John Chrysostom

Jubilation in the Patristic Era

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The time from the conversion of Constantine until the dawning of the second millennium was the formative period of the church, the era of the church fathers. It was a time of lively faith but also a time of controversy. During this period the expressive worship tradition of the church was shaped and formed and given the roots it needed to grow in richness in the following centuries. An important aspect of this worship tradition was a form of wordless prayer known as jubilation, which the church fathers understood as a natural human response to the mystery of God.

The period of the fathers was a time of a rich variety of styles of expressive prayer and worship. Congregations could be quite spontaneous in calling out phrases of praise and thanksgiving. Sighs, tears, and laughter played an important role in worship. Perhaps the most significant form of spontaneous prayer during the formative period was prayer without words, or jubilation, which closely resembles the “tongues” of present-day charismatic renewal. Jubilation was a way of singing and praying aloud without using words. Although the last hundred years have seen even the memory of wordless prayer ebb from the Catholic church’s consciousness, it played a vital role in the formation of the liturgy until the ninth century and was important in private prayer until the late Middle Ages. Traces of it can be found in the mystical tradition as late as the nineteenth century.

Origin of the Term Jubilation

The word jubilation (or jubilus) comes from the classical Latin word jubilatio which means “loud shouting, whooping.” In classical usage, a jubilation was the pastoral call of a farmer or shepherd. It has been the age-old custom of country people to call to one another or to animals by using special calls or yodels. St. Hilary of Poitiers (d. 368) referred to the peasant origins of the term jubilation:

And according to the custom of our language, we name the call of the peasant and agricultural worker a jubilus, when in solitary places, either answering or calling, the jubilation of the voice is heard through the emphasis on the long drawn out and expressive rendering. (Ennarationes in Psalmos 65, as quoted in George Chambers, Folksong-Plainsong [1956], 23-24)

This jubilation of the peasant was probably much like a yodel. In fact, the word yodel comes from the medieval usage of the word jubilation (Die Musik in Geschichte und Gegenwart [1958] vol. 7, p. 74). Alpine shepherds still employ the yodel to call to one another. Western ranch hands of North America herd cattle with a form of yodel. There seems to be a natural human trait, which was much more pronounced in preindustrial societies, to improvise wordless calls and songs. When human muscle power exerted in concert was still a vital source of energy, men regulated the rhythm of their lifting and moving together through the use of wordless calls.

Christians of the late Roman Empire and Middle Ages were well acquainted with a variety of wordless expressions. They saw their wordless prayers as the same type of activity that farmers and shepherds engaged in. They recognized the singing and speaking of wordless phrases as a natural human activity, much more than people of the twentieth century would.

If they saw a great identity between their jubilation and the natural jubilation of the secular world, they also saw profound differences. For them, Christian jubilation was a natural human activity given over to profoundly Christian and spiritual use. Augustine could call Christian jubilation miraculous (J. P. Migne, Patrologia Latina, vol. 40, p. 680). Contrasting secular jubilation with its Christian counterpart, he wrote: “They jubilate out of confusion, … we [Christians] out of confession” (Ennarationes in Psalmos 99).

Thus, jubilation was viewed as a natural human expression that was given profound spiritual and mystical significance. George Chambers writes of this change of use: “[Jubilation] is the expression of the soul in a higher sense; it ceases to be merely a subconscious utterance and becomes part of the spirit’s yearning for the inner things of God” (Chambers, Folksong-Plainsong, 5).

Types of Jubilation

The term jubilation has a wide range of meanings. Essentially it was understood as the spontaneous outward expression of inner spiritual experience. Such expression might come through wordless songs or sounds, but could also be manifested by bodily expressions such as gestures and laughter. As we survey what the church fathers have to say about it, we note references to three major types of jubilation. First, musical jubilation was a form of spontaneous, wordless singing. Second, congregational jubilation was musical jubilation in a liturgical setting. It was the custom of congregations to sing an alleluia before the reading of the gospel and to extend the last “a” of the alleluia into a long, spontaneous, wordless song. Third, mystical jubilation was the flow of wordless sounds, musical or nonmusical, along with laughter and gestures, which accompany intense spiritual experience. The following is a more complete discussion of these three types of jubilation.

Musical Jubilation. Musical jubilation is singing aloud on vowel sounds as an expression of joy or yearning for God. One of the best definitions of this practice has been provided by music historian Albert Seay, who writes that it is “an overpowering expression of the ecstasy of the spirit, a joy that could not be restricted to words.… It occupied a peculiar place in the liturgy, for it carried implications of catharsis, a cleansing of the soul” (Music in the Medieval World [1965], 38). In a major work dealing with the jubilus, Théodore Gérold emphasizes its improvisation: “One notes the more or less spontaneous impulse.… In [jubilations] [the people] exhaled joy to some extent without control” (Les pères de l’église et la musique (Études d’histoire et de philosophie Réligieuse, XXV, 1931], 122).

