The Worship Environment at Christmas

Will the parish Christmas decorations show good liturgical sense? Here are some guidelines for planning the worship environment for the Christmas season.

Decorations should not be limited to the area around the altar, ambo (pulpit), and chair. To do so creates a stage setting. Keep this area free from distraction by limiting the floral arrangements around the altar and by placing crèche figures elsewhere. Hackneyed decorations, such as masses of poinsettias or wreaths hung on every pillar, though beautiful in themselves, can have a numbing effect. Such overkill also obscures what these decorations signify.

First determine how you will embellish the assembly area, especially in the space over everyone’s heads. Then determine where more “intimate,” deeply traditional elements will be put—an apple-hung fir tree, a large suspended globe of intersecting wreaths, a place for the icons of the Christmastime feasts, the Bethlehem scene. These things are best located where they can be visited and contemplated before or after worship—near the baptistery or the gathering area or a shrine.

The most serious problem facing all parish ministers in preparing the Christmas season is the schizophrenia of the parish in early January when its church building is clad in red, white, and green but the homes of the parishioners (and the parish school) have already been stripped of their finery. Under such circumstances, worship is a sham. Liturgical ministers can’t begin to do their jobs unless they also help the parish live the Christian calendar at home as well as in church.

Wasting money and resources on decorations is certainly offensive. However, equally offensive is the notion that miserliness in worship somehow reflects the gospel. The gospel doesn’t demand that we pretend to be poor, but that we break down the barriers between rich and poor. If ethnic customs are any gauge, the poor know the value of flamboyant festival excess. Communal celebration means the pooling of resources to enable those who live in everyday simplicity to share in festival abundance. Fasting begets feasting. Perhaps we shouldn’t judge celebrations by the money spent but by the efforts invested by rich and poor alike, all made able to contribute their gifts and talents to one another.

The whole notion of decorating for Christmastime creates unique problems with few easy solutions. For example, at this season, any exceptional effort in liturgy, such as fine music or decorations, has the potential for coming off as just another holiday extravaganza. Yet Christmastime, especially in its full flowering at Epiphany, calls forth the “brightest and best” the parish can muster (although that should never turn into something pompous or triumphalistic).

The evergreens, flowers, or lights—anything you might use to grace Christmas worship—runs the risk of reminding people of a shopping mall, of appearing to glorify money and power. Ironically, the more beautiful and well-executed the Christmas worship environment is, the more it is likely to remind some parishioners of commercial displays. This is an unsolvable dilemma, exacerbated by many Christians’ lack of appreciation for their own symbols.

Opening Up Our Images

Environment ministers—those folks entrusted with the care and keeping of the material things of the liturgy—have a responsibility to open up for parishioners the meaning of the images of Christmas. While trees, wreaths, lights, and holiday foods we see everywhere in December have various meanings to many people, we often forget that Christians have found specifically Christian meanings in these symbols and held them dear for centuries.

If we ask ourselves what a tinseled tree or an evergreen wreath or even a plum pudding has to do with the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem, we’re likely to be stymied. But if we ask what these things have to do with the union of heaven and earth, with time dissolving into timelessness, with the everlasting presence of Emmanuel, God with us, then perhaps we will find our answers.

The bright tree is our return to paradise. With greenery and flowers, winter melts into Eden’s endless spring. Fruit cakes represent the harvest of justice. Eggnog is the milk and honey of the promised land. Sending cards hastens the ingathering of all people. Mistletoe heralds the coming of the Prince of Peace. Lights strung around our doors welcome all the world to the homecoming of heaven.

Each of these holy signs can offer comfort and joy, and they can also offer a tremendous challenge. Like the prophets, like John raging in the wilderness, our Christmas symbols can threaten us to open our doors to those who have no feast, to restore this good earth to the freshness of Eden, to labor long to bring about the reign of justice and compassion. Holy signs are always a two-edged sword.

Even the crèche is not so much a representation of a birth long ago and far away, but the birth that is to be, of the “hopes and fears of all the years,” when the poor and the rich will stand side by side with animals and angels, offering themselves each to the other, lost in wonder and praise, the circle of the saints surrounding the Lamb.

The Use of the Arts in Christmas Worship

The arts during Christmas may symbolize the Incarnation and thus speaks in a profound way to the meaning of “God with us.” Adapt the suggestions below to local customs.

1. The greening of the church done for Advent remains through the Christmas season.

2. The Advent wreath remains hung during Christmas with all five candles lit. Adorn the wreath with a Christmas bow and change all the candles to white.

3. Dramatize the lighting of the five candles as a symbol of the presence of Christ at the beginning of the service by using the Service of the Light for the Acts of Entrance.

4. Make both the processional and the recessional expressions of great joy with persons bearing banners, crosses, incense, and with dancers who express the great joy of Christmas.

