we must be sacred and sensual

a reflection on why the kids are becoming liturgical

I have seen much written observing the trend of the younger generations moving towards liturgical denominations. I have heard many people in slightly older generations question curiously why there seems to be a sudden rush towards Anglican, Eastern Orthodox, and Catholic churches.

Some scholars express deep concern, wondering if the younger generation is giving up theology in favor of tradition. Other scholars are just curious, wanting to know how to capture the essence of what is drawing the young folks into these denominations.

Indeed- as someone who was raised Methodist, (mostly) non-denominational, and had a short and painful experience attending a Baptist church, I can acknowledge that I am part of this movement. I have found much to love in the Anglican tradition, and I couldn’t imagine leaving it for another.

As a participant in this movement, an anthropologically trained observer of it, and an arts consultant who lives as what Makoto Fujimura calls a ‘border-stalker’ I’ve considered this movement a great deal.¹

There were many aspects I puzzled through. I thought how my own faith had been shaped and challenged by the liturgical calendar, through the veneration of saints, a deeply profound and verbalized theology of suffering put on display every Lent, and an emphasis on transcendence while holding a belief in immanence.

It is worth noting that I don’t think all churches fall neatly into this divide between liturgical and non-liturgical, and I don’t suppose that every church exemplifies all the tendencies that I discuss. But - I am discussing trends and making generalizations. This is helpful, but often wrong or oversimplified, so consider your own worship context accordingly.

I prepared a few articles to describe the different ways the various denominations approach worship and life, dissecting specific areas of life that have deeply influenced myself and others. In doing so, I recognized a pattern. There are two themes that emerged in every nuanced difference between liturgical and non-liturgical denominations. In the coming weeks, I’ll share more about how these differences manifest themselves in church life, worship, and worldview. But for now - I will provide a broad description of what I have observed as the two core differences.

The main difference between liturgical and non-liturgical churches comes down to their relationship with the sacred and the sensual.

Liturgical worship, is, at its heart, both deeply sacred and highly sensual.

a sacred worship and world

Let’s start with defining a few terms.

Secular, as explained by Merriam-Webster is “not overtly or specifically religious” and “of relating to the worldly or temporal.”²

Sacred means “dedicated or set apart for the service or worship of a deity, “worthy of religious veneration,” and “of or relating to religion: not secular.”³

These two words are at odds with one another. A thing cannot be both secular and sacred.

It is also worth noting that just because something is secular, does not make it inherently bad. Eating chicken nuggets, for instance, is not an especially sacred activity. It is filling a temporal need, and it isn’t overtly religious. It is also certainly not a sin, or a bad use of time. And, eating chicken nuggets, when accompanied by prayer and thanksgiving, can be a useful activity that satiates hunger and draws us closer to God. But the activity itself is not sacred.

What do you think of when someone says something is sacred?

For most non-liturgical Christians - this is an odd question. It brings about a shifting in the chairs. I polled a few non-liturgical friends, and received a variety of responses. Most mentioned that their lives were supposed to be sacred, as in set apart or holy. Some mentioned the Bible as sacred. A few mentioned that their marriages were sacred. I followed it up by asking what they found sacred at their church. One person affirmed that everything at church should be viewed as sacred, but in practice, was really treated no differently than any other object. Only two of the six I questioned mentioned Lord’s Supper as something sacred.

There was a sense in these young people that certain parts of worship were, indeed, sacred. There was also a struggle to put into words what these parts were, or why they should be viewed as such. Indeed, Baptists (at least traditional ones) affirm the word ‘ordinance’ for many of the rites of the church. Most non-denominational churches don’t have a fancy term at all for marriage, baptism, and the Lord’s Supper.

Language matters. It shapes our worldview.

Liturgical churches call these rites sacraments. Why? Because we affirm the sacredness, the holiness, the set-apartness of marriage, baptism, confirmation, Eucharist, confession, and other rites. Entering a liturgical church - to varying degrees - is to enter a space where things are marked as intentionally sacred. The vestments of the priests and deacons note that they are set apart, their work is holy. We are invited to smell incense, and to cross ourselves with baptismal water. When we say each Sunday, “Blessed is He who Comes in the name of the Lord,” we are invited into a moment of awe and otherness. We believe that Christ really comes and is present in some real, meaningful way in the bread and wine.

