A Brief History of Dance in Worship

Christian dance has persisted throughout the history of the church, despite many official decrees against it. Christian churches that have incorporated dance and other stylized gestures in worship have benefited from a profound way of expressing their praise and enacting the gospel message. Dance as worship is one manifestation of the Spirit’s ongoing activity in the church.

The New Testament church was not born into a vacuum, but into a Jewish culture filled with heritage and saturated with rich traditions. T. W. Manson has commented: The first disciples were Jews by birth and upbringing, and it is a priori probable that they would bring into the new community some at least of the religious usages to which they had long been accustomed. (T. W. Manson, quoted in Ralph P. Martin, Worship in the Early Church [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1974], 19)

Christianity entered into a tradition of already existing patterns of worship, including music and dance, as found recorded in both the Bible and ancient writings.

King David danced exuberantly in God’s presence (2 Sam. 6), while Miriam the prophetess led the women to dance with tambourines in response to their mighty deliverance from the pursuing Egyptian army (Exod. 15). Women are seen dancing in Shiloh at a feast (Judg. 21:21–23) and before David as a response to his military victories (1 Sam. 29:5). Visual images show both the bride and the bridegroom dancing: he leaping in dance (Song 2:8) and she as two dancing companies or armies with banners (Song 6:13). The Psalter commands the dance (Ps. 149:3; Ps. 150:4).

Other writings provide accounts of dancing in Jewish history. The Mishna describes a major ceremony of Sukkot, the seventh and final feast of the Jewish sacred year celebrating God’s rains and the increase of crops. The ritual is called Nissuch Ha-Mayin, in Hebrew meaning the water drawing. “The water-drawing ceremony was a joyous occasion, replete with grand activity and high drama” (Mitch and Zhava Glaeser, The Fall Feasts of Israel [Chicago: Moody Press, 1987], 175). “Levitical priests, worshipers, liturgical flutists, trumpeters, and a crowd carrying lulax (branches) and etrog (fruit) celebrated together in a great display of symbolic activity and festival rejoicing” (Sukkah 5:1). It was probably the viewing of this ceremony to which Jesus makes reference in his great teaching on the outpouring of the Holy Spirit in John 7:37–39.

Another celebration, which occurred on the first night of the feast of Sukkot, was the illumination of the Temple. Enormous golden candlesticks were set up in the court of the women.

The mood was festive. Pious men, members of the Sanhedrin, and heads of the different religious schools would dance well into the night holding burning torches and singing songs of praise to God. (M. and Z. Glaeser, Fall Feasts of Israel, 182)

The Glaesers go on to report: “Not only did they play instruments with fervor, but the Levitical choir stood chanting and singing as the leaders of Israel danced” (M. and Z. Glaeser, Fall Feasts of Israel, 183).

Dr. Sam Sasser writes: Recognized Norwegian scholar Sigmund Mowinckel, in what is believed to be one of the best books written on the Psalms in Israel’s worship, and a standard text in most graduate schools and seminaries, notes in definition: “Together with song and music goes the dance, which is a common way of expressing the encounter with the body. The dance is a spontaneous human expression of the sense of rapture.… At a higher religious level it develops into an expression of the joy at the encounter with the Holy One, an act for the glory of God (2 Sam. 6:20ff). It behooves one to give such a visible and boisterous expression of the joy before Yahweh.” (Sam Sasser, The Priesthood of the Believer [Plano, Tex.: Fountain Gate Publishers], 111)

The church from A.D. 30 to A.D. 70 was undergoing transition. There was a separation from Temple worship, and those elements in the old covenant which would not be continued in the new covenant. The epistles and the book of Acts outline the forms and ceremonies of Judaic worship that would be eliminated in the church. Blood sacrifice (Heb. 9), Levitical priesthood (Heb. 7:11–28), the practice of circumcision (Acts 15:5, 28–29), and the keeping of new moons and Sabbaths (Col. 2:16–23) were to be discontinued. However, there is no commentary about discontinuing the use of musical instruments, singing, and dancing. Nowhere are these condemned or forbidden. On the contrary, the following Scriptures seem to indicate the continuing practice of inherited worship patterns (Col. 3:16; Eph. 5:19–20; Acts 15:13–16; 1 Cor. 5:13, 14:26).

It is noteworthy that historically the book of Psalms has been the basic hymnbook for the church and her worship patterns, as David Chilton describes: When the church sang the Psalms—not just little snatches of them, but comprehensively, through the whole Psalter—she was strong, healthy, aggressive, and could not be stopped. That’s why the devil has sought to keep us from singing the Psalms, to rob us of our inheritance. If we are to recapture the eschatology of dominion, we must reform the church; and a crucial aspect of that reformation should be a return to the singing of Psalms. (David Chilton, Paradise Restored [Tyler, Tex.: Reconstruction Press, 1985], 8-9)

Although Jewish tradition is replete with accounts of dancing, Ecclesiastes 3:1 and 4 states, “To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven / A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.” The New Testament church was soon to experience seasons of mourning and weeping. Lamentations 5:15 says: “The joy of our heart is ceased; our dance is turned to mourning.” Laughing and dancing would again find their season in the church as God brought times of restoration, healing, and revival. Jeremiah 31:4 promises, “Again I will build thee, and thou shalt be built, O virgin of Israel: thou shalt be adorned with thy tabrets, and shall go forth in the dances of them that make merry.”

Separation from Jewish heritage was not the only point of adaptation for the new church. Until the time of Constantine, a.d. 323, the church experienced extreme persecution at the hands of the Roman government. Christians were captured, used as human torches, compelled to fight in gladiatorial combat, and fed to lions in elaborate spectacles called Roman games. The games reflected the immoral decadence, monstrous abuses, unwieldy influence, and imperial sadism into which Rome had fallen. Incorporated into these games was the Roman dance, an art form borrowed from other cultures, mainly Greek, and consigned to slaves.

Christians had seen their friends and fathers martyred in amphitheaters where their agony was merely a prelude to, or an incident in, the shows. That the church Fathers would honestly have denied any desire to employ consciously a trace of taint from Roman spectacle we have no reason to doubt. Church history is full of the courageous and violent denunciations that the early Fathers launched against the shows.

As early as a.d. 300 a council at Elvera decided that no person in any way connected with circus or pantomime could be baptized. In 398, at the Council of Carthage, a rule was established excommunicating anyone who attended the theater on holy days (Lincoln Kirstein, Dance: A Short History of Classic Theatrical Dancing [Little Rock: Revival Press, 1982], 59-60).

Although church history of the first millennium finds the weight of evidence to be in opposition to dance, there are quotes from writings of the church fathers which indicate some trace of dancing remained in the Christian church.

  • “Of those in heaven and those on earth, a unison is made, one General Assembly, one single service of thanksgiving, one single transport of rejoicing, one joyous dance.” Chrysostom (a.d. 386)
  • “Everything is right when it springs from the fear of the Lord. Let’s dance as David did. Let’s not be ashamed to show adoration of God. Dance uplifts the body above the earth into the heavenlies. Dance bound up with faith is a testimony to the living grace of God. He who dances as David dances, dances in grace.” Ambrose (a.d. 390)
  • “To keep the sacred dances, discipline is most severe.” Augustine (a.d. 394)
  • “Could there be anything more blessed than to imitate on earth the dance of angels and saints? To join our voices in prayer and song to glorify the risen creator.” Bishop of Caesarea (a.d. 407)
  • “I see dance as a virtue in harmony with power from above.” Thodoret (a.d. 430)
  • “Dance as David danced.” Bishop of Milan (a.d. 600)
  • “Dance as David to true refreshment of The Ark which I consider to be the approach to God, the swift encircling steps in the manner of mystery.” St. Gregory of Nazianzus (a.d. 600) (all quoted from Debbie Roberts, Rejoice: A Biblical Study of the Dance [Little Rock: Revival Press, 1982], 39-40)

In his book on dance, Lincoln Kirstein records a few examples of dancing in Christian churches: The Abbot Meletius, an Englishman, upon the advice of the first Gregory, permitted dancing in his churches up to 604.… The Jesuit father Menestrier, whose history of dancing published in 1682 is full of valuable data about his own time as well as of curious earlier tales, tells of seeing in certain Parish churches the senior canon leading choirboys in a round dance during the singing of the psalm. The Parish Liturgy reads “Le chanoine ballera au premier psaume.” (“The canon will dance to the first psalm.”) (Kirstein, Dance, 63)

Continuing in this vein, Kirstein records three more examples: Scaliger said the first Roman bishops were called praesuls and they led a sacred “dance” around altars at festivals. Theodosius says that Christians of Antioch danced in church and in front of martyrs’ tombs. Los Seises, the dancing youths of the Cathedral of Seville, whose annual performance on the feasts of Corpus Christi and the Immaculate Conception was connected with the ancient Mozarabic rite, are often described as ritual dancers, though their dance was really an independent votive act, peculiar to the towns of Seville and Toledo. (Ibid.)

The writings of Augustine in the fourth century issue a complaint against dancing: It is preferable to till the soil and to dig ditches on the day of the Lord than to dance a choreic reigen. Oh, how times and manners change! What once was the business of lute players and shameless women only, namely to sing and to play, this is now considered an honor among Christian virgins and matrons who even engage masters in their art to teach them. (Walter Sorell, The Dance through the Ages [New York: Grosset and Dunlap, 1967], 36)

On the one hand, condemned and on the other hand embraced, dance seems to have never completely disappeared from church history. Especially in the Mediterranean countries and the Orient, people never gave up dancing. Here, the clergy applied less coercive measures to restrain dance. However, taking the gospel to the north, the clergy had an uphill struggle to uproot the rituals and pagan rites.

With the Christian way of life taking root, the heathen quality was lost, but the people retained what they liked about the old way. How many things in which we still indulge nowadays have their roots in ancient pagan rituals, such as the idea of a June bridge, Halloween, or Yuletide! Or who would think today of the Maypole as a phallic symbol and of the dance around it as a fertility dance? (Ibid., 38)

Although dance was more often condemned by the millennium church than sanctioned, there were exceptions. As Alordyce Nicole writes, in his exhaustive work on the period, had this been actually enforced half of Christendom, including a section of the clergy, would have been out of communion with the church.… From East to West, in Constantinople, in Antioch, in Alexandria, in Rome, the mimic drama flourished, uniting together old pagans and new Christians in the one common enjoyment of pure secularism. (Kirstein, Dance, 60)

Because of the increase in heresy, the leaders desired more centralization of authority and a set pattern of doctrine. A series of traceable events, beyond the scope of this article, gave rise to priestly class and eventually the formation of the Roman Catholic church.