5. Proclaim one of the Scripture readings with drama, storytelling, or creative antiphonal reading.

6. For Christmas Eve, incorporate the blessing of the crèche.

A Sample Advent Banner

Since the Scripture readings for Advent are filled with so many images, Advent banners are helpful in portraying their message in a colorful and powerful symbolic way. Always begin preparations for Advent by considering the Scripture lessons that will be read. The following description is one example of a visual image that is based on an appropriate Scripture reading.

Several Advent lessons talk about preparing the way of the Lord. The path should be made straight, level, and smooth. This suggests a banner that shows a road beginning from a dark, rocky place that forces it through a torturous route. Gradually, the way becomes straighter and smoother until it is upgraded to the status of a highway for our Lord. This idea of progression can be presented in an especially effective way if the banner is made so that it moves each Sunday to reveal the next part of the road. Think of mounting the whole banner like a huge roller towel. Of course, a banner fixed in this way is stationary and can not be used as a processional banner. The same design of a road can be adapted to fit on an ordinary flat banner.

The road, in the beginning, twists and turns, doubles back on itself and seems to make much little progress. The roughness of the terrain is suggested by stuffed, irregular shapes made of coarse, dark fabric in a variety of sizes. The shapes can be sewn and stuffed separately, then attached to the banner. These very dimensional elements gradually give way, in turn, to a quilted area with stitched furrows and ridges. Along the way, the road had become straighter and now has gentle curves. Finally, at the end of the journey, the road is straight, and the earth is flat and smooth.

The progression of the colors and textures is important in this banner. Begin with dark browns and grays, then change to middle-value browns, grays, and gray-greens. Continue with slightly more intense greens, and finally, use a light, clear yellow-green in a smooth, soft fabric like velour. If making a smooth color-and-value transition from grays and browns to greens is difficult, imagine that the whole road goes through a desert, and make the value transition from dark to light using only browns and grays. The suggestion of a village at the end of the road marks the arrival point and the end of the journey.

Dances for the Seasons of the Christian Year

The seasons and feasts of the church year offer numerous possibilities for congregational movement and choreographed dance. Significant dimensions of these celebrations are best experienced through such action.

The liturgical celebrations during the seasons provide variety, color, texture, emotion, and richness of theme to what would be a rather unexciting “ordinary time.” Each season has its own particular symbols as well as those that are part of the ritual throughout the year, such as bread and wine, water, and oil. In Advent, the symbols are darkness and light; at Christmas, light, and birth, evergreens, and angelic choirs; in Lent, ashes, and palms; in Easter, water, light, oil, flowers, and signs of new life; at Pentecost, fire, wind, and dancing people. There is a dramatic sequence to the events of the year that call forth a special ritual response in symbolic moments. These “moments” are most often built into the rituals of the year, such as the Easter vigil. The problem that often arises, however, is that somehow these symbols are blurred and do not speak clearly. Many persons who have used liturgically danced prayer have discovered that gestures, movements, and dances in some form can indeed make the symbols of the seasons “come alive” and “speak” to the assembly. Because these celebrations are so special, they demand special attention to the symbols and the way in which these symbols are allowed to communicate. Dancers in the liturgy serve as “symbol-bearers”; the first and foremost symbol being the human body itself … a body that is called to be the place of divine and human interaction. A look at some of these seasonal celebrations can yield specific suggestions to make them expressive of the human desire to communicate with God and God’s desire to speak an incarnational language.

Advent and Christmas

“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light” (Isa. 8). The primary symbols of the Advent season are darkness and light. It is a season of expectation and hope that is expressed in the flickering lights of candles glowing in the darkness and the enduring hope captured in the symbol of the “Advent wreath,” a circle of evergreens, claiming a promise soon to be fulfilled and a longing that will never die.

A traditional song of the Advent season is “O come, O Come Emmanuel.” It has been the source of many Advent processionals. What I would suggest is a simple walking pattern with a pause or lunge on the “Rejoice! Rejoice!” section of the song. What can make the processional beautiful and interesting, however, is the movement of the lights. This can be done by holding the candles in both hands or one, moving them in a clockwise or counterclockwise direction. With the Advent wreath carried in the middle of the processioners, the effect of the lights dancing around the wreath is created. Once one verse is established in its movement, a simple choreographic device can be used in geometric patterns that change the visual perception (do not, however, confuse the dancers by adding extra “steps”). The basic pattern can be done around the altar in a circle or using diagonal lines through the celebration space. Even the most inexperienced choreographer can devise an interesting processional movement with a simple walking base, some upper arm/body movements, and the use of geometric patterns. This procession of lights for the Advent season can be an effective and solemn way to engage the assembly in the symbols of light and darkness. An advantage is that this does not demand trained dancers; it can be done by most members of the community who are willing to learn and practice.