Imagine that - Christ really comes and is in present in the Eucharist. It is a special gift and work of grace, to strengthen us, to keep us close to him. To remind us that we have not been left as orphans.

George Weigel, in Letters to a Young Catholic, recounts how he shared his belief in the Eucharist with a Protestant friend who believed in a symbolic only nature of the Lord’s Supper. His friend, after hearing his explanation, whispered, “if I really believed that Christ was present in that way, I’d be crawling down the aisle every Sunday…”⁴

Well - the young people are doing exactly that. We are crawling down the aisle. We sense that we are in a sacred sphere, an otherworldly place, and it draws us.

Let me explain further - James K. A. Smith, in Your Are What You Love, Makoto Fujimura in Art & Making,⁵ and even Richard Beck in Hunting Magic Eels have all noticed the same difference between liturgical and non-liturgical churches.

Non-liturgical churches don’t feel any different than any other place. Smith has a moving chapter that describes how similarly most shopping malls and most churches appear.⁶ It is painful, but accurate. Beck notes that most non-liturgical churches are kept locked during the week. It never occurs to the leaders that someone might need to visit the auditorium to pray. Because, it is an auditorium, not a sanctuary after all. They affirm that you can pray just as easily at home or your local coffee shop as at church.⁷ While this is true in some ways, it dismisses the reality that there should be a place set aside to meet with God. The decor in most of these churches is similar to what you’d find in popular home decor magazines, purchased at Home Goods or Hobby Lobby. It might incorporate some Scripture or nature, but again, there is often not a need seen to create something sacred for the space. In other words, these churches don’t feel any different spatially than any other place members frequent.

Liturgical churches, because we believe what we do and where we meet is sacred, have a different feel. Most Catholic churches are kept open during the week, and also have prayer gardens. Their priests recognize that sometimes we need to go to a place set apart to be with God. While we can pray to him anywhere, sometimes there is a need to go to a place imbued with his presence and the prayers of other believers. Since my church meets at a school, I don’t have the luxury of praying in our sanctuary mid-week. As such, I find myself drawn to Catholic churches for quiet moments of prayer when deeply distressed. I know they’ll be open, and I know the air will be thick with God’s presence. Likewise, the artwork (albeit sometimes of poor quality) reflects this belief in sacredness. Whether it uses modern art to point towards God’s transcendence (as did my church in the metroplex) or the beautiful richness of Renaissance art (as was incorporated in the Lenten services at my home church here), there is a belief that we need our space to be sacred, to be set apart. You cannot walk into a traditional Eastern Orthodox church and feel that you have walked into an auditorium. You have walked into a sanctuary.

Not saying that all liturgical churches are created equal, or that every one feels holy. In one of my travels, I visited an Eastern Orthodox church in a small European country. The people showing me around had very negative things to say about the church, noting how it had become deeply corrupt. Indeed, I must say that if you believe baptism is necessary for salvation and then charge EXBORITANT fees for having one’s children baptized in one of the poorest countries in Europe… well… you have issues. I walked into this church and felt the strangest sense of ill-ease. It was as if the prayers of the faithful who had come before, of the saints on the walls themselves, were crying out, begging for their leaders to be merciful. It was strange to feel that this place wanted to be sacred, yet knew it was being used for ill. I will never forget the experience.

But - whatever that particular church was - it was not secular.

Non-liturgical churches, at least in appearance, other than a few randomly placed crosses, are secular. Gone are the kneeling rails and stained glass, gone is the architecture that was meant to point heavenward. Even the way greeting time takes place in non-liturgical churches is different. Certainly, everyone is welcoming. But it is a time of greeting. There is no distinction between how these people would greet one another in the grocery store and how they would greet each other at church.