From the scriptural position of the priesthood of all believers there grew up a distinct priestly class.… The early leaders warned against falling from this idea, but soon a priestly class was developed and the priests began to do things for common Christians that, they were told, they could not do for themselves. This was not only a retrogression to Jewish days, but was also a compromise with paganism. If the ministers were to be priests they had to interpret the items of worship in such a way as to give themselves special functions and to justify their position.… Along with these developments was a general increase of ceremonialism. Simple services became ritualistic. (F. W. Mattox, The Eternal Kingdom [Delight, Ark.: Gospel Light Publishing House, 1961], 151)

Combining the practice of asceticism and the sharp cleavage between clergy and laity, this period finds little expression of dance in the church; and what can be found is in the ceremony and service of the priests. Hence, the rise of the Mass. The Mass is based on Christ’s passion. It is called Eucharist or Thanksgiving, since those celebrating give thanks for the bread and wine. The Mass continued to be arranged until it supported “an astonishing exuberance of minute detail, each tiny point related to a central truth of the religion” (Kirstein, Dance, 70).

The expression of one’s beliefs and feelings through movement is the very foundation of dance. Though the worship form of dance was removed from the people and repressed in the priesthood, the basic elements of dance found its expression in the Mass. It is the indirect contribution of the Mass with which we are occupied but even so, there were definite preordained movements and postures for the participants. However, we do not infer nor should we “easily assume that basilicas were sacred opera houses, or the Mass was a holy pantomime” (Ibid., 67). But dancing as a form of worship is not an isolated phenomenon or an ancient relic of our distant Hebraic ancestors. Therefore, we must understand the forms worship may take when it emerges as the dance.

  • Outside the walls of the church, people were still expressing religion in dance, although their belief was more a fear of death than faith in the living God that prompted Israel’s dance.
  • In no other epoch besides the late Middle Ages has the dance been more indicative of social phenomena. It reflected frightening aspects of the plague and the fear of death.
  • At Christian festivals people would suddenly begin to sing and dance in churchyards, disturbing divine service.
  • Hans Christian Anderson tells of little Karen who was cursed to dance without stopping and who could not find rest until the executioner cut off her feet. (Sorell, Dance through the Ages, 40, 42)

The church leaders tried to stamp out these obscene dances, which often began in the churchyard cemetery with people dancing around tombstones then moving through the town attracting more and more people as they went. This dance, also known as the dance macabre, reached a climax as the bubonic plague swept Europe in the fourteenth century. These dances of violent nature occurred everywhere. In Germany, they were called St. Vitus’ dance. In Italy, it was called tarantella and these dances indicated the tenor of life, particularly during the period of the plague (Ibid., 40).

The clergy maintained that the millennium would be the day of reckoning, Judgment Day. When the year 1000 passed without any visible changes, some of the fear subsided.

The Church remained powerful and the spirit of medievalism lingered on, even while man awakened to new inner freedom. From the crudeness of his carnal lust and mortal fear of it, he escaped into chivalry; checking his growing freedom, he forced himself into the straitjacket of ideal codes. (Sorell, Dance through the Ages, 39)

The fourteenth-century introduced more change for the world and the church with the beginning of the Renaissance, the great revival of art and learning in Europe in the fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries. The world was revolting to set the soul and body free.

Above all, Renaissance man had a visual mind, as his accomplishments in printing, sculpture, and architecture prove. The eye became used to seeing in patterns. And it was a geometric design that inspired the first attempts at ballet. (Ibid., 90)

The Renaissance, emphasizing the dignity of the human person, laid the foundation for independence of thought which eventually broke the grip of Catholic theology. A revitalized interest in the study of the Scriptures caused people to be aware that the New Testament church was vastly different from the church in existence in Western Europe.

The religious and moral corruptions now could be effectively combated because of the intellectual freedom which had been encouraged by the Renaissance. Men began to see in the Scripture that the claims of the clergy were unfounded, and with a new intellectual basis for their criticism, ideas of opposition to the hierarchy spread rapidly. (F. W. Mattox, Eternal Kingdom, 240)

The sixteenth-century began the Reformation. Notable leaders sought to eliminate the unscriptural doctrines and practices of the Catholic church and, through reforms, return the church to New Testament patterns. One of the first reformers was Martin Luther (1483–1546). Along with emphasizing justification by faith, Luther stressed the priesthood of all believers. This was a preeminent step to releasing the people to express their worship unto God, which would eventually release all the Davidic expressions of praise, including dance.

John Calvin (1509–1564) was a leader of the Reformation in Switzerland who laid down principles that have influenced a large part of the Protestant world today.

The church of Luther experienced and preached the ideal of renunciation of the world more strongly than the Reformed church, which desires to proclaim the glory of God in all areas of life. The Reformed Churches do not view this world as a vale of tears but as the vineyard of the Lord, which is to be cultivated. They do not shun the world, but meet it, accepting the danger of becoming secularized in order to magnify God’s name within it and by its means. Thus in the last analysis, they subject nothing to a judgment of absolute condemnation. Everything must and can serve to the glorification of God, even art. We may recall the thought of the Neo-Calvinist Abraham Kuyper. Basically, the art of the dance should also be capable of being incorporated into the service of God. (Gerardus Van Der Leeuw, Religion in Essence and Manifestation [Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1986], 51-52)

Writings on the Renaissance and Reformation periods are scattered with accounts of a revitalized interest in dance in the church. Giovanni Boelaccio of the fourteenth century mentioned the carole, a dance in a ring to singing voices, originally performed in May only, but whose popularity grew until the carole was sung and danced throughout the year.

Variations of the carole arose everywhere. The minnesingers in Germany called it Springtang and put into it a great many hops and small leaps.… The people identified the carole—today known only as a Christmas song—with religious images as they appear in many “Last Judgment” paintings of the early Renaissance which show angels in heaven enjoying a carole. (Sorell, Dance through the Ages, 41)

The varied artistic styles of the Renaissance reflect the concept of dancing in the heavens. The works of Leonardo da Vinci pictured the entire cosmic order as dancing. Dante, a famous writer, poet, moral philosopher, and political thinker of his day saw the dance of the saints in heaven.

When those bright suns so gloriously singing
Had circled three items ‘round about us turning,
Like stars which closely ‘round the pole go swinging,
They seemed like women who are not yet willing
To dance, but to the melody stand clinging
While the new rhythm mind and ear is filling.
(Van Der Leeuw, Religion, 30)

The works of Vondel reveal the same visual imagery:

… for the guests so merry
At the wedding, must not rest,
Since their dance is necessary.
Heaven holds no ghost nor quest
Who with holy dance and singing
Does not spend eternity.…
(Van Der Leeuw, Religion, 30)

Vondel also sees how the church dances with God:

As air through many organ pipes is guided
One spirit is to many tongues divided,
In equal time through a field of equal sound,
Where Church and God together dance the sound.
The angel hosts from heaven’s height descending
Dance deeply down, our sacrifice attending,
About Christ’s body on His altar-stone.…
(Van Der Leeuw, Religion, 30)

Apparently, the prevailing philosophy embraced dancing in heaven. “To die on earth as a martyr brings heavenly joy.… In Fra Angelico’s The Last Judgment, the virgins and martyrs dance the heavenly dance” (Van Der Leeuw, Religion, 68). Luther, describing heaven’s garden for his young song, portrays “a small beautiful meadow, which was arrayed for a dance. There hung lutes, pipes, trumpets, and beautiful silver cymbals” (Van Der Leeuw, Religion, 68). Although the church may have somewhat embraced the concept of dancing in heaven, the practice of dancing on earth was, for the most part, shunned if not declared anathema.

No longer under the heavy restraints of the church, Renaissance society was, therefore, dancing. Two opposite poles of dance developed in Europe between the twelfth and fourteenth centuries: the peasants, or the populace at large, stood for the earthiness and crude joy, while the nobility replaced the primary impulses with refinement and polish. “The court dance was subjected more and more to rules. Contributing to this development was, no doubt, the reliance of the nobility on professional entertainers” (Sorrel, Dance through the Ages, 45).

Further refinements and more popularity came to dance because of Catherine de Medici, a daughter of a great house in Italy who came to France to marry Henry II. “She brought with her a company of musicians and dancers from her native city of Florence to supervise her artistic presentations, and highly impressive they were” (John Martin, The Book of Dance [New York: Tudor Publishing Company, 1963], 26). In 1581, with the expertise of Balthasar de Beaujoyeux (an Italian by birth though bearing a French name), Catherine de Medici produced what is considered the first ballet, Ballet Comigue de la Rein.

The populace was also dancing. Folk dances such as the egg dance, the country Thread-the-Needle, and ring-shaped or choral dances grew in popularity. Labyrinth dances signifying resurrection themes were popular in many parts of the world, sometimes even being incorporated into Christian holidays. At Easter, in the province of Twente, in Oatmarsum, the children danced or processed through the entire town in a serpentine motion singing a very old Easter song:

Hallelujah! The happy melody
Is now sung loud and prettily.
Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

This dance is sluip-door-kruip-door in Dutch, Magdeburger in German, forandole in French, and the cramignon of Limburg. These also had two other names, taken from Biblical antiquity and the classics: Jericho and labyrinth.

From the Reformation period until the present, the church has experienced many spiritual awakenings or revivals, including the restoration of many New Testament truths. The energies of the clergy, theologians, and even whole denominations has been to embrace and preserve the truths that were being revealed. If the loss of truth or the embrace of heresy propelled the church into the dark ages (which is the prevailing philosophy of church historians), then the converse is also true. Embracing truth is responsible for returning the church to her calling, commission, and glory. Scripture compares truth to walls and salvation (Isa. 26:11; 60:18; Ps. 51:18). The rebuilding of truth is analogous to the rebuilding of the walls of Jerusalem after captivity, defeat, and judgment (Ezra 9:9; Neh. 2:17; Isa. 26:1). In Israel of old, such restoration was the promised season of release, rejoicing, and dance (Jer. 31:1–13; Neh. 7:1; 12:27–30). Likewise, as the church has experienced reforming and rebuilding, rejoicing and dancing have accompanied each season of restoration. (Below you will find quotes from various revival periods and special religious sects that validate this view.)