Many of the readings during the Advent season speak of God’s glory. Another effective use of the symbol of light would be to keep the electric lights extinguished even after the opening processional. As the liturgy of the Word continues, a few more candles are lit. The Alleluia proclamation could then become a dance of lights around the gospel book. This would bring to expression the Word as light in the lives of the faithful people: “your Word is a lantern.” There is a beautiful Alleluia setting in Peloquin’s “Lord of Life” that is solemn, reverential, and very suitable to the theme of the Word incarnate in the Advent season. Again, there could be a simple movement of the feet, a basic walking pattern, with more movement of lifting, lowering, turning, and passing the light as it shines on the gospel book.

All through the liturgy, during the preparation of gifts, the creed, and so on, more lights could be lit. The gradual impression of light building can be an effective means of having the assembly “come alive” to the light. By the conclusion of the liturgy the space would be ablaze with light. At this point, as a closing expression of faith, the song “City of God” from the St. Louis Jesuits’ Lord of Light could be sung and danced. The lyrics speak of the light in the darkness, our tears turned into dancing, and other appropriate expressions of the Advent season. Depending upon the assembly, space, and time of preparation, this could be danced by those trained in the community or be simplified as a congregational dance given the requirements of space, time for preparation, and openness to this kind of communal prayer expression. If it is impossible with the assembly, it is possible to use a simple, but lively dance in a triple meter that many could do with willingness and preparation. This closing song and dance would express the primary symbol of a people who share their faith, their hope, their love, and their desire to “build the city of God.”

Alternative Advent Suggestions

First Sunday—Year A. Begin the liturgy with the proclamation of the first reading, Isaiah 2:1–5. The image is walking together in the light of the Lord, streaming toward God’s holy mountain. Immediately following the proclamation (ideally done in some other gathering place) the whole assembly or selected members and ministers would “go up with joy to the house of the Lord.” Carrying the symbols of the season, the procession would in fact do what the first reading and psalm are speaking about: a joyful journey in faith and hope. A simple tripudium step; three forward one back could be the basis of this easy, rhythmic procession. Another new addition to the musical repertory is Peloquin’s “Let us Go Rejoicing” from his Songs of Israel II.

Third Sunday—Years A and C. There are certain readings that are meant to be simply “listened” to and reflected on. There are others, however, that can vividly be “expressed” through mime, drama, or dance. There is something about certain readings that calls for an appropriate visualization as well as a clear proclamation. In the third Sunday of Advent, the theme of rejoicing is most explicit. In Isaiah 35:1–6 and Zephaniah 3:14–18, the readings use images of physical exultation, of life-giving expression. These readings could be “interpreted” by competent members of the community who have some training and background in mime or dance. The important caution, however, is that it not be a literal interpretation, using gestures or movements that say the same thing as the verbal text. The idea of this kind of interpretation is to capture the underlying emotions and conflicts and give them life through the movement. It is not to “picture” or “act out” what the words are saying. Its purpose is to enliven the spirit, not to burden it with repetitive images. The difficulty is that this kind of interpretation demands much planning and work with the reader of the text. Because there is no musical support, the rhythm of the language and the dancer’s body have to mesh into an expressive unity. This is a most difficult liturgical dance and yet it seems to be a frequent addition to liturgies. Anyone who feels “moved by the spirit” comes forward to “interpret” the reading or the psalm. Such movement can be a distraction to the community. Because this interpretation demands so much coordination, it demands sufficient preparation to enable the movement to speak its own language and not be imitative of the verbal language.

Isaiah 35, for example, describes very clear and precise images: the desert blooming, feeble hands, weak knees, eyes of the blind opened, ears of the deaf cleared. The literal way of presenting this reading would be an attempt to find nonverbal images that correspond to the verbal images. One would be at pains to find explicit images for blindness, deafness, or weak knees. It is better to leave this to the imagination of the listener. An alternative is for two dancers to reveal the underlying expectation, excitement, and miraculous joy that stems from the experience of God’s transformation. The challenge is to bring alive the emotional content of the reading and bring that to expression for those who are hearing and feeling that excitement. Meeting the challenge with this kind of liturgical movement is rewarding if it is done well. It enables the living Word to come to life.

First Sunday—Year B. The first reading of this liturgy, Isaiah 63, has been set to music by the St. Louis Jesuits (“Redeemer Lord,” Lord of Light). The driving rhythms and the musical dissonance make this a very interesting piece of danceable liturgical music. (Often the unchanging rhythms of much liturgical music do not aid the dynamics of dance.) Through music and movement, the Isaiah passage could be effectively communicated.

The climax of the Advent season is the celebration of the birth of Christ, the Incarnation. On this feast, it is especially appropriate to “incarnate” the church’s liturgy through movement prayer. Christmas is a season of wonder. The liturgy of this season needs to capture this sense of wonder, especially as it is embodied in the lives of children.