Most major thinkers of the Christian church in the late Roman Empire and early Middle Ages mention the practice of jubilation. We will examine some of their statements.

St. Augustine of Hippo, whose writings were a major influence on Western thought for nearly one thousand years after his death, mentions jubilation several times. In his Expositions of the Psalms, Augustine writes: Where speech does not suffice … they break into singing on vowel sounds, that through this means the feeling of the soul may be expressed, words failing to explain the heart’s conceptions. Therefore, if they jubilate from earthly exhilaration, should we not sing the jubilation out of heavenly joy, what words cannot express?”

He urges his people to jubilate, saying: You already know what it is to jubilate. Rejoice and speak. If you cannot express your joy, jubilate: jubilation expresses your joy, if you cannot speak; it cannot be a silent joy; if the heart is not silent to its God, it shall not be silent to his reward. (Ennarationes in Psalmos 97, in Patrologia Latina, vol. 37, pp. 1254–1255)

Augustine speaks of the highly spontaneous and wordless character of jubilation: He who sings a jubilus … pronounces a wordless sound of joy; the voice of his soul pours forth happiness as intensely as possible, expressing what he feels without reflecting on any particular meaning.… He simply lets his joy burst forth without words. (Ennarationes in Psalmos 99:4, in Patrologia Latina, vol. 37, p. 1272)

St. Jerome, who translated the Bible into Latin, says: By the term jubilus we understand that which neither in words nor syllables nor letters nor speech is it possible to express or comprehend how much man ought to praise God. (Patrologia Latina, vol. 26, p. 970)

In his translation of the Psalms, Jerome translates the Greek word alalgma, which means “shout of joy,” as jubilus. In this use of the term he probably refers to the experience of wordless singing which was common in his day (Chambers, Folksong-Plainsong, 8).

St. John Chrysostom (c. 347–407), the bishop of Constantinople, encouraged his people to sing without words. He says, “It is permitted to sing psalms without words, so long as the mind resounds within” (Eis ton Psalmon 41:2, in Patrologiae Graecae et Latinae, vol. 55, p. 159; Prothe ria eis tous Psalmous, in PGL, vol. 55, p. 538).

M. Aurelius Cassiodorus (450–583) wrote a massive commentary on the Psalms in which he mentions jubilation several times. It is not clear from his references whether he is speaking of musical or nonmusical jubilation. He writes: The jubilation is called an exultation of the heart, which, because it is such an infinite joy, cannot be explained in words. (Complexiones in Psalmos 65:1 [66:1 in English versions], in Patrologia Latina, vol. 70, p. 451)

He further writes, “Jubilation is the joy expressed with fervor of mind and shout of indistinct voice.” Cassiodorus describes jubilation as a response to the incarnation of Jesus through the “new song” referred to in Psalm 33:3. He believed that the entire universe has been filled “with saving exultation” because of that event (Complexiones in Psalmos 32:3 [33:3 in English versions], in Patrologia Latina, vol. 70, p. 226). Again, Cassiodorus asserted that jubilation can teach praise. It is a “helping,” a “delighting,” “For those for whom the exultation of words was not able to be sufficient, so they might leap forth into the most overflowing and unexplainable joy, … teaching rejoicing souls that they ought to give thanks to the Lord, not to sing confused by some anxiety. (Complexiones in Psalmos 80:1 [81:1 in English versions], in Patrologia Latina, vol. 70, p. 586)

St. Isidore of Seville (d. 636) passed on much of the wisdom of the Latin fathers to later generations. Concerning jubilation, he writes: Language cannot explain, … words cannot explain.… It is an effusion of the soul.… When the joy of exultation erupts by means of the voice, this is known as jubilation. (Opera Omnia, vol. 5, p. 43)

Jubilation was a common form of prayer for believers in the medieval period. Sometimes wordless singing was an extension of vowel sounds after the singing of an alleluia; sometimes the jubilation was sung without the alleluia. Jerome mentions farmers in the field and even little children praying in this way. Others mention Christian sailors and boatmen on the Loire praying the jubilation. The practice was so widespread that the historian of music Marie Pierik has stated, “This ejaculation, modulated on all forms, became the refrain of gladness which accompanied the daily occupations of the peaceful population converted to the new faith” (Marie Pierik, Song of the Church).

Congregational Jubilation. Congregational jubilation is musical jubilation in the context of worship. Most of the descriptions of musical jubilation in general in the writings of the church fathers and music historians also apply to jubilation in congregations. Improvised prayer singing was practiced in a period when church worship incorporated a high degree of spontaneity. In addition to the jubilation, psalm-singing and hymns could be improvised. Congregations might react spontaneously with laughter, tears, and sighs and by shouting phrases such as, “Glory to God!”