In liturgical churches, we do not just greet one another. We “pass the peace.” We reach out, and say “peace to you,” or even just a quick “peace” accompanied by a hug or handshake. Even my sweet toddler son knows there is a difference between how we greet one another in and outside of church. My two year old, at church, when they announce peace, proudly darts forward without me, extending his little hand and starts handing out peace. He may not know why we only do this at church, but he knows that this greeting is set apart for special moments.

Again - being able to greet one another at a grocery store with as much enthusiasm as greeting one another at church is a good thing. I don’t wish to diminish it. Rather, my point is that all the strange rituals, liturgies, and traditions that you would find inside my church are meant to be a stark contrast with the secular world. Not because everything in the secular world is bad, but because the church (both the people and place) is sacred. We ought to treat it as such. It ought to be set-apart from the world. It needs to be anti-secular.

But sacredness isn’t just anti-secular now. It has always been anti-secular; it always will be anti-secular. Liturgy isn’t something that is created out of nothing. I have visited a church where the pastor tried to create a liturgy from scratch. It felt awkward and confusing. No - all the best parts of liturgy, all the most meaningful parts of our worship are an imaging of something that came before, of something that was always set apart, and of something that always will be. The table is set with an embroidered tablecloth, and the costly silver or gold serving ware. It reminds us with that “he sets a table before us in the presence of our enemy” and that we are going to a future feast at the wedding of the Lamb. It says even now, these vessels are set apart, because they participate in the reality of this story and they hold the most precious body and blood of Christ. We greet each other with peace, just as Paul instructed the early believers because we participate in a reality where Christ dwells in us so richly that we are able to truly extend peace to one another, not as a mere wish or as a greeting, but as an actual gift of God, as he uses our spirit in tune with his.

We will discuss more about the sacredness of space and worship in the coming weeks. This is meant as an introduction, and I fear it is already becoming long-winded.

Aachen Cathedral, Germany.

the sensual

If my first question brought about thoughtful contemplation, or even a mild dissatisfaction in some, my next set of questions… well…

I asked what the word sensual meant to them. Some people took it very literally, going nearly to a Merriam-Webster like definition, as “relating to the senses.”⁸ A few respondents noted that the word often has negative, sexual connotations. Indeed, Merriam-Webster notes both aspects. Sensual can mean “relating to or consisting in the gratification of the senses” and “deficient in moral, spiritual, or intellectual interests.”

I followed it up by asking what was sensual about their worship. Again, I received some interesting responses. The consensus though was that non-liturgical churches engaged hearing, via music and the sermon, sometimes touch, through greeting times, and occasionally, taste from the Lord’s Supper (though I will personally never be able to associate Welch’s grape juice with the divine). A musician I knew noted that she loved when churches had stained glass because then they engaged sight as well.

Whether one likes it or not, liturgical churches typically engage all the senses. It is a very embodied worship. We see this sensuality and embodiment as a good gift.

In a culture that relates anything remotely sensual to the sexual, and an impure sexuality at that, it is no wonder that many churches would avoid the sensual altogether. The cerebral is seen as safe and rational. Indeed, most people of my parents’ generation were deeply influenced by right theology, and arguments about God. These are not all bad, but if one stops there - you risk taking much of the life and flavor out of the gospel. God’s desire is not to turn us all into ethereal, floating creatures, devoid of our senses and detached from our bodies. No, he comes to redeem and restore all of creation. He will give us new bodies, so that we can enjoy the good gifts of creation, with all of our senses, unmarred by sickness or sin.

In liturgical churches, there is a chance for the redemption of the sensual. Smell is engaged through the candles or the incense. Hearing is engaged not just through hearing one person speak, or one small band of musicians play, but through the recitation of the entire congregation in prayer and confession. Sight is engaged through seeing the vestments, the tablecloths, the processing of the cross, the holding up of the Gospel as it is read. Taste is engaged through the Eucharist. We leave worship with the sting of wine on our tongues, a reminder that Christ truly dwells in and with us, a sign of his presence and love.

And touch. I think the redemption of touch may be one of the most sacred elements of liturgical worship.

In a culture where almost all touch is seen as sexual, where so many have been abused by it, the church comes and reclaims it.