The Directory for Masses with Children encourages, “the development of gestures, postures, and actions … in view of the nature of the liturgy as an activity of the entire man and in view of the psychology of children” (33). It goes on to say that

the processional entrance of the children with the priest may help them to experience a sense of the communion that is thus constituted. The participation of at least some of the children in the procession with the book of the gospels makes clear the presence of Christ who announces his word to the people The procession of children with the chalice and gifts expresses clearly the value and meaning of the presentation of gifts. The communion procession, if properly arranged, helps greatly to develop the piety of children. (34)

The liturgy of Christmas should embrace these instructions and let the children give expression to their wonder in specific shape and form. There are numerous Christmas carols that can be used in procession. The story of Christmas can be told through different carols with the children dancing or miming. The origin of the carol is rooted in dance forms that were used in conjunction with the music. The Christmas liturgy would be an excellent opportunity to use the musical settings designed for children, such as Peloquin’s “Unless You Become.” This work affords many opportunities for movement acclamation, especially during the Alleluia and Eucharistic prayer.

The Advent/Christmas season is rich with symbols of hope, of longing, of wonder, and promise. In the liturgies of this season, gesture, movement, and dance can incarnate what is hoped for and what has already been fulfilled in the coming of Christ.

Lent

The Lenten season has its own richness of symbolic expression beginning with the celebration of ashes and culminating with the powerful symbols of Holy Week. It is a season in the church’s liturgy that allows the experience of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus to be remembered in the lives of the assembled faithful. It is most important during this season that the assembly be engaged in embodied prayer so that it may experience its unique participation in the Easter event. The renewed place of the catechumenate during this season has been helpful in letting the assembly claim the process of conversion as its own. The following are some suggestions for the involvement of the whole assembly as well as specific examples of dance during the Lenten/Easter season. It is a time of penitence, journeying, growth in self-knowledge, a time to deepen one’s knowledge of the person of Jesus, especially in his humanity, a time to celebrate the ultimate victory of life over death. It is a time to dance.

Ash Wednesday. This day that begins the Lenten season has the power of linking the past and looking forward to the future. The symbols are strong and clear. It is important that people see the burning of last year’s palms so that there is a link with the past experience of Lenten conversion. (The cyclic nature of human ritual needs to be brought out more clearly.) Bread and wine should be seen and tasted like food for the journey. If possible, the signing with ashes should be done by members of the assembly to each other so that the symbol may be touched, felt, and seen. The liturgy can begin with the proclamation of Joel’s “call to repentance” from within the assembly. The presider enters in silent procession and prostrates himself before the assembly. The members of the assembly kneel to express their need for conversion and repentance. There is time for silent prayer. On rising, the presider invites the community to further reflection, and all sing a selection such as “Grant to us, O Lord” by Lucien Deiss. Following the homily and silent reflection, the presider burns some palm, blesses the ashes, and invites members of the assembly to sign each other as a beginning symbol of solidarity with the Lord and with each other during this Lenten journey. At some point in the liturgy, a single member of the assembly could dance to “Be Not Afraid” as an expression of hope and trust during the Lenten season. People can be drawn more deeply into the truth and beauty of the words of this song and the shared human experience they articulate.

The Sundays of Lent. The Liturgy of the Word during the Lenten season offers many opportunities for creative proclamation. The long gospels of John during Cycle A can be communicated through drama, mime, or dance. A model of this kind of presentation is given in the work of the Fountain Square Fools. This group of professional actors, mimes, and dancers has integrated the gospel story with imagination, energy, and conviction. The group’s portrayal of the parable of the Prodigal is exceptionally powerful.

The following are some suggestions for dance in the Sundays of Lent:

  • 1st Sunday: The theme in all cycles is the temptation of Jesus in the desert. The song, “Jesus the Lord,” can be used as a response to the gospel reading. The slow, reflective antiphon repeated four times can lead the assembly into a simple gesture prayer. The music breathes the name Jesus and the gestures/movement should be an extension of the rhythmic pulse set up by the breathing in and out on the name “Jesus.” (It is important for those who design the movements for the assembly to explore all the possibilities of raising and lowering the hand and arms so that all gestures do not look and feel alike.)
  • 2nd Sunday: The theme in all cycles is the Transfiguration. Michael Joncas’s “On Eagle’s Wings” captures the spirit of this theme of transformation, light, and special protection. This particular piece of music with its intricate rhythms demands certain expertise of the dancers who perform it. If the movement is to be faithful to the form and intent of the musical composition, it is important that the choreographer recognize the complexity of the music and not trivialize it with a too basic movement. The choreography for this piece in the repertoire of the Boston Liturgical Dance Ensemble, for example, includes arabesques on half-pointe, en planche, Soutenu turns, attitudes en promenade, and reverses. These movements are visible to the assembly but need trained dancers to execute them.
  • 3rd Sunday: In cycle A, the gospel is the woman at the well and the liturgy has a strong baptismal theme. John Foley’s “Come to the Water” can be an effective response to the Liturgy of the Word and a bridge to the Liturgy of the Eucharist. In a liturgy at St. James Cathedral in Brooklyn, New York, the Boston Liturgical Dance Ensemble danced with members of the assembly who had been trained the day before. A white cloth twenty yards long was drawn through the building by twenty dancers. Working the cloth in an undulating motion, the dancers gave the impression of water flowing, enveloping the assembly with the symbol. Two dancers near the altar danced more complex movements. The cloth was drawn over them and then placed on the altar to become the altar cloth. The two dancers presented the gifts to the presider and the liturgy continued.