It appears that most of the music in the patristic era, and at least some until the time of the ninth-century liturgical scholar Amalarius of Metz, was of an improvisational nature. L’encyclopédie de la musique includes this comment: From these sources (i.e., the church fathers) one senses clearly that the music of the Christian era was originally improvised. The first Christians expressed their religious ecstasy in a purely emotional and spontaneous fashion by means of music. According to the terminology of Tertullian all the members of an assembly were invited to participate in the praise of God by words from Scripture or by “songs of their own invention.” The first Christian authors, Hilary of Poitiers (315–366), Jerome (340–420), and Augustine (354–430), until Amalarius (ninth century), describe the rich, exuberant coloraturas sung without a text and the alleluia songs as overwhelming melody of joy and gratitude sung upon the inspiration of the moment. A large number of the melodies that have come down to us still have traces of improvisation. (article, “Improvisation,” in L’encyclopédie de la musique)

St. John Chrysostom suggests that it is the work of the Holy Spirit that makes improvised singing in churches possible. He states, “Though men and women, young and old, are different, when they sing hymns, their voices are influenced by the Holy Spirit in such a way that the melody sounds as if sung by one voice.” Chrysostom refers to the cantor as the “prophet” and to music as “prophecy.” Of the singing at the Church of Holy Peace in Constantinople, Chrysostom writes: “The prophet speaks and we all respond to him. All of us make echo to him. Together we form one choir. In this, earth imitates heaven. This is the nobility of the Church” (quoted in L’encyclopédie des musiques sacres [1968–1970], vol. 2, p. 15).

Improvised body movements could accompany congregational singing. Theodoret (c. 386–457) has left a report of “hymns being accompanied by clapping of hands and dance movements” (J. P. Migne, Patrologia Graeca, vol. 83, p. 426).

Congregational jubilation was a part of the total picture of improvised music. The jubilation came after the singing of the alleluia, just before the gospel during mass. As the congregation and choir sang the last alleluia, the people moved into exuberant wordless singing on vowel sounds, which could last for up to five minutes. In a real sense it was a preparation for the hearing of the gospel. It could also occur in melismatic portions of the graduals and offertories. Cassiodorus writes: The tongue of singers rejoices in it; joyfully the community repeats it. It is an ornament of the tongue of singers … like something good of which one can never have enough. It is innovated in ever-varying jubilations. (Complexiones in Psalmos 104, quoted in Chambers, Folksong-Plainsong, 7)

It was during the ninth century that improvisation of the jubilus ceased to be an expected part of the liturgy. From the period of Pope Gregory I (“the Great”) in the sixth century until the eleventh century, the church was in the process of absorbing new nations and barbarian tribes, often converting them en masse. While these were real conversions, it could take generations for a vital Christianity to filter down to the ordinary people. This situation inhibited the practice of improvisation, which relied to some extent on the spiritual sensitivity of congregations. Church music began to be performed more and more by trained choirs; this resulted in the writing of church music in notation, causing it to lose much of its improvised character.

Eventually the jubilation was largely replaced by the sequence. In the year 860, Norsemen sacked the cloister of Jumièges in Normandy, and a monk carried with him the written musical notation for the mass to the safety of the monastery at St. Gall. There a young monk named Notker noticed that words had been written in place of the jubilations after the final alleluia. Adopting this suggestion, Notker composed other words to replace jubilations. At first this was a device to help singers remember melodies, but soon it replaced the jubilation entirely (Henry Osborn Taylor, The Medieval Mind [1911], vol. 2, p. 201).

Although jubilation ceased to be an expected part of the liturgy, large groups of ordinary people improvised expressive jubilations well into the Middle Ages, and mystically oriented small groups did so into the seventeenth century and perhaps later.

Mystical Jubilation. Mystics are men and women who feel the pull of eternity in a special way. Their lives are marked by a hunger for God and a close union with him. As a result of the constant quest for a bold experience of God, their lives are often characterized by dark tunnels and moments of indescribable ecstasy, resulting in a radical transformation of their existence. Examples are the ascetics of the desert, who often emerged from long years of prayer as men of great tenderness whose very presence brought healing to disturbed souls.

Part of the prayer experience of these mystics was the outward physical expression of the deep inward moving of the Spirit, sometimes involving jubilation. Traces of the practice can be seen in the patristic era. Later in the medieval period, mystical jubilation becomes much more common. Pope Gregory the Great, in his commentary on Job, describes it as an immense interior joy that is manifested outwardly by the voice, physical gestures, and laughter. He says:

What we mean by the term jubilation is when we conceive such a great joy in the heart that we cannot express it in words; yet despite this the heart vents what it is feeling by means of the voice what it cannot express by discursive speech. (Expositio in Librum Iob, 8, 88)

Gregory writes that jubilation can also be expressed in bodily gestures: “What we call jubilation is an unspeakable joy which can neither be concealed nor expressed in words. It betrays itself, however, by certain gestures, though it is not expressed in any suitable words” (Expositio in Librum Iob, 24, 10). He pictures the heavenlies as a place of jubilation: “The mouth is rightly said to be filled with laughter, the lips with jubilation, since in that eternal land, when the mind of the righteous is borne away in transport, the tongue is lifted up in praise” (Expositio in Librum Iob, 8, 89).