A unique group called the Shakers was founded in England in 1747. The term Shaker came from the rapid up-and-down movement of their hands, mostly in their wrists. Shaking the hands with the palms turned upward as if to receive a blessing meant they were expressing the open petition, “Come, life Eternal.” Shaking of the hands with the palms turned downward to the floor was a symbolic motion that they were shaking out all that was carnal.

The Shakers believed that by keeping their inner and outer lives in perfect order they were reflecting the perfect order of God’s kingdom. The practicing Shaker was held accountable to his religion when he stepped out of bed, when he dressed, when he ate when he spoke, and when he worked. Worldly lusts were suppressed by rules: carnality was held at bay by a dress code that insured modesty, by a series of orders restricting the body’s movements and appetites, and by architectural designs that segregated the sexes. Unity was enforced by the requirements of obedience—the submission of the individual to the authority of God’s appointed leaders.

On Sundays the Shakers danced to the honor of God. Their worship—in vivid contrast to the restrained order of their weekday lives—was an exuberant spectacle that veered unpredictably through many hours of the day. Formal dances could at any time break off into spontaneous displays of whirling, weeping, and shaking. Scathing or uplifting sermons were delivered extemporaneously by the elders, or by individual worshipers who were suddenly seized by the power of God and compelled to speak. Throngs of spectators—“the world’s people”—packed the little meetinghouses to be entertained, shocked, or inspired. No one who witnessed Shaker worship, whether horrified or enraptured, ever forgot it.

The first ordered dance of the Shakers, the “Square Order Shuffle” was introduced by Joseph Meacham about 1785. In 1820 a variation was introduced, men and women shuffled forward and backward in a series of parallel lines, weaving, in imaginative designs, a fabric of union and love.

A 19th Century American engraving called “Shakers Dancing” can be seen at the Dance Collection, Performing Arts Research Center, The New York Public Library at Lincoln Center. (Amy Stechler Burns and Ken Burns, “The Shakers,” American History Illustrated [Summer 1988], 27)

During the early 1800s in the slave community, dance was an important part of their worship. A syncretism of African and conventional Western religious beliefs, the praise meeting in the quarters was unique in the United States. While whites might be carried away by religious frenzy at occasional “awakenings,” slaves had an even more intense emotional involvement with their God every week. In contrast to most white churches, a meeting in the quarters was the scene of perpetual motion and constant singing. Robert Anderson recalled that in meetings on his plantation there was much singing. He noted, “While singing these songs, the singers and the entire congregation kept time to the music by the swaying of their bodies, or by the patting of the foot or hand. Practically all of their songs were accompanied by a motion of some kind.” A black plantation preacher testified to the uniqueness of the religion in the quarters when he asserted: “The way in which we worshiped is almost indescribable. The singing was accompanied by a certain ecstasy of motion, clapping of hands, tossing of heads, which would continue without cessation about half an hour; one would lead off in a kind of recitative style, others joining in the chorus. The old house partook of the ecstasy; it rang with their jubilant shouts, and shook in all its joints (John W. Blassingame, The Slave Community [New York: Oxford, 1972]: 27). Two outstanding features of the slave community worship were the “ring shout” and the “juba.” H. G. Spaulding gave an excellent description of the “shout” on the Sea Islands in 1863:

After the praise meeting is over, there usually follows the very singular and impressive performance of the “Shout” or religious dance of the negroes. Three or four, standing still, clapping their hands and beating time with their feet, commence singing in unison one of the peculiar shout melodies, while the others walk round in a ring, in single file, joining also in the song. Soon those in the ring leave off their singing, the others keeping it up the while with increased vigor, and strike into the shout step, observing most accurate time with the music. This step is something halfway between a shuffle and a dance, as difficult for an uninitiated person to describe as to imitate. At the end of each stanza of the song the dancers stop short with a slight stamp on the last note, and then, putting the other foot forward, proceed through the next verse.… The shout is a simple outburst and manifestation of religious fervor—a “rejoicing in the Lord”—making a “joyful noise unto the God of their salvation.” (Blassingame, Slave Community, 65–66)

Accompanying their singing was the practice of the “patting juba.”

When slaves had no musical instruments they achieved a high degree of rhythmic complexity by clapping their hands. Solomon Northup, an accomplished slave musician, observed that in juba the clapping involved “striking the hands on the knees, then stroking the hands together, then stroking the right shoulder with one hand, the left with the other—all the while keeping time with the feet, and singing.… ” Often the rhythmic patterns used in juba were little short of amazing. After viewing a performance in Georgia in 1841, a traveler from Rhode Island observed that, while the slaves were patting juba, it was “really astonishing to witness the rapidity of their motions, their accurate time, and the precision of their music and dance.” (Ibid.)

The world was in a period of change. The Industrial Revolution followed the Reformation changing the character of life as people had known it. Likewise, the reformers continued to bring change to the church. The late 1800s produced a church concerned about holiness, some Christians even seeking a second work of grace called sanctification. Holiness evangelist, pastor, and church leader Ambrose Blackman Crumper, a licensed Methodist Episcopal preacher, was determined to establish the holiness message in his native state of North Carolina. “Everywhere he went, people shouted, danced before the Lord, and ‘fell under the Spirit’ when they received the second blessing.”

The Holiness movement spawned the great outpouring of the Holy Spirit at the turn of the century. Pentecostalism was born on Azusa Street, prompted in part by the Great Welsh Revival. Seekers of the baptism of the Holy Spirit would receive the gift of tongues. “Dancing in the spirit” was often a regular happening at their meetings. Dancing in the spirit is physical movement akin to dancing, presumably done while under the influence and control of the Holy Spirit. “Most older Pentecostal believers who have participated in spiritual revivals over a period of years have witnessed what is known as ‘dancing in the spirit’ ” (Stanley M. Burgess and Gary B. McGee, eds., Dictionary of Pentecostal and Charismatic Movements [Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1988], 236). According to the Dictionary of Pentecostal and Charismatic Movements, various phrases applied to the dance movements observed in the Pentecostal believers included: holy roller, orgiastic worship, physical agitation, physically demonstrated praises, orgasmic worship, noisy and expressive worship, holy jumpers, and others.

Dancing is a phenomenon closely tied to the fresh encounters with God found in the message of sanctification, baptism of the Holy Spirit, or healing revivals. One famous woman healing evangelist, Maria Woodworth-Etter, whose meetings journal has many accounts of people dancing, had this to say on the subject:

David danced with all his might before the Lord. The word is full of dancing. Where dancing in the Bible is mentioned, it always signified victory for the Lord’s hosts. It was always done to glorify God. The Lord placed the spirit of power and love of the dance in the Church, and wherever the Scripture speaks of dancing it implies that they danced in inspiration, and were moved by the Spirit, and the Lord was always pleased and smiled His approval, but the devil stole it away and made capital of it. In these last days, when God is pouring out His Spirit in great cloudbursts and tidal waves from the floodgates of Heaven, and the great river of life is flooding our spirit and body, and baptizing us with fire and resurrection life, and divine energy, the Lord is doing His acts, His strange acts, and dancing in the Spirit and speaking in other tongues, and many other operations and gifts. The Holy Ghost is confirming the last message of the coming King, with great signs and wonders, and miracles. If you read carefully what the Scripture says about dancing, you will be surprised and will see that singing, music, and dancing has a humble and holy place in the Lord’s Church.… All the great company was blessed but Michael, and she was stricken with barrenness till the day of her death, so you see she sinned in making light of the power of God in the holy dance (just as some do today), and attributed it to the flesh or the devil. They always lost out, and many are in darkness till death. (Maria Woodworth-Etter, A Diary of Signs and Wonders [Tulsa: Harrison House, 1981], 524-525)

The Pentecostal revival was not limited to the United States, but spread quickly to the European continent, bringing with it the Holy Spirit’s gifts, anointing, and also the dance. Between the two world wars, a revival of Christian drama won wide popularity, especially in Germany.

I shall never forget seeing one of these bands of German young people as they produced a thrilling version of the Totentanz (Dance of Death) before a Chinese student-group in Peking. Being chiefly a dance, with music but no words, it spoke an international language; and the intensity of the emotion among these oriental and largely non-Christian observers aroused by this European and thoroughly Christian play was surprising and extraordinary. (Richard H. Ritter, The Arts of the Church [Boston: The Pilgrim Press, 1947], 97-98)

From that time until the present day, dancing has been incorporated by many evangelistic groups. Currently, two outstanding examples are YWAM (Youth With A Mission), founded by Loren Cunningham, and Toymaker’s Dream by Impact Productions. The year 1948 hosted another outpouring of the Holy Spirit known as the Latter Rain Movement. With a strong emphasis on the gifts of the Holy Spirit, laying on of hands, and prophecy, this visitation, like earlier revivals, hosted manifestations of spiritual dancing. Rev. Charlotte Baker, a modern-day prophet and anointed teacher, comments on that outpouring in her book On Eagle’s Wings: “Dancing is not new to the Christian who is familiar with worship in the realm of Pentecostal churches. Since the outpouring of the Holy Spirit at the turn of the century, dancing in the Spirit has been a part of Pentecostal praise and worship.” However, a shift began to take place in the understanding of teachers such as Charlotte Baker. Although not doubting the validity of dancing while yielded to the Holy Spirit’s influence, she and others also believed dancing as a voluntary act is a true act of worship. She goes on to comment:

It must be noted, however, “dancing in the Spirit,” the term which has been so widely used throughout the years, is not found in God’s Word. Careful study of the Word reveals that the appropriate expression is dancing before the Lord. For example, David danced before the Lord with all his might at the time of the return of the Ark of the Covenant to Israel. “Dancing in the Spirit” suggests that the Holy Spirit takes hold of the Christian, causing him or her to enter into uncontrollable motions and contortions, all supposedly manifestations of the Spirit. “Dancing before the Lord” suggests the worshiper’s strength, training, and expertise as fully under the control of the dancer, who expresses worship and joy in actions and steps which bring pleasure to the heart of God. While it is true that the believer is admonished to “leap for joy,” it is also true that there are many Scriptures that indicate that intricate steps, marches, group dances, twirling, and twisting were part of the expression of the dance. There is a growing conviction among the people of God that He is most pleased when we offer to Him, as an act of worship, all of our ability whether it be in art, in the dance, or in any other creative expression with which the Lord has blessed us. Every activity of life is designed to become an act of worship. In the past five years, we have seen many gifted dancers come to Jesus for salvation and add to the Body of Christ a wonderful ability to express, in an excellent manner, their worship unto Him in dance. Just as there are those who have been given the ability to sing and to edify the Body through excellence in song, so are there those who have been given the ability to pour out to God a similar ministry through the dance. Room should be made within the worship structure of the Church for the full expression of each individual; such expression should always remain within the confines of the Word and under the leadership of the ministries. (Charlotte E. Baker, On Eagle’s Wings [Shippensburg, Pa.: Destiny Image Publishers, 1990], 101-102)

In the 1950s and 60s, a few churches pioneered new territory in choreographed dancing, pageants, dance troupes, and trained artists. Among these was The King’s Temple in Seattle, Washington, pastored by Rev. Charlotte Baker, a disciple of the late Reg. Layzell, and Living Waters Fellowship in Pasadena, California, pastored by Willard and Ione Glaeser.

