Online worship has been an education. It has been possible to sample patterns of worship around the country and gain respect for those who have ventured into unexplored territory with microphones, cameras, interludes and syndicated songs for the benefit of anybody out there who happens to tune in.
This has required brave hearts. What appears on the screen invites instant comparison with other similar events and with professionally produced programmes in general for an audience conditioned to expect slick editing, accurate timing and careful choreography. Limited resources impose restrictions. It is not always possible to achieve standards that television audiences expect to see as a matter of course. The deftness of Fiona Bruce and the composure of Clive Myrie are not distributed to all and sundry, willy-nilly.
It is also a matter of time and space. Not time as in the hour at which the event takes place. Rather it is the time given to each component of a service of worship: ad libs, worship-songs, creed, sermon and script. When we think of the pummelling into shape of Common Worship, we have to remember that worship-songs may eclipse the script by sheer weight of time and by concessions to what is presumed to be popular taste.
Time is one thing. Place is another. Again, this is not a matter of whether worship takes place in a medieval masterpiece or a mobile prefab. It is the prominence given to human components in worship. The vicar in his pulpit may have his moment but musicians with their drum-kit, key-board and guitars often have a dominant place in proceedings. With the centre-stage of a church given over to music-stands, cables etc it is unavoidable that the event has much in common with a music festival as opposed to serious homage.
When a chancel was something special, maybe with baldachino, or riddel posts, reredos, drapes, and silverware, worshippers had a focus. It commanded respectful attention. Without such additions a well-designed and well-furnished space with light and form is similarly effective. Today in a good many parish churches a focus is missing. To use the kind of language Paul resorted to, a stranger coming in might conclude that he or she was entering a place of entertainment. I remember talking recently to a chaplain in the diocese of Europe about this and was interested to discover that he thought musicians were best kept to one side rather than dominating the proceedings. What is sauce for the goose in the UK is sauce for the gander in the EU. We’re back to the heady days in Hardy’s England when the organ was making headway in parish churches and the instrumentalists found themselves dispensed with rather than stationed in the gallery.
Music has always been an essential part of worship. Gifted musicians have contributed much since the long-ago listing we find in Daniel 3: horn, flute, lyre, trigon, psaltery, bagpipe – and, of course, the serpent. There should be no regret about losing a centre-stage placing. We must never forget the serpent.
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