John Cassian, the early fifth-century monk, helped to interpret the experience of the desert holy men for the Western church. He refers to monks waking with “a sacrifice of jubilations.” Sometimes the delight of this experience is so great that the monk breaks out into shouts. Cassian describes this experience:

For often through some inexpressible delight and keenness of spirit, the fruit of a most salutary conviction arises so that it actually breaks forth into shouts owing to the greatness of its uncontrollable joy; and the delight of the heart and the greatness of exultation make themselves heard even in the cell of the neighbor.

Sometimes this experience of God is felt in profound quiet; sometimes it is expressed by “a flood of tears.” Prayer without words, whether shouts, quiet or tears, has great value, according to Cassian: “That is not a perfect prayer … wherein the monk understands himself and the words which he prayed” (“Praying in a Transport of Mind,” unidentified quote in Reinhold, The Soul Afire [1973], 362-363).

Other Styles of Expressive Prayer and Worship

The picture one gets from reading the literature of the early church is that people could be quite expressive both in private and public worship. St. Augustine, pastor and bishop of the Christian church in Hippo during the early fifth century, has left us many interesting accounts of the spontaneity of his congregation. One Augustinian scholar has noted that “Augustine’s congregation was in the habit of reacting to whatever was read or preached with all the liveliness of their temperament. They shouted comments, sighed, and laughed, like children at a cinema” (F. Van Der Meer, Augustine the Bishop [1961], 339).

Another account of expressive worship comes from Egeria, the Diary of a Pilgrimage, the story of a woman from Gaul who made a pilgrimage to Christian Palestine in the early fifth century. She writes that the people of Jerusalem were quite devout and that the houses of the city were emptied on Sundays because people flocked to church. They loved ceremony and candlelight processions.

One of their customs was to gather in the church well before daybreak on Sunday to hear a special reading of the account of Jesus’ resurrection. Egeria says, “During the reading of the passage [about the arrest of the Lord] there is such moaning and groaning with weeping from all the people that their moaning can be heard practically as far as the city” (Egeria, The Diary of a Pilgrimage, trans. George E. Gingras [1970], 109).

The type of experience described by Egeria appears to be a kindred response to jubilation. Both the “moans” and “groans” of Egeria and the joyful wordless sounds of jubilation are in a real sense glossolalia prayer: wordless, spontaneous prayer that is spoken aloud.

“How sweet,” Augustine said in his commentary on the Psalms, “are the sighs and tears of prayer” (Ennarationes in Psalmos 125). It was common for members of his congregation to employ such gestures as outstretched hands, prostrations, kneeling, loud beating of the breast, and a person’s throwing himself on the floor in contrition.

The Spiritual Significance of Jubilation for the Church Fathers

The church fathers believed that praying with both body and voice was normal and natural for Christians. They knew that much in God is mysterious; therefore, our encounters with him are also filled with mystery. One way in which believers could respond to God’s mystery was through singing and praying without words. The fathers conceived of a rhythm in the heart of God, a beautiful and mysterious song into which Christians can enter by means of jubilation.

In our own day, we have witnessed a rebirth of voiced, wordless prayer, most often referred to as “speaking in tongues,” or glossolalia. Under the inspiration of the Spirit, the person prays or sings aloud without words, expressing things that cannot be spoken in words. The importance for charismatics is not that it is a language or “unknown tongue,” but that it is a means whereby the Holy Spirit prays through the believer, expressing things that are beyond conceptual language. George Montague, a leading theologian of the charismatic renewal, views glossolalia not as a language but as preconceptual prayer (The Spirit and His Gifts [1974], 18-29).

Most Bible scholars consider New Testament tongues to be ecstatic speech, wordless sounds rather than actual spoken language. Significantly, modern culture has recently rediscovered what preindustrial societies knew instinctively, that communication and expression are much broader than the vocabulary and syntax of language. Examples of phrases that indicate this understanding are “body language,” “good vibes,” and “bad vibes.” Thus one can conceive of glossolalia as real communication, even if it does not use syntax and vocabulary.

If both glossolalia and jubilation can be classified as preconceptual prayer, perhaps jubilation qualifies as a form of glossolalia. Indeed, the definition of glossolalia in a major study by Morton T. Kelsey sounds much like the definitions of jubilation given by the church fathers. Kelsey calls glossolalia “a spontaneous utterance of uncomprehended and seemingly random speech sounds” (Tongue Speaking [1968], 1).

A major difference between the church fathers’ understanding of glossolalia and the understanding prevalent in Pentecostal and charismatic circles is that the fathers saw it as a natural human activity. There is a tendency among Pentecostals to understand tongues as somehow separate from normal human experience. Analogies are rarely drawn with similar human activities such as yodeling, humming in the shower, and the like. In fact, one wonders if the reaction of misunderstanding and occasional fear on the part of some Christians to glossolalia does not come from this dichotomy.

