To Kneel Or Not To Kneel
Home is the place where they have to let you in, or so the saying goes. Think of the places in your life that you enter without knocking or ringing the doorbell—places where they have to let you in, places where you belong as much as anyone else. A while back, I reached the point where my rambunctious family and I no longer go into my parents’ home without knocking first, though I suspect they would welcome us joyfully regardless. But that word—welcome—is itself a clue that, although my parents might be happy to see us, they are welcoming us into their home as guests.
When Bishop Harmon comes to St. Paul’s this Sunday, we will not welcome him to our church because St. Paul’s just as much his church as anyone else’s. Of course, if I slip up and use the word welcome in the announcements, the bishop will forgive me. He is gracious like that. But I want to approach his annual visitation not as an exceptional event but as an opportunity to rediscover who we are at our core.
Last Sunday, during the 11:00 service, I announced to the congregation that, when the bishop is here, we may not want to kneel during the service. As promised, here is the explanation. Back in the fourth century, all the bishops of the Christian church gathered in Nicaea to figure out what to do about the Arian controversy—the growing belief that Jesus was not fully God. In the end, those at the Council of Nicaea achieved consensus that the incarnate Son of God, although born of Mary, was eternal and of one substance with God the Father. You might recognize that we say words to that effect every time we say the Nicene Creed.
That was not the only thing that the bishops decided in Nicaea. Unlike many modern clergy conventions, they accomplished a great deal. They determined that the date of Easter could be established apart from the date of the Jewish Passover. They decided that bishops could not venture into the defined territories of other bishops and carry out ministry in those places. They agreed that three bishops would be needed to ordain a new bishop. They affirmed that Christian clergy were not allowed to castrate themselves as an act of asceticism. And, in addition to lots of other things, they prohibited kneeling in worship from the Day of Easter through the Day of Pentecost.
Last year, during Bishop Harmon’s visitation, when he came to the part of the eucharistic prayer that follows the Sanctus (ie the “holy, holy, holy…” part), most of the congregation knelt, just like we always do. And the bishop, surprised by our prayerful posture, remarked from the altar that we should stand in accordance with the ancient tradition. A few people stood back up. Most remained kneeling. All of us, including me, were confused.
Naturally, having not heard from me a single time that we are not supposed to kneel during the Easter season, the bishop’s remark caught us all off guard. To be frank, if my failure to educate our congregation about the minor decisions made by an ecumenical council in 325 is my most significant negligence as a priest, I can live with that. I, for one, enjoy kneeling even through the Easter season. I adopt that posture not because I am pursuing a spirit of penitence but because my mind and heart focus more easily on God when I am kneeling and not standing. Nevertheless, the way that I like doing things may be right for me, but it is not necessarily right for anyone else.
When the bishop comes to St. Paul’s, he reminds us that we are fundamentally a part of something bigger. As one of the largest congregations in the diocese, we depend less on diocesan or collegial support than other congregations. If I go on vacation, for example, I do not have to ask retired clergy or priests from other parishes to be at St. Paul’s so that I can be away. We benefit in many ways from the size of our church, but one way that works to our detriment is our tendency to forget that we cannot be who we are without our connections to our bishop, the diocese, and every parish and Episcopalian in Arkansas.
The most basic unit of the Christian church is the diocese. From ancient times, bishops have been responsible for overseeing multiple congregations in their geographic area. They are our link not only with each other but also with the apostles and with the universal church. We know that we are a part of something much bigger than what happens in Fayetteville because of our bishop, and our bishop not only reminds us of that but actually enables that connection. In short, we could not be a church without a bishop. The bishop’s visit, therefore, is how we live into the most basic understanding of who we are.
I am most thankful that we have a bishop who is eager to enter into the liturgical traditions of our parish. Although his way of doing things will always be at least a little different from how the clergy at St. Paul’s do things, we do not need to make wholesale changes to accommodate him. But those few ways that are different present opportunities for us to learn how to do things better, how other Episcopalians in Arkansas and throughout the world might do things, and to experience more fully our connection with those who differ from us.
Because our bishop comes to us as one who belongs among us and not as a guest whom we welcome into our church, his leadership is not a beckoning from beyond but an invitation from within. Like a family member who comes home from work and wants to try a new recipe for dinner, our bishop allows us to stretch and grow not by telling us who we are supposed to be but by inviting us to see who we already are.
In a sense, that is what it means to be confirmed or received into The Episcopal Church when the bishop is here. In our tradition, we continue to require bishops to administer the rites of confirmation and reception because, as we understand them, bishops are the ones who most fully manifest our participation in the wider church. When we confirm the promises that were made for us as infants at our baptism or ask that we might be received fully as professing followers of Jesus in this particular denomination, we rely on bishops to make that happen because they remind us that we are a part of something much bigger than our own congregation. All Christians are members in the wider Body of Christ, and, when the bishop comes to see us, he helps us know that.
This Sunday, if you want to kneel during the eucharistic prayer, you are, of course, welcome to, but I invite you to try something different—not only this Sunday but for the rest of the Easter season. Resist the instinctive urge to drop to your knees when it is time for the confession, and see what happens if you remain standing for the entire eucharistic prayer. See if the bishop’s invitation to remain connected to something beyond our own experience is, itself, an invitation to spiritual growth. Regardless, the bishop’s visit will be an experience of our place in the wider church, and we have the opportunity to carry that renewed identity with us in the weeks ahead.
Yours faithfully,
Evan D. Garner