By the early 1960s, the charismatic renewal movement was building momentum, sweeping people from every denomination into the outpouring of the Holy Spirit. An outstanding feature of the charismatic meetings was the importance placed on singing Psalms and other Scriptures. “The rise of singing psalms and Scripture songs, as well as the rebirth of dance in worship, in the charismatic movement is directly attributed to Old Testament examples” (Burgess and McGee, Dictionary of Pentecostal and Charismatic Movements, 689). Exuberance and freshness marked the worship services: “As in the early days of the Pentecostal revival, it is not unusual to find charismatic worshipers singing, shouting, clapping hands, leaping and even dancing before the Lord as they offer him sincere praise and thanksgiving” (Burgess and McGee, Dictionary of Pentecostal and Charismatic Movements, 693).

In 1978 God raised up four men—Rev. Larry Dempsey, Rev. Barry Griffing, Rev. Steve Griffing, and Rev. David Fisher—to begin a teaching worship conference called the International Worship Symposium. This worship seminar, along with one of its offshoots, and the International Feast of Tabernacles Celebration in Jerusalem have done much to encourage local assemblies to begin creative worship in the area of dance.

Dancing in churches currently ranges from simple folk style steps in which whole congregations participate, to traveling professional artists such as Ballet Magnificat. Liturgical dance, the name having been just recently coined to identify the style of dance, is becoming more common.

Practiced by liturgical artists, dance serves and functions as a conduit from the inner workings of the spirit to the outer expression of today’s worship.… dances for the liturgy change with the seasons: fall, winter, spring, and summer match advent, Christmas/Epiphany, Lent/Easter, and Pentecost. Becoming immersed in the cyclical process, a dancer discovers that he or she has become a student of religion. Dances are designed from personal reflections on the spirituality of the liturgical season. Scripture and prayer, mingled with the urgings of the dancer’s soul, and enriched by the experience of life, are shaped through the medium of dance. (Doug Adams and Diane Apostolos-Cappodona, eds., Dance as Religious Studies [New York: Crossroad, 1990], 153-154)

It appears that there is an inescapable link with restoration and rejoicing, with rebuilding and responding—“going forth in the dances of them that make merry” (Jer. 31:4). Indeed “to everything, there is a season.” The season of weeping over our spiritual captivity has come to an end, for He has “turned our mourning into dancing.”

Historical and Theological Perspectives on Acoustics for the Worship Space

One of the most important aspects of the worship space is its acoustical properties. This is so because of the importance of sounds in worship, the sound of verbal proclamation and musical prayer and praise.

“What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor human heart conceived, what God has prepared for those who love Him, God has revealed to us through the Spirit” (1 Cor. 2:9–10).

On a visit to the city of Meissen, Saxony, in early May of 1985, I was given an opportunity to tour the magnificent Gothic cathedral, the construction of which was begun in the year 1260 and largely completed late in the 15th century when the lower portions of the west towers were built by Arnold of Westfaha (Cf. Paul Liebe and Hermann Klemm, Meissen: Der Dom und seine Geschichte [Berlin: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, n.d.], pp. 11–36). The woman who guided us through the cathedral began the tour by saying, “We would not build a building for the church like this today because we have a different understanding of the church.” What a church understands itself to be determines what kind of building it builds and, simultaneously, what kind of acoustical requirements it expects of its building.

Our guide in Meissen was giving simple expression to an observation by French sociologist Emile Durkhelm (1858–1917), who said, “A society is not simply the mass of individuals that comprise it, nor the territory it occupies, nor the things it uses, nor the movements it carries out, but above all it is the idea that it has of itself (Quoted by Leonardo Boff, Church: Charism and Power [New York: Crossroad, 1986], 41). The idea that the medieval church had of itself was that of “salvation institution,” a society whose leaders could confer salvation upon its individual members, provided that those members fulfilled the minimum conditions required for salvation (Cf. Avery Dulles, Models of the Church [Garden City, New York: Doubleday and Company, Inc., 1974], 31-39). Since the minimum conditions required for salvation consisted of participation in certain sacraments, the buildings constructed in the high Middle Ages were intended for the administration of baptism and the medieval Mass. Baptism was administered outside of the gathered congregation, usually with no more than family members and friends in attendance. No attention to acoustics was required for its administration.

Buildings were constructed chiefly for the administration of the medieval Mass, the main sacrament for the congregation assembled on Sundays and Holy Days. Although the mass was “said” or—on festive occasions—“sung,” it was meant to be primarily a visual event rather than an audible event. It was mean to be seen, not heard. Bard Thompson has described the “three conceptions” that attained prominence in the Middle Ages: (1) the Mass as an “epiphany” or God amongst men, which focused attention upon the reality of the eucharistic presence, upon the consecration at which it occurred, and upon the priest by whose action it was effected; (2) the Mass as a sacrifice offered unto God for the benefit of the living and the dead; and (3) the Mass as an allegorical drama of the whole economy of redemption (see Bard Thompson, Liturgies of the Western Church [Cleveland: The World Publishing Company, 1961], 48).

Even though the events were available to the eye, the Mass was directed toward God, not toward the congregation. The “drama” of Christ’s sacrifice upon the cross was once again offered to God by means of the “consecration,” which transformed the elements of bread and wine into Christ’s sacrificed body and shed blood. Because the consecrated bread, now Christ’s body, could be preserved in more or less elaborate tabernacles, the building became literally “the House of God.” The ever-burning lamp indicated the location of God, who was there, available for the prayers and devotions of the individual worshiper.

The Lutheran Reformation of the sixteenth century articulated a different understanding of the church with very significant implications for the spaces that such an understanding required. The Augsburg Confession defined the church as “the assembly of all believers among whom the Gospel is preached in its purity and the holy sacraments are administered according to the Gospel” (Theodore G. Tappert, ed., The Book of Concord [Philadelphia: Muhlenberg, 1959], 32). The focus here was not on the leadership of the community but on the baptized people. They were regarded as visible, available to the eye when they gathered. Their gathering was identified as “church” by what took place when they gathered, namely, the proclamation of the Christian good news and the administration of the “holy sacraments” identified and defined by that Christian good news. The primary sacrament that took place in the gathering of the baptized people was the Holy Eucharist. But in the Christian gospel, as the Lutheran Reformation understood it, the Holy Eucharist was not directed toward God as a re-presentation of Christ’s sacrifice. It was directed toward the people as God’s good news to them that the great benefit of Christ’s sacrifice is for them. It was available to them here and now in the promise of Christ to be present as the One who was crucified for them, namely the promise to give them his body and blood under the forms of bread and wine for their forgiveness, life, and salvation.

Both proclamation and Eucharist were meant for the ear as well as for the eye. The buildings of the Christian community were no longer to be understood as houses for God. They were to be houses for the People of God, spaces in which they would be addressed by the Word of God and participate in a sacrament in which the presence of God was promised to them through bread and wine, which they were to eat and drink. Hence Luther could say that “the church is a Mundhaus, the place of the mouth and salutary speech, not a Federhaus, the domain of the scribe” (Cited by David Lotz, “The Proclamation of the World in Luther’s Thought,” Word and World 3:4 [Fall 1983]: 347). In Luther’s own words:

The gospel should really not be something written, but a spoken word that brought forth the Scriptures, as Christ and the apostles have done. This is why Christ himself did not write anything but only spoke. He called his teaching not Scripture but gospel, meaning good news or a proclamation that is spread not by pen but by word of mouth. (Martin Luther, “A Brief Instruction on What to Look for and Expect in the Gospels,” Luther’s Works, American ed., vol. 35 [Philadelphia: Muhlenberg, 1960], 123)

In 1523 Luther directed that the words of Christ used in the Eucharist were “to be recited in the same tone of voice in which the Lord’s Prayer is sung at another place in the Canon; so that it will be possible for those standing by to hear” (“Formula Missae et Communionis of 1523,” in Thompson, Liturgies of the Western Church, 112). “The Peace of the Lord” is “to be announced with face turned to the people, as the bishops were accustomed to do” (Ibid.). Three years later Luther wrote that “in the true Mass … of real Christians, the altar could not remain where it is and the priest would always face the people as doubtless Christ did in the Last Supper” (Ibid., 130–131).

Thus both proclamation and sacrament would now require church builders to take acoustics into account. The first space constructed under the influence of the Lutheran Reformation was the chapel for the castle of the Elector of Saxony at Torgau. It has a free-standing Table on a platform raised two steps above the floor, accessible to communicants on all four sides, and a prominent pulpit. (A photograph of the interior of the chapel is reproduced in Peter Manns, Martin Luther: An Illustrated Biography [New York: Crossroad, 1982], p. 200, plate no. 82.) Luther preached the sermon at the dedication of the chapel. In his sermon, he added prayer to the acoustical activity of the gathered people of God.

Therefore God very wisely arranged and appointed things, and instituted the holy sacrament to be administered in the congregation at a place where we can come together, pray, and give thanks to God.… And here the advantage is that when Christians thus come together their prayers are twice as strong as otherwise.… Prayer is nowhere so mighty and strong as when the whole multitude prays together. (Luther’s Works, American ed., vol. 51 [Philadelphia: Muhlenberg, 1959], 337-338)

It is impossible to claim that Protestants followed their own Reformation insights in understanding both church and liturgy so that this understanding determined the construction of buildings for worship. In fact, Protestants and Catholics alike were affected by a variety of influences upon buildings and worship, most of which were not especially attentive to the acoustical dimension of the Christian gospel.