Although the church fathers conceived of jubilation as a natural human activity, they also saw it as a form of prayer with profound spiritual significance. As such it was a natural human activity given over to Christian use. An analogy can be made with the Eucharist. Sitting down to a meal is one of the most ordinary of human activities. The Eucharist is also a meal; it is also ordinary and human. The difference between the Eucharist and a family meal is that the Eucharist is a meal given over to a real and profound encounter with Christ.

The same can be said of glossolalia as an ordinary human activity, that of giving over one’s voice to a flow of sounds from the subconscious. The fathers viewed it as an experience similar to battle cries, yodels, and humming. Yet among Christians, this ordinary activity is given over to the deep movement of the Spirit within the person—a physical, vocal giving of oneself to the movement of the Spirit.

Part of the spiritual significance of jubilation for the church fathers was the understanding that jubilation is essentially God praying through the believer. Augustine clearly delineates this view in his commentary on Psalm 32 (33 in English versions), where he asserts that human beings do not know how to pray or sing to God properly. God himself intervenes through jubilation, even helping to form the tune. Augustine writes, “Lo and behold, he sets the tune for you himself, so to say; do not look for words, as if you could put into words the things that please God. Sing in jubilation: singing well to God means, in fact, just this: singing in jubilation.” In an apparent paraphrase of Paul’s statement in Romans 8:26, Augustine continues: “The jubilus is a melody which conveys that the heart is in travail over something it cannot bring forth in words. [When you cannot say what you want to say] what else can you do but jubilate?” (On the Psalms [1961 edition], 111-112).

This same sentiment is expressed in beautiful, imaginative imagery by St. Peter Chrysologus. He hears the jubilation as God’s own song and relates it to the call of the Good Shepherd. In his commentary on Psalm 94 (95 in English versions) St. Peter Chrysologus writes thus: The Shepherd with sweet jubilus, with varied melody, leads the flock to pasture, keeps the tired flock at rest under shaded grove. This jubilus urges the flock to climb lofty mountains, there to graze on healthful grasses. Also it calls them to descend to the low valleys slowly and without hurry. How happy are those sheep that join their voices to the voice of the Shepherd, that follow when he calls to feed and gather. They truly jubilate to their Shepherd.… In [singing] psalms let us jubilate. (Sermo VI in Psalmos 94)

Christians of this period considered jubilation to be an entering into the music of the angels. “Heaven,” said St. Isidore, “functions under the rhythm of jubilation” (Chambers, Folksong-Plainsong, 8). This was also suggested by Pope Gregory the Great when he described jubilation as the praise of the blessed in heaven.

Augustine viewed jubilation as a confession, Cassiodorus as a “declaration.” It was an acknowledgment that much of God is beyond us, and a witness that he prays through his people and unites their voices. Even today the traces of jubilation that remain in Gregorian chant and plainsong eloquently describe that mystery.

Although jubilation was often described as a spontaneous expression of joy, it was also to be engaged in regardless of one’s feelings. Augustine, Chrysologus, and others used the imperative form when they admonished the people to jubilate; in short, they commanded the congregation to do so. Improvised jubilation was a regular part of the liturgical life of the people. They engaged in it regardless of circumstance, both in times of dryness and of spiritual blessing. This act of obedience opened up a channel through which God could work and pray through them. They thought of jubilation as entering into the praise of heaven.

The Preaching of John Chrysostom (347–407)

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John Chrysostom, known as the “golden orator,” was a master communicator, certainly one of the two or three greatest preachers in the church’s history. He was a follower of the Antiochian method of biblical exegesis. This tradition rejected the Platonic allegorizing of the Alexandrian school in favor of a concern for a grammatical, historical, theological method of interpretation.

Chrysostom’s Educational Background

John, afterward surnamed Chrysostom (“golden-mouthed,” so-named for his preaching), was younger by fifteen or twenty years than Basil and the Gregories. He was of a distinguished and wealthy family in Antioch and, under the devoted care of a widowed mother, received every possible educational advantage. The great teacher Libanius had now returned to his native Antioch and found in John a favorite pupil, whom he would have wished to make his successor as professor of rhetoric and kindred subjects. In the great city, John saw the world and sharpened that penetrating knowledge of human nature for which he was remarkable. For a short time, he practiced law, and Libanius warmly commended some of his speeches at the bar. But he turned away, weary and disgusted, from the thousand corruptions of society and government. After his mother’s death, he went into retirement with several friends and spent several years in the close study of the Scriptures. Among other and greater results, it is said Chrysostom knew almost the whole Bible by heart. In these studies, they were directed by Diodorus, the head of a neighboring monastery, and afterward a bishop and author of long famous commentaries and other works.