The variety of themes during this season afford many more opportunities for nonverbal expressions. The theme of forgiveness and reconciliation can be embodied through gestures of healing, through enacting the gospel stories of reunion, through expressing the affective dimension of reconciliation in the psalms of the season (Ps. 23, 130, 137, 51, 34). The musical settings of these psalms vary in style and will affect the movement interpretation. Certain musical forms are more conducive to the necessary tension within dance composition. Many of the psalm settings of Peloquin, for example, have a musical tension that elicits an expressive movement response.

Holy Week

Holy Week is clearly the high point of the church’s liturgical year. The celebration of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus demands a liturgy rich in word and action, mood, and symbol. The Holy Week liturgies need to involve the whole person in prayer. The reality of Passover is incarnated in bodies that move. This movement emerges naturally from the existing ritual and does not have to be superimposed upon it. The following are examples of places in the ritual that calls for “embodiment.”

Passion Sunday. Procession with Palms: (a) the whole community gathers outside the building and enters in procession carrying the palms; (b) with the community already assembled, dancers carrying royal palms enter in rhythmic procession to “All Glory, Laud, and Honor.” The procession uses a simple walking base, punctuated by lunges. The dancers open and close the palms, turn and reach with them. The royal palms have a majesty that conveys the solemnity of the occasion.

Proclamation of the Passion: There have been many different approaches to dramatic presentations of the Passion. One effective presentation that has been used employs a combination of dramatic reading and mime. A long purple cloth is used as the unifying symbol throughout. It functions as the cloth of the Last Supper and delineates the different places: the garden, the house of Annas, Pilate’s palace. It becomes the cloth thrown over Jesus, the cross itself, and then the burial cloth. The narrative is read by trained lectors and the dance/mime is done by dancers and actors. This particular rendering of the Passion has engaged the assembly with the powerful emotion, even though they did not “do” anything.

The Assembly’s Acclamations: The original Palm Sunday event had people in the streets of Jerusalem acclaiming Jesus as King. During the acclamations of the eucharistic prayer, the assembly should be invited to raise their arms with palms in hand, waving them with the words, “Hosanna in the highest, blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord,” and at other points of acclamation.

Holy Thursday. Washing of Feet: An important gesture embodying the gospel which precedes it. This is a case where form and content are inextricably bound. The command of Jesus to “love one another” is tied to a specific symbol of service. This sign should not be neglected for the sake of convenience or speed. It is also important that it be done in such a way that it is a visible sign to the whole assembly.

Preparation of Gifts: The symbols of bread and wine should be given an even greater emphasis on this night. A more elaborate procession may be called for. The symbols must be clearly visible and genuine; bread that is baked by someone in the community, wine held in a lovely carafe.

Transfer of the Eucharist: A simple but powerful movement that can engage people in reverence and prayer.

Stripping the Altar: This silent ritual has an extraordinary psychological effect on people. It can be a striking prelude to the experience of Good Friday.

Good Friday. Prostration: Prostration is an important gesture of penance, humility, and dependence. The silent procession and the prostration are a stark beginning to the Good Friday liturgy.

Orations: “Let us kneel. Let us stand.” The Good Friday liturgy tries to involve the assembly in postures that embody reverence and respect for the solemnity of the celebration. The community should take time to kneel in silent prayer so that the movement “kneel-stand” is expressive of an attitude of reverence and respect rather than an empty gesture of inconvenient effort.

Veneration of the Cross: A movement that involves the whole assembly in procession and praise. It affords the opportunity to express an attitude of loving reverence not only for Jesus’ sacrifice but for all of life which is embraced by the symbol of the cross.

Easter Vigil

On this night the church uses all of its basic symbols to allow a rich experience of new life and hope. The elements of fire, water, bread, and wine become the sacramental manifestation of the presence of God. The form and structure of the celebration, from the lighting of the new fire, the procession of light, the proclamation of the exalted, the stories of God’s activity in the world, the baptismal event, to the new Passover meal that is shared, proclaim the single most important affirmation of the Christian faith. “He is risen. Alleluia!” All of the symbolic elements of this ritual are involved in this proclamation. That is why it is so important on this night to allow the symbols to speak. The following are some suggestions for an effective ritual: Lighting of the Fire: If feasible, begin outside so that all can see the fire. The procession should only begin when all have their candles lit. The final acclamation should be intoned only when all have assembled in the celebration space. During the “Exsultet,” candles should be kept burning. The lights (electric) should be left off until the Gloria.