However, attention to the eschatological horizon of the New Testament in recent decades has given Protestants and Catholics a new and increasingly convergent perspective on the Christian gospel, on ecclesiology, on worship, and Eucharist that has profoundly affected the approach to Christian architecture. I want to summarize briefly what I think that eschatological horizon is, what its effects have been, and what its implications are for Christian architecture and its acoustical dimension.

1. The witness of the New Testament is that the Christian gospel is profoundly eschatological. The proclamation of Jesus can be summarized by the Gospel of Mark: “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand; repent, and believe in the gospel” (Mark 1:15). The witness of the earliest disciples proclaims that Jesus has been raised from the dead. Jesus is therefore the Messiah, and the messianic age has begun. Jesus’ resurrection is a radical revelation of the eschaton, the outcome of history. Because Jesus has been raised, he and no one else determines that outcome. The kingdom of God has begun and will finally triumph. Death no longer has the last word. The resurrection of Jesus affirms Jesus’ mission, proclaims his death as redemptive, and confers the eschatological Holy Spirit on the community of Jesus’ disciples.

2. The community of Jesus’ disciples is called to be a witness to the resurrection of Jesus, a witness to the breaking in of the kingdom of God. The event of Jesus’ resurrection, which calls the disciple community, also shapes what the community does when it gathers for worship.
a. The disciple community appropriates anew the Scriptures of Israel and the remembrance of Jesus as it listens to the reading and exposition of lessons from the canon of the Scriptures. The disciple community has its matrix in Israel and in the mission of Israel’s Messiah, Jesus of Nazareth. It is marked by its attention to “apostolic teaching” (Acts 2:42).
b. The disciple community engages in prayer in the name of Jesus. The prayer formula given to the circle of Jesus’ disciples (Luke 11:1–4) means participation in Jesus’ mission. It is the foundation for all prayer in the community. Prayer in the name of Jesus means attention to the needs of the community for its mission of witness to the kingdom of God.
c. The disciple community celebrates in anticipation the banquet of the messianic age (Isa. 25:6–8). The meal of the community includes the following: first, the offering of bread and wine as symbolic of the offering of all the baptized to the purposes of the kingdom of God (Rom. 12:1–2); second, the thanksgiving of the community under the leadership of the presiding minister as the way in which the community receives the promise of Jesus to be present with his body and blood in, with, and under the bread and wine; third, the eating and drinking through which the death of Jesus is proclaimed as shaping the community for its mission in and on behalf of the world as the body of Christ.
d. The disciple community sings the “new song” by which it celebrates the victory of God and anticipates the final eternal praise of God in the eschaton.

3. All of these elements, essential to the worship of the gathered community, require the ear to receive as well as the eye. The gathering of the community for attention to the Scriptures of Israel and the apostles, for prayer in the name of Jesus, for the eucharistic banquet of the messianic age, and for the new song of God’s victory is and is meant to be, visible, that is, available to the eye. It is meant to be seen in such a way that this gathering can be distinguished from other gatherings, that is, as a church rather than as a meeting of stockholders, a musical concert, an instructional class, and so on. But these visible activities have an audible dimension. Scriptures are meant to be read and expounded so that those present are addressed so that those who have ears to hear can hear. Prayers are said so that those present can assent with “amen” or can raise their own voices for the amen of others. The bread and cup are not just distributed for eating and drinking. That would not yet be the messianic banquet under the conditions of anticipation. Rather the bread and cup need to be taken up into the words of blessing and remembrance, thanksgiving and proclamation, by which bread and cup are audibly linked with the promises of Christ (Eric W. Gritsch and Robert W. Jenson, Lutheranism [Philadelphia: Fortress, 1976], 83-84). The new songs are sung in such a way that the whole community is drawn into the praise and anticipation of eternity.

What had not, prior to Jesus’ resurrection, been disclosed to eye and ear and human heart has now been revealed through the eschatological Spirit. It is now available to the eye and ear and heart. What is made visible and audible can now be received in faith. It must be visible and audible for faith to occur, for “faith must have something to believe—something to which it may cling and upon which it may stand” (Martin Luther, “Large Catechism,” The Book of Concord, p. 440).

Hence architecture for Christian worship needs to create space in which speaking and hearing, addressing and responding, sharing a meal in the context of promissory eschatological words, and singing the new song can take place. We need attention to acoustics in such a way that no artificial amplification of the human voice is needed. Architects can be attentive to such requirements for Christian worship. Eliel Saarinen designed a building for Christ Lutheran Church in Minneapolis, Minnesota, in 1951 in which the human voice could be heard by more than six hundred persons without amplification. Musical leadership was still required to come from a balcony in the rear, so only speaking leadership could be seen as well as heard. But Saarinen gave attention to hearing. The chapel of Trinity Lutheran Seminary in Columbus, Ohio, designed by McDonald, Cassell, and Bassett, Inc., and completed in 1983, allows the musical as well as the speaking leadership to be seen. Attention to acoustics is such that a congregation of six hundred can hear speaking without amplification. Singing the new song takes place in a space that the music critic of the Columbus Dispatch described as “like sitting inside a gigantic cello” because it has both resonance and clarity.

The church is called by its gospel, its liturgy, and its mission to give attention to acoustics in advance of constructing its buildings, not after the fact. For “what no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the human heart conceived, what God has prepared for those who love him,” God has revealed to us through the Spirit.

The Anthem in Worship

Anthems sung by choirs and soloists have a long history in Christian worship. Many of the world’s finest composers have written anthems for use in worship. Yet the best anthems are those which unite such musical genius with concern for the text that is sung and the function of the anthem in the context of the entire worship service.

Choral music is used in worship by choirs of all sizes and in almost all denominations. Many churches have a long-standing tradition of thoughtfully prepared anthems contributing to the worship service, while others approach choral music as an afterthought. The goal of all worship leaders should be the former; with planning, this is a goal that can be achieved in churches with even limited resources.

Before discussing the role of choral anthems in worship, it might be helpful to understand the long history of choirs contributing to worship.

History of the Anthem in Worship

Church musicians and publishers today use the term anthem in a general way to mean choral music of many different voicings and accompaniments, but the term anthem does have a specific historical meaning. The anthem had its origin as English choral music used in the Anglican church nearly from its inception. These anthems, in turn, were based on the Latin motet used in the Roman rites. The Latin motets were one of the earliest forms of polyphonic music (c. 12th cent.), and they originated as a polyphonic interpretation of the chants which they were used with. In the 1400s, the Latin motet became more a choral composition on a scripturally based text and was often written with four, six, or more voice parts.

In the Reformation brought about by Henry VIII, the language of worship was brought into vernacular English. This necessitated a change from the Latin both in Scripture and song, and thus the anthem was born. Actually, there are a few examples of English choral music before the Reformation, but liturgical change was the prime impetus for the outpouring of compositions known as anthems. Tye and Tallis were two of the first composers to write what we are referring to as an English anthem. Their compositions are typically rather rhythmically square and conceived more by their harmony than their melody. Some of this can be attributed to the style of the time, but much of it is also due to the spaces in which these anthems were sung: cathedrals with a very live acoustic and long reverberation. The earliest writers began by giving a great deal of consideration to the sound of sung text and its pronunciation, and this emphasis is one we would do well to consider in the performance of choral music today.

The choral tradition was pushed forward by the Reformation, especially in the Lutheran tradition. Luther loved the historic church’s music, and choirs in the early Lutheran churches began to sing the main parts of the service, the Mass, though once again in the vernacular. This provided an opportunity for composers of the day to provide new music for the church.

J. S. Bach became one of the greatest forces in church music through his compositions, and even his church compositions were all composed out of need (without denying his inspiration). Church music is a practical matter of facilitating worship, and the history of the church in the last several centuries is full of compositions and choirs meeting the needs of the people and serving the focus of worship. The gospel hymns of Sankey and the evangelistic focus of the Wesleys and their hymns fit the needs of a particular style of worship. The same is also true for spirituals, whose spontaneity and simplicity was required by the style of worship of the slaves: they often worshiped in the fields with their singing and improvising.

Eighteenth-century America saw the publication of many collections for use in worship beyond the metrical psalters that had long been in use. Tunebooks such as Kentucky Harmony (1816) and Sacred Harp (1844) provided for all the musical needs of a congregation, both congregational and choral. It must be understood that singing was a primary form of entertainment among people of all social situations during this time, and the interest in singing was not limited to the church, as it often is today. Even the secular collections from the New England singing schools contained many anthems with a scriptural basis. In the United States before the turn of the twentieth century, there were many publishers producing traditional anthems and others publishing gospel music for use in churches, and everything in-between.

The publishing of anthems as we know them and refer to them today basically began with Novello and Company in London in the 1940s. They began the publishing of octavo choral music to allow choirs to purchase individual titles. This had the effect of making the music sometimes more disposable in nature, and pieces were more able to exist on their own merits. Oxford University Press is another example of a notable publisher involved for well over a century in the publishing of choral music used for worship.

The twentieth century has seen the flourishing and demise of many publishers of choral music for the church. Much of this is due to changes in society and worship, yet diminishing musical literacy has also played a part. And still, there are denominational publishers such as Augsburg/Fortress, Concordia, and GIA; long-lived, independent publishers such as Hope Publishing Co., Lorenz, Oxford University Press, and Sacred Music Press; the praise-and-worship publishers typified by Word, Inc.; and the newer independent publishers such as Randall Egan, Hinshaw, MorningStar Music Publishers, and Selah Publishing Co.

The Role of the Anthem in Worship

This article is not the place to define what the act of worship should or could be, but it must be clear that choral music can contribute to the experience of worship. Unfortunately, it can just as easily distract the worshiper.

Church choirs offer singers an opportunity to make an offering of their gifts. What choir members need to understand beyond that offering is the role that they can play in worship. They have the opportunity to add a great deal of meaning to worship through their presentation of choral music.

If anthems are to contribute to worship, they must not distract from worship. And if worship is communal, then the choral music must not be seen as entertainment, with the congregation given a passive role. A congregation worships to experience God’s presence in their lives, and choral music can give them an opportunity to view the beauty of God. It can help them in giving glory to God. And it can provide a sensory experience of God’s grace. The anthem does not need to be the climactic portion of the service, and in fact, rarely should be.