Diodorus founded what then appeared to be a new school of biblical interpretation, a reaction from the well-known tendency of the older school of Alexandria. He shrank from allegorizing and held closely to “the literal and historical meaning of the text.” His copious writings have perished, except a few fragments. But Diodorus lives forever in his theological pupil, Chrysostom. It is among the greatest distinctions of Chrysostom that his interpretation is almost entirely free from the wild allegorizing that had been nearly universal ever since Origen. It is a delightful contrast to turn from the other great preachers of the time (including Augustine), with their loose interpretations and fanciful spiritualizing, to the straightforward, careful and usually sober interpretations of Chrysostom. His works are not only models of eloquence, but a treasury of exegesis. And for this, the world is mainly indebted to Diodorus. Chrysostom had much native good sense, it is true, but so had Athanasius, Basil, and Augustine. But Chrysostom’s early studies of Scripture were directed by a truly wise and able instructor; and his good sense enabled him to seize the just principles of interpretation set before him, to develop them still more ably, and to recommend them far more widely than the instructor himself.

Chrysostom’s Preaching

Chrysostom long shrank from the work of preaching and the office of priest, the difficulties and responsibilities of which he had so impressively stated in his little work on the priesthood. He wrote this and other valuable works while holding minor offices in the church, but was ordained and began preaching only at the age of thirty-nine. He died at sixty, after three years of exile. Thus, his actual career as a preacher lasted only eighteen years, twelve years at Antioch and six at Constantinople. In these years he preached almost daily, leaving about one thousand sermons (many of them reported by others) that have descended to us.

We cannot fully discuss the characteristics of Chrysostom’s preaching. It must be admitted that he is by no means always correct in his interpretations, particularly in the Old Testament, being ignorant of Hebrew, and often misled by the errors of the Septuagint. It must also be conceded that his style often wearies us by excessive copiousness, minute and long-drawn descriptions, multiplied comparisons, and piled-up imagery. But we must always remember that this did not look to excited throngs as it does to us. Under such circumstances, a certain rhetorical exaggeration and exuberance seems natural, as a statue placed high upon a pillar must be bigger than life-size.

But admit what you please, criticize as you please, and the fact remains that Chrysostom has never had a superior, and it may be gravely doubted whether he has had an equal in the history of preaching. He does not, it is true, show such consummate art as the great Greek orator Demosthenes. But the finish and repose of high art is scarcely possible, and scarcely desirable, in addressing the preacher’s heterogeneous audiences, comprising persons so different as to culture and interest in the subject. Demosthenes has everywhere a style as elegant and purely simple as the Venus de Medici or the Parthenon; Chrysostom approaches in the exuberance of fancy, in the multiplication of images and illustrations, and in curiously varied repetitions, to a Gothic cathedral. Demosthenes is like the Greek tragic drama, strictly conformed to the three unities; Chrysostom is more like the romantic drama. I cannot say like Shakespeare—the Shakespeare of preachers has not yet appeared. But why should one not someday appear? One who can touch every chord of human feeling, treat every interest of human life, draw an illustration from every object and relation of the known universe, and use all to gain acceptance and obedience for the gospel of salvation? No preacher has ever come nearer to this than Chrysostom, perhaps none, on the whole, so near.

A Syrian Greek and a Christian Greek, Chrysostom, in no small measure, combine the Asiatic and the European, the ancient and the modern. The rich style and blazing passion of an Asiatic is united with the power of intellect and energy of will that marks Europeans; while the finish and simplicity of Greek art are not so much lacking as lost in the many-sidedness of Christian thought and Christian heart. His style certainly ranges the whole gamut of expression. While it is generally elevated, often magnificent, and sometimes extravagant, it occasionally becomes homely and rough as he lays bare human follies and vices. Chrysostom is undoubtedly the prince of expository preachers. And he has very rarely been equaled in the treatment of moral subjects.

Worship in the Byzantine Churches

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The churches in the Byzantine tradition are those with an historic relationship to the church of Constantinople (originally Byzantium); they are familiar to North Americans as the Orthodox churches (among them the Greek and Russian). The Byzantine rite is complex and proceeds as two interwoven liturgies, one conducted with the congregation and the other performed by the celebrants behind the icon screen (iconostasis) that separates the altar from the rest of the church. The dominant theme of this liturgical tradition is the presence of Christ, both in his incarnation and in his heavenly ministry.

The family of churches that follow the Byzantine rite is comprised of three groups: those directly linked to the see of Constantinople; those historically evangelized from the church of Constantinople, particularly Russia and the Slavic countries; and the contemporary national churches (e.g., the Orthodox Church in America, with links to the church of Moscow) which likewise claim the title Orthodox. Catholic Byzantine churches (in union with Rome) include Melkites, Ukrainians, Russian Catholics, and Ruthenians. Apart from very slight differences, both Orthodox and Catholics follow essentially the same liturgical rites. For the Eucharist three ritual forms are used: most commonly that attributed to St. John Chrysostom, occasionally that attributed to St. Basil of Caesarea (Cappadocia), and on some days during Lent a liturgy of the pre-sanctified gifts attributed to Gregory the Great. The liturgical texts cited here are from The Byzantine Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom (New York: Fordham University Russian Center, 1955).