Touch is reclaimed, yes, through the passing of the peace, but so much more. We lay hands on people as we pray for them, we anoint the sick and soon to be confirmed with oil, we pour water on the foreheads of the baptized, and invite others to touch this water.

Then there are the kisses.

During some Good Friday services, churches will provide a large wooden cross. It is heavy, it is rough, it is ugly. Yet, the congregation is invited forward to kiss it. My first liturgical Good Friday service included one such invitation. I stumbled forward, bending down to kiss the rough wood, not quite certain why we were doing it. But then I did it- and I had the visceral sense that Christ’s very body had once been hung on such a rough wooden beam. His precious body and blood, which I had just received through the Eucharist, had once been hung on a cross just like this one. I was filled with awe and gratitude deeper than I had ever experienced before. An awareness of the depth of Christ’s sacrifice and love.

Oh and then - the priests kiss their stoles and the altar. I love to watch this moment. The zeal and love for Christ it conveys catches my breath nearly every time. Because in a world where kisses are commodities, often sexualized or abused, to see them as a sign of pure, tender devotion is so utterly sacred that I want to cry. It is a redemption of touch itself, a stand against the secular and hyper-sexualized culture we inhabit. The older the priest, the more tender the kiss seems, as if he has is kissing a love he has grown old with.

You see - the problem in our culture isn’t sensuality. It is the corruption of it. We don’t need to remove all sensuality from our worship (a response historically associated with the reformation), but to reclaim it.

contrasting services

Recently, Nux, our puppy, tangled with a porcupine. The porcupine won. I spent Mother’s Day morning using my bump to pin Nux down, while my brother kept him in a headlock, using pliers to pluck out the quills. It was… an adventure. (Also still my best Mother’s Day to date, though that’s a story for another time.) It took some time, such that when we had finished, I looked up at the clock and realized there was NO way we would make our church service. It was time to leave, and the kitchen looked like a crime scene. I was drenched in sweat, attired in blood-soaked pajamas, and smelled strongly of muddy dog. As much as I affirm the need for sensual worship, I didn’t think the people at my church would find the particular senses I was invoking a sacred experience. I had just enough time to grab a shower and pack up Little Man to head to GranCee’s church. Her very Baptist church.

I want to preface this by saying that I love the people in my mom’s church. The sister of my soul is a member, and she is also the sister in law of the pastor. I have received nothing but kindness from them. It’s just that, well, they are very… umm… cerebral.

The pastor was preaching on how we need to let Christ captivate us. He noted that he, like most people in attendance, were very cerebral in their approach to their relationship with Christ. He noted that Christ cared about their emotions, and as such, they needed to let themselves be captivated by Christ. He didn’t exactly explain how to do that.

The Anglican and the arts consultant in me nearly jumped up! Yes! And you can be captivated by Christ through experiential, embodied, sensual worship! You can be captivated by Christ by seeing his beauty and goodness through art! You can…

the invitation music played, so I kept quiet.

His theology is sound. I know him well enough to know that his relationship with Christ is deep and meaningful. I do not in any way wish to diminish his faith or calling.

But… as I sat through that service, I wondered how people did it. How were they content with using so little of their bodies to worship? How did they not miss kneeling, and crossing themselves, extending hands in blessings? How did they not feel the need to partake in the Eucharist every week?

His sermon, while theologically sound, didn’t seem wildly different than a TEDTalk. He talked, and people listened or took notes. It was edifying, but it primarily engaged the mind. Certainly, music was played during the invitation that was meant to move people to an emotional response, but it felt like a strange juxtaposition, to go from a TEDTalk to an invitation.

How could they be content with a primarily cerebral worship? One that seems so very secular?

Those questions are two of the reasons that young people are heading towards liturgical worship.

We have a sense that we need something more. We are an information inundated people, and we find that we need something more than good information about God. We need more than correct theology. We need to believe in God’s immanence, to experience him through sight, smell, taste, hearing, and touch.

We need to see something different than the world. And not a little different either.