When choosing music for a church choir, a director may face some obvious limitations in resources. The skill of the accompanist or the number in the choir might diminish the choices somewhat. There is quality music that will fit nearly every situation, but a director should choose substantive music that he or she would feel comfortable performing over and over. There is not much sense in putting work into a disposable piece of music. Catchy music has its place in advertising, but there must be more to anthems used in worship than a fancy rhythm or memorable tune. Consider the pastoral role you play when looking at music for your choir: the anthems can illumine and interpret Scripture, a sermon, the church season, or an important current event or change in the life of the church. You have the opportunity to expose the congregation to a variety of music, music sung throughout the centuries in the church, and music that could only be sung in our present latter-day twentieth-century situation.

Choose anthems that aid the flow of worship. For liturgical churches, this might mean finding an anthem that is based on one of the lectionary readings or highlights one of the themes of the scripture passages. For others, it might mean an anthem that illumines that worship’s theme or focus. It is not necessary to repeat what is being read in Scripture or taught in a sermon, but the anthem can give insight by approaching the subject from a different angle or by infusing the emotional power that the music carries.

It is not harmful to look for innovative ways of using the choir to facilitate worship. Churches in the liturgical tradition might have the service music or setting of the Mass sung solely by the choir. Anthems might take the place of a hymn or be used as a gradual between readings. The appointed psalms might be sung by choir or cantor. Responses can be choral, and through singing the Mass and responses, choirs are given the role of leader of congregational song. These ideas might be beyond the role of the traditional anthem, but there is good choral music available for all of these situations.

Those congregations in the free-church tradition do have flexibility in the role a choir might take in the worship service, from the leader of congregational song to the presentation of Scripture in song. But look for new places in worship where an anthem might be effective, not necessarily where it always has been done.

The practical considerations to keep in mind when choosing anthems include the range of your singers, the balance of parts throughout a piece, and the difficulty of a piece. It is good planning to stretch the limits of a choir, but it is not always appropriate for every occasion. Choose music that is within the singers’ grasp. Choirs with limited resources can often use hymns, old or new, as simpler anthems, and yet these can be as effective as an eight-part motet.

There is an art and a craft to singing choral music. Choral music done well requires much attention to vocal production, pronunciation, dynamics, breathing, phrasing, attacks, balance, and so on. One must study and live with the music to find those areas where particular attention must be paid. It is in the interpretation where the art of choral music lies and where we can give glory to God. Those involved in leadership should take every opportunity to improve their understanding of the subtleties of choral music and its performance. Listen critically to recordings or live performance of choral groups. Many publications such as Choral Journal publish articles with practical advice on performance practices. Associations such as the American Choral Directors Association or the American Guild of Organists sponsor workshops and conferences where one can view respected directors rehearsing and directing a choir. The insight gained from such observation cannot often be taught. In all of this, the desire to improve oneself and offer a better gift to the glory of God should be sufficient motivation.

Those who direct church choirs and sing in those choirs are given an opportunity to lift worship to a level where we can experience God more fully, a truly awesome responsibility. And it is through the grace of God that we can do so.

History of the Chorale

The chorale was Martin Luther’s important contribution to church music. Featuring strong rhythmic tunes and vernacular texts, the early chorales were songs for all worshiping people to sing. Since the Reformation, a long line of hymn writers, especially in Germany and Scandinavia, has contributed to this genre, leaving behind one of the richest bodies of music in the Christian church.

Martin Luther

Although more than five hundred years have passed since the birth of Martin Luther in 1483, the influence of this reformer continues to affect congregational singing today. He was the greatest preacher in all of Germany, a thorough biblical scholar, and an influential theologian. He was also both an author and translator, musician and composer.

In writing thirty-seven song texts in German, Martin Luther intended to provide Christians with the truths of Scripture that he himself had worked so hard to recover. He believed that it was imperative for believers to know the Scriptures, to “hide God’s word in their hearts.” Largely because of his experience in singing in a choir as a boy, he was convinced that this should be accomplished through the singing of hymns.

It was the Bohemian Brethren who had earlier adopted the practice of congregational singing for worship and issued their songbook of 1501 with its eighty-nine hymns. However, it was the writings and publications of Luther which firmly established the practice. His strong desire to have musically literate teachers and preachers is evident in his comment:

I have always loved music; whoso have skill in this art, is of a good temperament, fitted for all things. We must teach music in schools; a schoolmaster ought to have skill in music or I should reject him; neither should we ordain young men as preachers unless they have been well exercised in music. (William Hazlett, ed., The Table-Talk of Martin Luther [Philadelphia: United Lutheran Publishing House, n.d.], 416)

In addition to this, Luther wrote the following in the foreword to the first edition of the 1524 Wittenberg Gesangbuch:

St. Paul orders the Colossians to sing Psalms and spiritual songs to the Lord in their hearts, in order that God’s word and Christ’s teaching may be thus spread abroad and practiced in every way. Accordingly, as a good beginning and to encourage those who can do better, I and several others have brought together certain spiritual songs with a view to spreading abroad and setting in motion the holy Gospel. (Luther’s Works, vol. 53: Liturgy and Hymns [Philadelphia: Fortress Press, St. Louis: Concordia Publishing House, 1955], 316)

Because congregational singing in worship services had been banned by a decree of the Council of Laodicia in a.d. 367 and by the Council of Jerusalem in a.d. 1415, there was a need for hymns in the vernacular to be used in the services that Luther conducted. The songs sung in the vernacular at that time were sacred songs for processions and pilgrimages.

At first Luther struggled in an attempt to fit the newly written German texts to existing chant melodies, and his efforts ended in frustration. Thus he was forced to create his own texts and to restructure existing melodies to fit the new words. Using this method, he finished four songs in 1523. They appeared early in 1524 in the famous little leaflet, Achtliederbuch. Very soon thereafter, another nineteen texts were in print. Amazingly, in the next two decades, until his death in 1546, another one hundred new collections of German chorales were published. Five of these were completed under Luther’s own personal supervision.

He began to understand the language of the people more fully when he went among them asking how they would express certain phrases. This increased his own understanding of the type of syllabic singing which the people enjoyed. Previously, several notes of a chant melody were attached to a single syllable of the text. Luther’s chorale tunes however, were written with one note given to each syllable of the text. His famous battle hymn, Ein feste Burg (“A Mighty Fortress Is Our God”), based on Psalm 46, is a superb example of his style of writing and composing.

Luther’s new songs for worship services were taught to the children in the school. They in turn sang them in the sanctuary for the adults to learn. Thus, the children would lead the congregation in the singing of the hymns. The melody was always sung by all in unison without accompaniment, as the strength of the melodies and the vitality of the original rhythms required no harmony.

Other Chorale and Hymn Writers

Others followed Luther’s lead. Among the important contributors of this first period were Paul Speratus (1484–1551), Nicolaus Hermann (c. 1480–1561) and Nicolaus Decius (c. 1458–1546). The resources which they used for both texts and tunes were chants of the Mass, the office hymns, sacred German folk hymns, Latin spiritual songs, and popular melodies. Decius’ well-known “All Glory Be to God on High” is an example of a translation of a Latin liturgical text (the Gloria) into the vernacular. In other cases, new original texts were attached to pre-existing melodies. Yet other chorales were completely original works, textually and musically.

The next generation of chorale writers/composers continued to compose melodic/rhythmic tunes without harmony. Two outstanding chorales of this form by Philipp Nicolai (1536–1608) are “Wake, Awake for Night is Flying” and “O Morning Star, How Fair and Bright.” The first is often referred to as the “King of Chorales” and the second, the “Queen of Chorales.” These chorales were sung to tunes later used by J. S. Bach, Handel, and Mendelssohn in a variety of works for organ and choir.

A pattern of alternation evolved in which the organist played or the choir sang a harmonized version of the chorale music in between the singing of the stanzas which were sung by the congregation. It was only later that harmony was played and sung simultaneously with the singing of the people. And with the addition of harmony, the music became isorhythmic, each note of the melody having the same time value as the other notes.

It was the work of Lucas Osiander (1534–1604) which brought together the congregational singing of the melody and the harmonized version of the choir. In 1586 he published an unusual hymnal in Nuremberg in which the melody of the chorales was put in the soprano part and simple chordal harmony was added underneath. The title of his book makes his purpose clear: Fifty Sacred Songs and Psalms arranged so, that an entire Christian congregation can sing along. This work inspired expressive works by Hans Leo Hassler (1564–1612) such as “O Sacred Head Now Wounded” and by Melchior Teschner (1584–1635), who composed “All Glory Laud and Honor.”

Other changes became evident during and after the Thirty Years War of 1618–1648. Paul Gerhardt (607-1676) became the leader of a movement to change the emphasis of chorale texts. The former, more objective viewpoint, gave way to a subjective emphasis, leading to the pietistic period of the latter part of the seventeenth century. With the aid of composers Johann Cruger (1598–1662) and Johann Georg Ebeling (1637–1676), Gerhardt’s texts grew in popularity. Two of his followers were Martin Rinkart (1586–1649), author of “Now Thank We All Our God,” and Georg Neumark (1621–1681), author of “If You Will Only Let God Guide You.”

Cruger provided tunes not only for Gerhardt but also for Rinkart and Johann Franck (1618–1677) in his famous hymnal Praxis Pietatis Melica (The Practice of Piety Through Music) which first appeared in 1644. By 1736 it had passed through forty-four editions. Christians everywhere still raise their voices together to sing his tune, Jesus Meine Freunde, for the text, “Jesus, Priceless Treasure.”

The Paul Gerhardt of the Calvinists was Joachim Neander (1650–1680), a close friend of Jakob Spener, founder of the pietistic movement, and of Spener’s associate, Johann Jakob Schutz (1640–1690). Although a Calvinist, Neander supported pietism. His hymns and those of the prolific writer Gerhard Tersteegen (1697–1769) made increasing use of personal pronouns. The mood of the hymns became more subjective, and they were often used not only in church services but also in private devotions.

By the time of J. S. Bach (1685–1750) hymnals were much larger. The resources at hand were staggering. With great skill he reharmonized the simpler harmonic structures and provided singers with full and rich new harmonies.