The Liturgy

The Byzantine liturgy is a complex ritual form that evolved in several stages from the sixth to the fourteenth centuries. Structurally it has the form of two interwoven liturgies, that which is prayed in the sanctuary (holy of holies) by the bishop and priest concelebrants, with the assistance of the deacon, and that conducted by the deacon with the assembly in front of the icon screen. A third layer of prayers consists of private prayers of the priest who prays in support of the action of the deacon and the assembly. The icon screen, and indeed the iconic display throughout the church, are integral to the liturgical act. They provide a visual focus for contemplative prayer which itself is aided by the abundant mantra-style litanies which form the heart of the liturgical act of deacon and assembly. In some churches, a deacon is not regularly employed, though this obscures the structure and flow of the liturgy itself. The liturgy is an evolution of the West Syrian Antiochene tradition.

Introductory Rites. Two elaborate rites introduce the Byzantine liturgy: the proskomidia (preparation of gifts) and a collection of litanies, hymns, and prayers that are remnants of a liturgical office. The proskomidia is conducted by the priest and his assistants at a small table in the sanctuary; the three litanies are introduced and concluded by the priest and led by the deacon, with the assembly or the choir providing the antiphons and hymns.

The primary focus of the proskomidia is the round loaf of leavened bread bearing the letters IC XC NIKA (“Jesus Christ conquers”). The center square is cut and placed on the paten to represent Christ. From the rest, particles are cut and arranged in rows to honor Mary, the angels, the apostles, and the saints, and to commemorate the living and the dead. A particle is added for the priest himself. This whole represents the church: Christ, the Lamb, at the center gathering the church in heaven and the church on earth into one. The gifts are covered (the bread covered with the asterisk or “star of Bethlehem”), offered, and reverenced with incense. The sanctuary, the icon screen, the church, and the assembly are honored with incense as well.

The second introductory rite begins with the public prayer. It is introduced by the priest (“Blessed is the kingdom of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, now and always and forever and ever”) and consists of a long litany, with a prayer and antiphon, and two shorter litanies, also with prayer and antiphon. The hymn of the incarnation (“O only-begotten Son and Word of God … ”) is sung after the second antiphon.

The Liturgy of the Word. The liturgy of the Word once began with the entrance of the bishop. This is now the “Little Entrance,” with the gospel book representing Christ carried in solemn procession (“O come, let us worship and bow down to Christ. Save us, O Son of God, risen from the dead, save us who sing to You Alleluia”). Two seasonal hymns, the troparion and the kontakion, and the trisagion (the thrice-holy) precede the Scripture readings. After the Epistle and Gospel, the prayer of intercession (the insistent litany) and prayer for and dismissal of the catechumens bring the liturgy of the Word to a close.

Pre-anaphora. The pre-anaphora begins with a prayer of access to the altar (“We thank You, O Lord, Almighty God, for having allowed us to stand here now before Your holy altar … ”). This leads to the litany prayer of the faithful and the transfer of the gifts. Known as the “Great Entrance,” the transfer of the gifts is made in solemn procession while the choir sings the Cherubic Hymn (“Let us who here mystically represent the Cherubim in singing the thrice-holy hymn to the life-giving Trinity, now lay aside every earthly care so that we may welcome the King of the universe who comes escorted by invisible armies of angels”). The hymn is stopped halfway through so that the commemorations of the day may be announced. The gifts are placed on the altar and incensed, the priest prays the offering while the deacon and assembly sing the litany of the offering.

Anaphora. The greeting of peace and the creed precede the eucharistic prayer proper. This latter, though more elaborate, follows the standard West Syrian structure: narrative of thanksgiving, including the “Holy, Holy, Holy,” and narrative of institution; anamnēsis (“Remembering … we offer”); epiklēsis for consecration (“ … and make this bread the precious body of your Christ, and that which is in this chalice the precious blood of your Christ, having changed them by the Holy Spirit”); the commemorations and the final doxology.

The preparation for Communion consists of a litany of supplication, the Lord’s Prayer, a blessing of the assembly, the presentation of the Eucharist to the people (“Holy things for the Holy”), and a prayer of personal faith (“I believe, Lord, and profess that you are in truth the Christ … ”). Communion is distributed with a spoon or, in some churches where wafers are used, by intinction.

Concluding Prayers. The liturgy concludes with a thanksgiving, dismissal, and blessing. There are additional prayers as well, and frequently the Eucharist is immediately followed by one of the liturgical hours or other prayers. The liturgy thus concludes slowly and in stages.

Theology and Spirit

The theology and spirit of the Byzantine liturgy are as complex as its ritual form. Indeed the two evolved together, with perhaps a greater influence on each other than in any other liturgical tradition. It does have a single, strong theme: the presence of Christ. This presence, however, has many forms and many manifestations. It is at one and the same time the presence of Christ in the liturgical action and the presence of the liturgical assembly with Christ to the heavenly liturgy which is eternally enacted. The liturgical forms reveal this presence; so too does the iconic design of the liturgical space in which the liturgy unfolds.