Liturgy of the Word: In the darkness, except for the light of the paschal candle and any light necessary for the lector, the readings are proclaimed. For the Genesis reading, six lectors are stationed throughout the church, each with an unlit candle. As the story of creation begins, a dancer comes to the paschal candle and draws the light from the candle. He or she then goes to the next reader bringing the light. At the end of the seven days, there are seven lights symbolizing the creation. The positions of these readers around the perimeter of the space can create the impression of being surrounded by creation.

Gloria: Out of the darkness comes a dancing people! As the final response to the Ezekiel reading is being sung, all the candles are lit again. As the Gloria is intoned, the first image the assembly has is women and men dressed in white and gold, dancing to this song of praise.

Alleluia: The first Alleluia of the Easter season should be embodied in a joyful dance around the gospel book. This could be done as a procession with the book or as a special incensation with dancers moving around the book, carrying bowls of incense.

The entire liturgy of Easter cries out for the full participation of the assembly. In the baptismal and Communion rites that follow the proclamation of the Word, the people should be engaged by the symbols in the acclamation: “Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again! Alleluia!” It is the task of those working with movement and gesture in liturgy to continue to find suitable ways to make the Easter event come to life.

Pentecost

Pentecost gives another opportunity to ritualize the Easter event, but where the focus of Easter is the proclamation “Jesus is risen,” the focus of Pentecost is “Where are God’s people?” This is the celebration of a people filled with the Spirit of God. It is an appropriate time for dance as an expression of the joy, the ecstasy, and the liveliness of the Spirit. There are a number of musical settings appropriate for a festive opening procession. Peloquin’s, “Lord, Send Out Your Spirit,” The Monks of the Weston Priory’s “Spirit Alive,” and Peloquin’s “Praise to the Lord” have all been used by the Boston Liturgical Dance Ensemble as opening processionals to enliven the celebration space on this special feast. In these pieces, red material is used to suggest the tongues of fire and capture the breadth, vitality, and dynamic movement of the first Pentecost.

There are many other celebrations during the year that can call for a special use of dance. Two that have been exceptionally effective for me have been a baccalaureate and a wedding. In the baccalaureate liturgy at Boston College, which takes place every year in a sports complex, the dance brings visual beauty and focus to the celebration that it would lack without it. In alternative spaces for liturgy that is used for very large groups (convention center, stadium) the “secular” can be transformed into the “sacred” through movement and color that provides beauty and graciousness. In the Boston College baccalaureate, the most successful use of dance has been with Peloquin’s Lyric Liturgy and his Lord of Life.

This particular wedding ritual had a special meaning since the bride and groom were both dancers and dance had become the way in which they expressed their faith. Their friends, other dancers, carried floral arches in a procession that could be brought together to make a bridal arch, combined to form the symbol of the ring or simply make a beautiful visual pattern in the front of the space. After the exchange of vows, the dancers returned with the floral arches, dancing to Laetitia Blain’s Song of Meeting, surrounding the newly married couple, finally creating a floral canopy over their heads. Since this was a special dance liturgy, in which the medium of dance was the primary mode of communication, there were many points in the liturgy that were danced. During the water rite, the dancers passed flowers to all in the assembly. The responsorial psalm, Michael Joncas’s “I Have Loved You,” was danced as was his “Praise His Name” for the gospel acclamation. The bride and groom led the assembly in gesture prayer to a chanted “Our Father.” The communion meditation, “Be Not Afraid,” was danced as was the closing hymn “Ode to Joy” (with special wedding lyrics). The entire ritual was a beautifully effective realization of the power of dance to communicate as a symbol in liturgy. Although it may seem to one who has only heard the ritual described that there was “too much” dance, the experience of the people who were present was not that at all. Because of who the couple was, and given the integration of the dances into the flow of the ritual and the participation of the whole assembly in spirit and body, it was a ritual that communicated what it intended, namely, the love of two people as a sign of new life in the church.

A renewed sense of the place of dance in liturgy is a sign of life for many in the church. For others, it is a threatening manifestation of the disintegration of standards and morals. Many will continue to fight vigorously against its inclusion as a valid means of religious expression in liturgical worship. If there is to be a meaningful dialogue between those who approve and those who disapprove, there must be an openness to learn from each other’s perceptions and experiences, but in the last analysis, people must be able to worship their God in ways that honestly express their faith. Environment and Art in Catholic Worship says:

Christians have not hesitated to use every human art in their celebration of the saving work of God in Jesus Christ, although in every historical period they have been influenced, at times inhibited, by cultural circumstances. In the resurrection of the Lord, all things are made new. Wholeness and healthiness are restored because the reign of sin and death is conquered. Human limits are still real and we must be conscious of them. But we must also praise God and give God thanks with the human means we have available. God does not need liturgy; people do, and people have only their own arts and styles of expression with which to celebrate.