During the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth centuries a large number of hymns were also written by Anabaptists, later known as Mennonites and Bohemian Brethren (the Moravians). The current hymnals of these groups have a generous supply of translations and music from their own rich heritage.

Scandinavian Hymns

During the nineteenth and twentieth centuries a large number of chorales by Scandinavians were published. Much of Denmark’s contribution to contemporary hymnology comes from three great hymnists. Denmark’s first great hymnist, Thomas Kingo (1634–1703), known as the “Poet of Eastertide” because of his many hymns on the theme of Christ’s resurrection, contributed the texts, “Print Thine Image, Pure and Holy” and “Praise to Thee and Adoration.” The second great hymn writer was the pietist Hans Adolf Brorson (1694–1764), known as the “Poet of Christmas.” Children everywhere enjoy singing his song, “Thy Little Ones, Dear Lord, Are We,” and adults in the Lutheran faith (as well as other communions) hold dear his inspiring hymn, “Behold a Host Arrayed in White,” along with its Norwegian folk tune. The third member of this celebrated trio of Danish hymn writers was the “Poet of Whitsuntide,” Nikolai F. S. Grundtvig (1783–1872). For Christmas he wrote “The Happy Christmas Comes Once More” and “Bright and Glorious is the Sky.” Moreover, in his struggle to revive the life of the church, he wrote the well known hymn of the church, “Built on a Rock.”

Johan Olof Wallin (1770–1839), considered to be Sweden’s leading hymn writer, made numerous contributions to Swedish hymnals. And now some translations have found their way into American Lutheran hymnals. However, none of his hymns are as familiar as Caroline Vilhelmina Sandell-Borg’s (1832–1905) “Children of the Heavenly Father.” And certainly, no other Swedish song has been so popularized in the United States as Carl Boberg’s (1859–1940) “How Great Thou Art.”

A Reformation Model of Worship: Martin Luther, Formula Missae: Order of Mass and Communion for the Church at Wittenberg (1523)

Luther’s Formula Missae, written after his break with Rome, did not suggest a wholesale reform of the Catholic mass. Rather, Luther cautiously suggested ways of adapting the Mass for use in local congregations and also proposed ways to make it more relevant to the common people.

Introduction

Martin Luther (1483–1546) came reluctantly to liturgical change. In the midst of growing enthusiasm for reformation, he was afraid that any liturgical dictum from his hand would be quickly snatched up, widely printed, and applied as a new law. He did not want anyone saying, “This proposal Luther writes is the only true way to do Christian worship.” Rather, he believed that liturgical change depended upon actual pastoral circumstances and that it always had to be preceded by education and accompanied by love. Furthermore, if only the gospel of Christ was clearly preached, the character of the ceremonies hardly mattered. His own taste, like that of the common people he meant to serve, seems to have run generally toward the conservation of visually dramatic ceremony and the encouragement of good, participatory music.

Finally, asked repeatedly by his friends and irritated by the widespread use of liturgies created by his enemies, he had to act. In 1523, he published his Formula Missae, the “Order of Mass and Communion for the Church at Wittenberg.” He would return to the task in 1526 with his “German Mass.” In the same years, he also published two different proposals for doing baptism and two essays about what is important in worship. But the first of these works, the Formula, is the one which has had the greatest and longest-lived influence among Lutherans and the one which stands at the root of North American Lutheran liturgy. It is the text which, in edited form, is printed here.

There are three important things to note about this text. In the first place, it is not a liturgy. Luther, in fact, never produced an actual liturgy. This text is neither a service book nor a manual of liturgical prayers. Rather, it is an essay discussing how to use evangelically the traditional liturgy and liturgical books of the church. It is that discussion which is important to Luther, not the imposition of a particular set of prayers. He is concerned with the order of things and their meaning in that order. Indeed, the best of the Lutheran tradition continues to be a discussion about the meaning and evangelical use of catholic material, not the production of required texts.

In the second place, the essay is about “how we do it in Wittenberg.” Luther knows that other congregations and cities may take his pattern as their own, but he wants to avoid the unthinking application of a new law. Liturgy, while it receives universal material and traditions, is always local, always done here, in our particular way. And Luther wants any liturgical change to be preceded by teaching and preaching. Change must be for the sake of the clarity of the gospel, not because of the authority of the preacher.

In the third place, the liturgy which Luther here envisions is celebrated in Latin. Luther calls for a sermon in the language of the people, but here he is still proposing a liturgy in the old language of the church, sung by the priest and a choir, with the people sometimes entering in, if they knew the chant. Later, he would interweave vernacular hymnody with this Latin rite, and then he would see the old liturgical texts brought over into singable German. But, for now, he uses a Latin mass, sung in a church with an educated choir. He could, of course, count on such a choir being present in Wittenberg, a university town with scholars at every level.

The reader, then, ought to imagine a medieval parish or collegiate church in Wittenberg. The old statues and stained glass are all still in place. There is a choir of schoolboys and university students near the altar, at the east end of the building. There is a great crucifix over the altar. Candles are burning. The people are seated on benches or standing against the walls. There is a high pulpit against one wall, in the midst of the people. And the clergy are mostly vested in the old mass vestments, although the preacher may very well be wearing a black university gown.

Grace and peace in Christ to the venerable Doctor Nicholas Hausmann, bishop of the church in Zwickau, saint in Christ, from Martin Luther.

Until now I have only used books and sermons to wean the hearts of people from their godless regard for ceremonial; for I believed it would be a Christian and helpful thing if I could prompt a peaceful removal of the abomination which Satan set up in the holy place through the man of sin [Matt 24:15; 2 Thess. 2:3–4]. Therefore, I have used neither authority nor pressure. Nor did I make any innovations. For I have been hesitant and fearful, partly because of the weak in faith, who cannot suddenly exchange an old and accustomed order of worship for a new and unusual one, and more so because of the fickle and fastidious spirits who rush in like unclean swine without faith or reason, and who delight only in novelty and tire of it as quickly, when it has worn off. Such people are a nuisance even in other affairs, but in spiritual matters, they are absolutely unbearable. Nonetheless, at the risk of bursting with anger, I must bear with them, unless I want to let the gospel itself be denied to the people.
But since there is hope now that the hearts of many have been enlightened and strengthened by the grace of God, and since the cause of the kingdom of Christ demands that at long last offenses should be removed from it, we must dare something in the name of Christ. For it is right that we should provide at least for a few, lest by our desire to detach ourselves from the frivolous faddism of some people we provide for nobody, or by our fear of ultimately offending others, we endorse their universally held abominations.
Therefore, most excellent Nicholas, since you have requested it so often, we will deal with an evangelical form of saying mass (as it is called) and of administering communion. And we will so deal with it that we shall no longer rule hearts by teaching alone, but we will put our hand to it and put the revision into practice in the public administration of communion, not wishing, however, to prejudice others against adopting and following a different order. Indeed, we heartily beg in the name of Christ that if in time something better should be revealed to them, they would tell us to be silent, so that by a common effort we may aid the common cause.
We therefore first assert: It is not now nor ever has been our intention to abolish the liturgical service of God completely, but rather to purify the one that is now in use from the wretched accretions which corrupt it and to point out an evangelical use.

Commentary: Luther’s work is addressed to one of his friends, the pastor of a congregation in a neighboring town. He calls this pastor “bishop” because he believes the pastor and presider in any Christian congregation is the present occupant of the New Testament office of bishop and is more important than the regional princes and hierarchs which the medieval church called “bishop.” He continues to use this title for the local pastor throughout this document.

Luther expresses his hesitations about doing liturgical work at all. He wants no innovations, no faddism. He wants no offense to the weak. He wants no universal rule which he determines. Nonetheless, against these fears, he decides to “dare something in the name of Christ.”

Any reader of Luther quickly discovers the passion, vigor, and earthiness of his language. He is hard on his opponents and colorful in his condemnations. He is equally passionate in his care for the people and his descriptions of the Gospel. This is not a measured and moderate theological treatise, such as one would have later from the hand of John Calvin.

Luther plans not only to write about the liturgy but to see it actually done in Wittenberg. He is not sure it should be done this way elsewhere, and he pleads for better work to be made known.

This last paragraph states the central Lutheran liturgical principle: not the invention of a new liturgy, even a supposedly “biblical” one, but the purification and evangelical use of the old liturgy.

Text Continues: First, we approve and retain the introits for the Lord’s days and the festivals of Christ, such as Easter, Pentecost, and the Nativity, although we prefer the Psalms from which they were taken as of old. But for the time being we permit the accepted use. And if any desire to approve the introits (inasmuch as they have been taken from Psalms or other passages of Scripture) for apostles’ days, for feasts of the Virgin and of other saints, we do not condemn them. But we in Wittenberg intend to observe only the Lord’s days and the festivals of the Lord. We think that all the feasts of the saints should be abrogated, or if anything in them deserves it, it should be brought into the Sunday sermon. We regard the feasts of Purification and Annunciation as feasts of Christ, even as Epiphany and Circumcision. Instead of the feasts of St. Stephen and of St. John the Evangelist, we are pleased to use the office of the Nativity. The feasts of the Holy Cross shall be anathema. Let others act according to their own conscience or in consideration of the weakness of some—whatever the Spirit may suggest.
Second, we accept the Kyrie eleison in the form in which it has been used until now, with the various melodies for different seasons, together with the Angelic Hymn, Gloria in Excelsis, which follows it. However, the bishop may decide to omit the latter as often as he wishes.
Third, the prayer or collect which follows, if it is evangelical (and those for Sunday usually are), should be retained in its accepted form; but there should be only one. After this the Epistle is read. Certainly the time has not yet come to attempt revision here, as nothing unevangelical is read, except that those parts from the Epistles of Paul in which faith is taught are read only rarely, while the exhortations to morality are most frequently read. The Epistles seem to have been chosen by a singularly unlearned and superstitious advocate of works. But for the service, those sections in which faith in Christ is taught should have been given preference. The latter were certainly considered more often in the Gospels by whoever it was who chose these lessons. In the meantime, the sermon in the vernacular will have to supply what is lacking. If in the future the vernacular be used in the mass (which Christ may grant), one must see to it that Epistles and Gospels chosen from the best and most weighty parts of these writings be read in the mass.
Fourth, the gradual of two verses shall be sung, either together with the Alleluia, or one of the two, as the bishop may decide. But the Quadregesima graduals, and others like them that exceed two verses, may be sung at home by whoever wants them. In church we do not want to quench the spirit of the faithful with tedium. Nor is it proper to distinguish Lent, Holy Week, or Good Friday from other days, lest we seem to mock and ridicule Christ with half of a mass and the one part of the sacrament. For the Alleluia is the perpetual voice of the church, just as the memorial of His passion and victory is perpetual.