Some sense of the evolution of this liturgy is required to understand its complex theology and spirit. Hans-Joachim Schulz (The Byzantine Liturgy [New York: Pueblo Publishing Co., 1986]) traces its successive stages from the time of John Chrysostom (a.d. 344–407) and Theodore of Mopsuestia to its fourteenth-century codification.

Chrysostom spoke of the liturgy as mystery, whereby heavenly realities are made manifest in human form. Theodore focused on the individual rites as imaging different aspects of the saving work of Christ (e.g., gifts on altar representing Christ in the tomb; epiklēsis as the resurrection). Special attention was given to Christ as “high priest” understood less in terms of “interceding” and more as “seated at the right hand of the Majesty in heaven.”

This theological (mystagogical) reading of the liturgical actions took a turn to the spiritual in Dionysius the Areopagite (sixth century), who “became the model for later Byzantine explicators” (Schulz, 25). Liturgical forms do indeed mediate salvation but they do so by unveiling a spiritual process that unfolds in a higher sphere. It is the reverse of Theodore’s stress on the actual liturgical forms making “present” Christ’s saving work.

Under Maximus the Confessor (d. a.d. 662) the church structure itself became “liturgical.” With the Hagia Sophia [in Constantinople] set as norm, the church building was envisioned as an image of the cosmos: two spheres, the earthly (the nave) and the heavenly (the sanctuary), not separated by, but bridged by the iconostasis. After the iconoclast controversy (eighth century) and the vindication of reverence to icons (Nicea II, a.d. 787), decoration of the icon screen and the church itself became part of the liturgical act. Schulz says of this middle Byzantine development:

In this decorative use of images, the Byzantine church structure shows itself to be what it had to be according to Dionysius’ vision of the world and what Maximus actually saw it as being: a copy of the cosmos that comprises heaven and earth, a cosmos ordered to Christ and filled with a cosmic liturgy. By reason of the images that adorn it the church itself henceforth becomes a liturgy, as it were, because it depicts the liturgico-sacramental presence of Christ, the angels, and the saints, and by depicting it shares in bringing it about. The iconography of the church also shows it to be the place in which the mysteries of the life of Christ are made present (p. 51).

The Byzantine liturgy exhibits this dual focus. The life-of-Jesus symbolism gives shape to the proskomidia which is interpreted as the birth, infancy and hidden life of Christ. It shows itself as the gifts are placed on the altar (“The venerable Joseph took down from the cross your immaculate body, and wrapping it in a clean shroud with sweet spices, he carefully laid it in a new grave”) and at the epiklēsis (“O Lord, who sent your most Holy Spirit upon your apostles at the third hour, do not, O gracious One, take him away from us, but renew us who pray to you”). The heavenly liturgy symbolism is expressed in the Great Entrance, with its Cherubic Hymn, and the prayer at the Little Entrance (“O holy God, who rests among the saints, whose praises are sung by the Seraphim with the hymn of the trisagion, who are glorified by the cherubim and adored by all the powers of heaven”). Both are integral to the iconic design of the liturgical space where, on the one hand, the Christos Pantokrator [visual portrayal of Christ Almighty], set majestically in the dome, looks down over all, and, on the other hand, the biblical events of Jesus’ life are set out in rich, visual display.

In several places, the Byzantine liturgy reveals itself as a public statement of Christian doctrine. The “Hymn of the Incarnation” (“O only-begotten Son and Word of God, though You are immortal, You condescended for our salvation to take flesh from the holy mother of God and ever-virgin Mary”) was introduced in the sixth century as a proclamation of the orthodox faith against the Nestorians. The wording of the epiklēsis (“ … having changed them by your Holy Spirit”) is a clear affirmation of the role of the Spirit as consecrator of the bread and wine, in contrast to the Western belief that it is Jesus’ own words, rather than the epiklēsis, that effect the consecration.

The liturgy conducted, mostly in silent prayer, by the bishop and priest concelebrants in the sanctuary is, by and large, the West Syrian liturgy. This liturgy is hidden from the assembly in silence, and occasionally by a drawn veil. The priest and his actions are part of the visual iconic display. The deacon is the primary link between these actions and the assembly, assisting the priest, announcing what is taking place, and leading the assembly in an appropriate litany prayer (e.g., during the offering: “For the precious gifts that are offered, let us pray to the Lord”). The experience of the assembly is not shaped by the intrinsic meaning of the various liturgical actions, but rather, as an aesthetico-religious contemplative experience, by the sensual environment composed of music, iconography, incense, and the various bodily movements (bows, signing oneself with the cross, kissing of icons, etc.) that are assigned to them. By entering into the assembly, they enter into a cosmos ruled by God and filled with mystery and are transported to that realm where the heavenly liturgy is eternally unfolding.