Many churches, particularly non-liturgical churches desire to be seeker friendly. They want anyone to feel welcome, so they have made their space and worship accommodating to that value. Feast days such as Easter Egg hunts and the like incorporate a Gospel message, but the shape of the event itself is not wildly different than what one would find at the community center. We won’t ask you to do anything weird here, these churches say. Look at this art, at these colors, you could see these at any store or school you visit this week. You will be asked to engage with your mind, but you can do so with no great discomfort to your body.

The problem is that we need something weird. We need something that flows against culture’s tide, rich and profound. At my church, you will be invited to kneel, to partake in the Eucharist, to receive peace, confess your sins, and to do many ‘weird’ things. We do even weirder things on feast and fast days, such as wash each other’s feet, kiss crosses, flower crosses, mark our doorways with chalk, etc. Weird, because you don’t typically do them outside of church. (well, unless you’re one of the really weird ones like me who enjoys kneeling for bedtime prayers and crosses herself during meals…) You are being invited in a sacred, sensual worship. It is so very, very, very different. Is it seeker friendly? Perhaps not. But is it drawing the young people? Yes.

we really believe this stuff

Thinking back to a conversation I had with my skeptical brother, and other conversations I’ve had besides - I think it is important to say something very simple. Yet, for me, completely worldview changing.

I really believe this stuff. As a Christian, I have learned to believe, often through liturgy and tradition, in a lot of ‘stuff.’ And it matters. I think it’s this belief that draws many young people, this belief that there is something sacred, that there is something sensual. That there is something more.

Beck argues that the world needs to be “re-enchanted.” He says that in a world of broken hearted and angry skeptics, nothing is a better balm than a belief in an enchanted world, a world full of the mystery and magic of God.

Liturgy helps us reenchant the world, because through it, we learn to really believe in this stuff.

I really believe when we “join our voices with angels, and archangels, and all the company of heaven, who forever proclaim this hymn…” that for a moment, all of us are indeed singing alongside the whole company of heaven in adoration of our God. I believe my voice joins with all the saints that have come before, the ones famous for their miracles, and the dear ones that I have lost. During one such service, I could for just half a moment, envision my departed dad, not as the cancer ridden shell he was, but as the new creation he had become, joining his voice with mine, joining his voice with the angels. I had never understood the Resurrection more deeply than at that moment.

I really believe in the stories of the saints, as far-fetched as some seem. I really believe that God does miraculous things through ordinary people, such as giving visions to peasant girls so they can defeat enemy armies, or allowing a priest to levitate when he blesses the Eucharist. If I believe that even the shadow of Peter was enough to heal someone because he was so full of the Holy Spirit, which I must as it is recorded in Acts, then why don’t I also believe that God has worked miraculously and strangely through the saints and that he still can today?

I really believe when I baptized my infant son, it was a sign marking him as Christ’s own, an incredible moment of grace at the beginning of what I pray will always be the dearest relationship he has in his life.

I really believe the world is full of sacredness and sensuality, all meant to point us towards God.

a closing word

More could be said on this matter, and I will certainly write more about it in the coming weeks. I feel that historical and often global nature of liturgical worship is another important aspect. To know that every Sunday, each Anglican church is reading the same passages of Scripture around the globe is a profoundly unifying reality. Likewise, the veneration of the saints and the emphasis on the liturgical calendar were crucial to my own faith journey. There is so much more to say in this conversation, and I hope you’ll join in the discussion.

But to begin this conversation takes a starting place, and I can think of none better than this…

Is your church intentionally designed, mindfully aware, and utterly determined to be a sacred place? To create a sacred people?

Is your church aware that God made us as embodied creatures, and that to worship him, we must engage in this reality? That to do less is to risk diminishing the Gospel?

1. Fujimura, Makoto. 2014. Culture Care: Reconnecting with Beauty for Our Common Life.

2. https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/secular

3. https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/sacred

4. Weigel, George. 2015. Letters To a Young Catholic.

5. Fujimura, Makoto. 2020. Art & Faith: A Theology of Making.

6. Smith, James K. A. 2016. You Are What You Love: The Spiritual Power of Habit.

7. Beck, Richard. 2021. Hunting Magic Eels: Recovering an Enchanted Faith is Skeptical Age.

8. https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/sensual