The Origins of Christmas and Epiphany Worship

Following the lead of secular culture, many Christians place Christmas as the most important day in the Christian year. This article suggests that a more profound understanding of Christmas arises out of an awareness of the history of the Christian year. Christmas should be understood in light of the events which follow—Epiphany and, eventually, Easter.

The proclamation of Christ’s resurrection is the central focus of the Christian message. Yet for many churches and not a few Christians, the annual festival of the birth of Christ has come to take a place of equal or greater significance. We might fill the church for an Easter morning service of resurrection, but we often multiply the services and special events at Christmas. The musicians may have their skills in refined condition at Easter, but often more time, rehearsal, and money is spent for the Christmas cantata and pageant. Writing of the special Christmas service, H. Boone Porter has noted:

No doubt many people will be moved by it, even if the music is ill-chosen or the sermon poorly prepared, or the decorations in poor taste. Those who are responsible for leading worship should not be seduced by such tolerance. Great feasts should be the occasion for raising the standard of quality, not lowering it. People may say (and will say) that they want the service just like last year and the year before that and the year before that. Yet people are not likely to return year after year if no new insight, no new vision, no new sense of spiritual reality is communicated to them. The larger crowd on Christmas Eve presents a challenging opportunity to communicate the Good News of the Incarnation as effectively as possible. (Keeping the Christian Year [New York: Seabury, 1977], 15)

The faith of the early church was grounded in the proclamation of the resurrection of Christ. So central was it to the church’s life that Paul was able to write, “Now if Christ is preached as raised from the dead, how can come of you say that there is no resurrection of the dead? But if there is no resurrection of the dead, then Christ has not been raised; if Christ has not been raised, then our preaching is in vain and your faith is in vain. But in fact, Christ has been raised from the dead” (1 Cor. 15:12–14, 20, RSV).

The fervor of the early Christians for the proclamation of the Resurrection meant that it would be the fourth century before the church would celebrate the birth of Jesus in a regularized fashion. With the Nativity festival originating as late as it does, one would hope that it would be easy to piece together an accurate picture of its genesis and subsequent development. Unfortunately, such is not the case.

The scholarly opinion concerning the origin of the date of Christmas falls basically into two camps. The first and most widely held viewpoint understands the celebration of Christ’s nativity on December 25 to be an intentional Christianization of an earlier pagan fest. In 274, the Roman emperor Aurelian established the date as a commemoration of Emesa, the Syrian god of the sun. A temple to Sol Invictus was constructed in Rome on the Campus Martius, and a conclave of priests was established to administer its affairs and officiate at its rites. By establishing the annual festival of Christ’s nativity to coincide with the pagan festival of the sun, the church could draw upon the ripe sun imagery already present in the prophetic announcements of the Hebrew Scriptures and the New Testament’s evangelical tradition. As Adolf Adam has noted, “Christians could now make the triumphant claim to their pagan fellow citizens that they, the Christians, were celebrating the feast of the true Sun which alone can give light and salvation to the world” (The Liturgical Year [New York: Pueblo Publishing, 1992], 123).

A second hypothesis was originally proposed by Louis Duchesne in his comprehensive work entitled Christian Worship: Its Origin and Evolution. Duchesne held that the date of December 25 for the annual Nativity celebration was determined by a series of computations. Important witnesses in the early church, notably Tertullian and Hippolytus, recognized that March 25 was the date of Christ’s death. A symbolic number system, allowing for no imperfections (fractions) would take March 25 also as the date of Jesus’ conception. A perfect nine months later would result in the birth of Jesus on December 25. Such a symbolic number system seems strange to our twentieth-century point of view, but it was not at all peculiar to the thought modes of the late third century.

As noted earlier, the most popular and widely held viewpoint concerning the date of Christmas is that the early Christians intentionally Christianized the pagan sun festival. However, it is impossible to completely discard the computation hypothesis. It is difficult to believe that the church would intentionally set themselves openly against the pagan feast of the emperor until after the legalization of Christianity under Constantine in 313. Augustine’s Sermon 202 suggests that the Donatists were celebrating the Nativity on December 25, which would imply that the festival was known to Rome prior to the Donatist schism of 312. If Augustine’s witness is accepted, then a nativity feast on December 25 was established in North Africa sometime before 312 and arising out of some other locus than the transformation of an established pagan feast.

In any event, the feast was firmly established by 336 and documented in the calendar of the Greek artist and calligrapher Philocalus, and usually referred to as the Chronograph of 354. In a portion of the work dating from 336, a list of martyrs is found the words, “on the eighth of the kalends of January, Christ, born in Bethlehem of Judea.”

Quite apart of the thematic differences between Christmas and Epiphany, the search for the origin of January 6 as the date of the latter takes us through a similar series of possibilities as we noticed with Christmas. Scholars have appealed again to the possibility that Epiphany was the intentional Christianization of a pagan festival. In Alexandria on the night of January 5–6, the pagans would celebrate the birth of the god, Aion, and in the course of the festivities water would be drawn from the Nile, water that on the night of January 6 would turn into wine. The baptism of Jesus and the miracle of the wedding feast at Cana were early associated with this feast. Again, it is easy to jump to the conclusion that the church responded to this thematically coincidental paganism by urging the substitution of their own tradition; but the story may not be that simple. Even the suggestion that January 6 was arrived at by a series of computations, based on April 6 as the death-date of Christ, has not been without its proponents.

