomers, take the service sheet and move forward. As I find my seat, I bow towards the east and the altar, to recognise God’s presence in the house of God and as an expression of my purpose in being here to worship and give thanks. I find a comfortable posture and sit quietly in prayer before the service starts.
Throughout the service – I try to be mindful of my body: how I am sitting or standing, how much I am moving about, how I am holding my hands. I know I am not good at being still during the sermon (!) but I do aim for stillness while seated listening to the first reading and intercessions, and standing during the Gospel and Eucharistic Prayer, for example. For some reason, the most comfortable place for my hands while standing seems to be a slightly gravity-defying loose clasp at my waist.
At the beginning of the service and later the sermon – the president and the preacher may use the form “in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit” (or a less gendered equivalent), and I cross myself. I am sanctifying this time, my presence at the whole service and my reception of the sermon, and acknowledging that each is a common endeavour and flow of giving and receiving of word and attention.
At the name of Jesus throughout the service – I bow slightly, as a response to the call: “at the name of Jesus, every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth.” (Philippians 2.10).
At the Absolution – I make the sign of the cross as I accept God’s forgiveness and the sanctification of the Spirit.
Before the reading of the Gospel – I make the sign of the cross on my forehead, lips and heart to invite God the Word be in my mind, on my lips and in my heart. As it is written: “You shall put these words of mine in your heart and soul, and you shall bind them as a sign on your hand, and fix them as an emblem on your forehead.” and “Keep these words that I am commending you today in your heart.” (Deuteronomy 11.18, 6.6).
During the Creed – I bow during the words “was incarnate of the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary and was made human” in awe and wonder at God becoming one with creation.
At the Peace – I fold my hands in prayer and bow towards the other, as the Christ within me bows towards the Christ within the other.
During the Lord’s Prayer – Some open their hands, maybe to express their offering. I keep mine folded . I’m not sure why, but I think it has something to do with: “whenever you pray, go into your room [that is my heart] and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret… Pray then in this way: Our Father in heaven…” (Matthew 6.6,9).
During the Sanctus – I bow in awe at the glory of God, “sitting on a throne, high and lofty” as the seraphs call “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory.” (Isaiah 6.1-3).
During the words of Institution – At the words “Do this in remembrance of me”, I bow in awe and thanksgiving for God’s gifts of Godself upon the cross; in gratitude for Jesus’ understanding of our human need for remembrance and ritual; and in wonder at the continued offering of the Eucharist through two millennia.
Going forwards to receive communion – I bow low before approaching the sanctuary, that is, approaching with reverence the God who dwells in heaven and earth. In the first weeks of returning to the Cathedral post-lockdown, the congregation was asked to remain in our seats as the clergy brought the bread to us. I deliberately stood to receive, primarily to symbolise approach to the sanctuary, but also in protest at increasingly being made to be passive and ‘done to’ by the clergy.
During the post communion prayer and prayer of thanksgiving – After Communion, the service sheet asks the congregation to stand when the president says “Let us pray”. As far as I am concerned, I am already praying and do not wish to interrupt my beholding, so I stay seated. I have considered changing what I do, and as I say the prayer “Send us out in the power of your Spirit…” be standing in readiness to go. But a moment later we are asked to sit again for the notices, and that act of sitting would be a bit contrariwise!
At the end of the service – The Benedictines have a practice of not lingering at the end of the Office, but letting their prayer lead directly into their labour. Or in the Catholic liturgy: “The mass is ended. Go in peace.” So I go… sent out… to the coffee after the service!