Managing the multitude of lessons, theological themes, Christmas hymns, and manger carols, decorations, vestments, and paraments, service times, and liturgical options for a festival as important to the Christian faith as the nativity of Jesus—in as little time as we have to devote to it—is no easy task. Even when we wisely and rightly extend and complete the proclamation of the coming of the Christ through the feast of Epiphany, we are still faced with the problem of what parts of the story to emphasize and what to leave out. At the very least, it demands that we read the story of our Lord’s coming among us, ask ourselves how this coming speaks to us and to the world, and plan our worship and liturgical life so that we address the needs of the people with no uncertainty.

The first major conflict that immediately presents itself is that between the story of our Lord’s birth, recorded in its familiar form in Luke 2, and the powerful proclamation in the first chapter of John’s gospel that boldly asserts the incarnation of the Savior. This is not an either/or proposition. For those churches that make use of a lectionary, this need not be a problem. Most revisions of the lectionary provide three sets of lessons for Christmas to be distributed through the services of Christmas Eve and Christmas day. In many churches, the major service of lessons, carols, and candles will be based around the story of the Nativity recorded in Luke. The later service, at midnight or the next morning, will focus on the incarnation of the Word of God. The message of Christmas is more than the historical birth of a baby; it is also the incarnation of the Savior. It is more than cattle and kings kneeling in a stable, it is the entire world on its knees before the Lord of life and death. It is more than angels singing glory, it is beholding the glory that is full of grace and truth for us. No one can argue about the fact that the story of our Lord’s birth is meaningful, even stimulating, but the gospel that the world needs to hear now is the vigorous, earthy, dynamic, demanding if at times offensive gospel of the Word made flesh. Adrian Nocent has captured it so wonderfully.

Incarnation means not only that God is with us but also that we are redeemed and with God…. In the truly traditional thinking of the Church, there is nothing poetic about the incarnation. In fact, the emphasis is, if anything, on a rather brutal fact: The Word came to do God’s will, even to the point of dying on a Cross…. We are thus not passive bystanders of the incarnation. The incarnation radically transforms the history of the world and the personal history of each of us. (The Liturgical Year, vol. 1 [Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical Press, 1977], 192).

The feast of the Epiphany, remembering the appearance or manifestation of God in Christ, is generally held to be the older of the feasts connected with the historical coming of Jesus. The traditional history of the feast day held that Epiphany was the birth festival of the Eastern church on January 6, roughly analogous to the Western church’s Christmas on December 25. As the tradition goes, in the middle of the fourth century, after the peace of the church, an interchange of the two festivals took place with the church, East and West, celebrating both. While this explanation is conveniently satisfying, it is a gross oversimplification of the details. But the real difficulty in unraveling the feast of the Epiphany has to do with the multiplicity of themes that have from very early been associated with it. From Clement of Alexandria in the early third century, we find out that the baptism of Jesus played a significant role in the development of Epiphany. The wedding feast at Cana, Jesus’ first miracle, was early associated with Epiphany as well. Popular thought today associates Epiphany with the arrival of the magi to offer their gifts. Of this tradition, Adolf Adam wrote:

Epiphany is also known as the feast of the Three Holy Kings or as Three Kings’ Day. This emphasis obscures the fact that the feast is not a saint’s feast, but a feast of the Lord. Moreover, as everyone knows, the gospel account says nothing about kings or about Magi being three in number. Origen is the first to speak of three Magi; he probably gets the number from the three gifts. The designation “kings” first occurs in Caesarius of Arles in the sixth century. The names Caspar, Melchior, and Balthasar have been used since the ninth century. (The Liturgical Year [New York: Pueblo Publishing, 1992], 146)

It is interesting to note that these three miraculous events—the visit of the magi, the baptism, and the miracle at Cana’s wedding feast—are preserved for us still in the lectionary for the day of Epiphany and the first two Sundays following. This convergence of stories probably results from the fact that these three stories, these three miraculous events, stand near the beginning of three of the Gospels, Matthew, Mark, and John, respectively. These Gospels, being the favorite texts of important early Christian communities, may well have given local shape to the liturgical year, and the combination of these local customs has given us our present tripartite emphasis for Epiphany. The one whose light we have followed, of whom it was said, “thou art my beloved Son,” and whose glory was manifested in the water-made wine, is the one who was flesh among us for our salvation.

The entire complex of biblical and theological material—from incarnation to manifestation, to transfiguration, all seen in the light of redemption, provides the church with an unlimited gospel tradition from which may flow our prayer and proclamation of worship and life.