Commentary: The liturgy begins. The choir is singing the Introit, that old fragment of a psalm which is a shortened version of the entrance psalm originally used in the Roman Mass. Luther would like to recover the whole psalm, but for now, the traditional introits stay in place. While the choir is singing, a procession enters, perhaps from the sacristy door on the side, perhaps from the great western door. Candles and a cross lead the way and the vested clergy follow, moving through the building and up to the altar.

In Wittenberg, this day is probably a Sunday, though it may be one of the days of the year which are regarded as “feasts of Christ”: i.e., Christmas, New Year’s Day (Circumcision), Epiphany, the Purification (February 2), Annunciation (March 25), Ascensino, or Transfiguration (August 6). While at this point Luther is proposing the elimination of the Saints’ days, the example of the saints as believers should be brought into the Sunday sermon nearest their old observances.

When the procession concludes, with the presiding priest, the “bishop,” standing before the altar, facing east, the choir takes up the chant of the nine-fold Kyrie (“Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy, Lord have mercy”), using one of the old chant tones. Many of the people may join in this singing.

Then the presider intones, “Gloria in Excelsis Deo,” “Glory be to God on high,” and the choir continues singing this old Roman rite entrance hymn.

Finally, the entrance is completed with the presider, still facing the altar in the east, intoning the collect which the old mass formularies appointed for this particular Sunday. This is the prayer of the day, the prayer which sums up and concludes the entrance into worship.

Many of the people will have been standing throughout this entrance. Now they will be seated, though some will continue to mill around and others will be standing against the walls. The presider, still standing to one side at the altar but now facing the people, reads a passage from one of the Epistles in Latin. In a few years, here, this passage will be read in German and may be read from the pulpit. In spite of Luther’s critique, Lutherans for the most part continued to read the old appointed readings, even when they shifted to reading in German. No matter what the reading, however, the teaching of “faith in Christ” was to be the business of the sermon.

The lesson finished, the choir takes up the chant again. They sing the traditional verses between the readings, the Gradual or the Gradual and Alleluia. Forbidden by Luther, they do not sing the longer versions of these, nor do they usually sing the Latin hymn, the so-called sequence which may sometimes follow here on great feasts. In spite of Luther, they generally continue to suppress Alleluia during Lent.

Text Continues: Fifth, we allow no sequences or proses unless the bishop wishes to use the short one for the Nativity of Christ: “Grates nunc omnes.” There are hardly any which smack of the Spirit, save those of the Holy Spirit: “Sancti Spiritus” and “Veni sancte spiritus,” which may be sung after breakfast, at Vespers, or at mass (if the bishop pleases).
Sixth, the Gospel lesson follows, for which we neither prohibit nor prescribe candles or incense. Let these things be free.
Seventh, the custom of singing the Nicene Creed does not displease us; yet this matter should also be left in the hands of the bishop. Likewise, we do not think that it matters whether the sermon in the vernacular comes after the Creed or before the introit of the mass; although it might be argued that since the Gospel is the voice crying in the wilderness and calling unbelievers to faith, it seems particularly fitting to preach before mass. For properly speaking, the mass consists in using the Gospel and communing at the table of the Lord. Inasmuch as it belongs to believers, it should be observed apart (from unbelievers). Yet since we are free, this argument does not bind us, especially since everything in the mass up to the Creed is ours, free and not prescribed by God; therefore it does not necessarily have anything to do with the mass.
Eighth, that utter abomination follows which forces all that precedes in the mass into its service and is, therefore, called the offertory. From here on almost everything smacks and savors of sacrifice. And the words of life and salvation [the Words of Institution] are imbedded in the midst of it all, just as the ark of the Lord once stood in the idol’s temple next to Dagon. And there was no Israelite who could approach or bring back to the ark until it “smote his enemies in the hinder parts, putting them to a perpetual reproach,” and forced them to return it—which is a parable of the present time. Let us, therefore, repudiate everything that smacks of sacrifice, together with the entire canon and retain only that which is pure and holy, and so order our mass.
After the Creed or after the sermon, let bread and wine be made ready for blessing in the customary manner. I have not yet decided whether or not water should be mixed with the wine. I rather incline, however, to favor pure wine without water; for the passage, “Thy wine is mixed with water,” in Isaiah 1 [:22] gives the mixture a bad connotation.
Pure wine beautifully portrays the purity of gospel teaching. Further, the blood of Christ, whom we here commemorate, has been poured out unmixed with ours. Nor can the fancies of those be upheld who say that this is a sign of our union with Christ; for that is not what we commemorate. In fact, we are not united with Christ until he sheds his blood; or else we would be celebrating the shedding of our own blood together with the blood of Christ shed for us. Nonetheless, I have no intention of cramping anyone’s freedom or of introducing a law that might again lead to superstition. Christ will not care very much about these matters, nor are they worth arguing about. Enough foolish controversies have been fought on these and many other matters by the Roman and Greek churches. And though some direct attention to the water and blood which flowed from the side of Jesus, they prove nothing. For that water signified something entirely different from what they wish that mixed water to signify. Nor was it mixed with blood. The symbolism does not fit, and the reference is inapplicable. As a human invention, this mixing [of water and wine] cannot, therefore, be considered binding.

Commentary: While the choir is singing, a procession forms again, the cross and candles being carried into the midst of the people, preceded by a cleric carrying incense and followed by another carrying a Gospel Book and by the presider. All the people stand to receive this procession. In the midst of the church, the procession gathers into a group around the book, and the presider then chants the appointed passage from one of the four Gospels. Though the candles and incense are sometimes omitted, they are not here. Indeed, in the dark church, candles are often needed to read the text of the book. And this text is always chanted. Even later, when the Gospel would come to be read in German rather than Latin, the “Gospel tone” was used for the reading. This sung text is able to make itself heard, reverberating into all the corners of the old stone church.

As the procession then makes its way back to the eastern end of the church, the choir takes up chanting the Nicene Creed, and the presider (or, sometimes, another priest, vested in the habit of a monastic teacher at the university) turns aside to climb into the pulpit which is near the people. When the creed is finished, the preacher begins the sermon. On some occasions, this vernacular preaching may be the first thing to occur, before the singing of the Introit. Such a placement continues the medieval practice of the friars, but Luther now gives this free-floating sermon an evangelical interpretation. And he sums up the whole of this first part of the mass, this chanting, and reading of Scripture and preaching, in the phrase “using the gospel.” But today in Wittenberg—and ordinarily—this use of the gospel takes place in the classic order: After the readings, which the preacher first repeats in the vernacular, the sermon makes the gospel of Jesus Christ available to be used by faith.

What follows now is the greatest Lutheran break with the medieval mass. The several prayers which the priest would recite at the preparation of the Table (“the little canon” of the offertory) and at the consecration of the elements (the “Roman canon” or the “great canon” of the mass) are simply excised. For Luther, all these texts stank of sacrifice, as if the Supper were something we were giving to God, not God to us. The preparation of the Table occurs, rather, in silence, and the prayer over bread and cup is reduced to elegant simplicity. What the people see, however, is essentially unchanged. They never took part in these prayers, in any case: The prayers were recited by the priest alone, sotto voce or even silently, facing the altar, and the people never had the book in which they were written. So, while the priest comes down out of the pulpit and begins to approach the altar, clerics near the altar are unveiling the chalice, spreading the corporal (the great linen cloth on which the vessels will stand), and bringing bread and wine from the side table (the “credence”). Today, only wine is used, as Luther counseled. No water usually is added to the chalice, though that is still sometimes done, albeit without the medieval prayers which used to accompany it.

Text Continues:
The bread and wine having been prepared, one may proceed as follows:
The Lord be with you.
Response: And with thy spirit.
Lift up your hearts.
Response: Let us lift them to the Lord.
Let us give thanks unto the Lord our God.
Response: It is meet and right.
It is truly meet and right, just and salutary for us to give thanks to Thee always and everywhere, Holy Lord, Father Almighty, Eternal God, through Christ our Lord who the day before he suffered, took bread, and when he had given thanks, broke it, and gave it to his disciples, saying, Take, eat; this is my body, which is given for you. After the same manner also the cup when he had supped, saying, This cup is the New Testament in my blood, which is shed for you and for many, for the remission of sins; this do, as often as ye do it, in remembrance of me. I wish these words of Christ, with a brief pause after the preface, to be recited in the same tone in which the Lord’s Prayer is chanted elsewhere in the canon so that those who are present may be able to hear them, although the evangelically minded should be free about all these things and may recite these words either silently or audibly.
The blessing ended, let the choir sing the Sanctus. And while the Benedictus is being sung, let the bread and cup be elevated according to the customary rite for the benefit of the weak in faith who might be offended if such an obvious change in this rite of the mass were suddenly made. This concession can be made especially where, through sermons in the vernacular, they have been taught what the elevations means.
After this, the Lord’s Prayer shall be read. Thus, let us pray: “Taught by thy saving precepts … ” The prayer which follows, “Deliver us, we beseech thee … ” is to be omitted together with all the signs they were accustomed to make over the host and with the host over the chalice. Nor shall the host be broken or mixed into the chalice. But immediately after the Lord’s Prayer shall be said, “The peace of the Lord,” etc., which is, so to speak, a public absolution of the sins of the communicants, the true voice of the gospel announcing remission of sins, and therefore the one and most worthy preparation for the Lord’s Table, if faith holds to these words as coming from the mouth of Christ himself. On this account, I would like to have it pronounced facing the people, as the bishops are accustomed to do, which is the only custom of the ancient bishops that is left among our bishops.

Commentary: The presider now stands at the prepared altar. Turning toward the people, he begins the prayer at the Table—or “the blessing”—by the ancient exchange with people, sung according to the ancient tone. Many of the people know the Latin response and reply together with the choir. Then, turning toward the east, toward the bread and cup, the presider lifts his hands in the old posture of prayer and begins the thanksgiving.

The thanksgiving quickly comes to the recitation of the account of the Supper, and at the mention of bread and cup, the presider slightly lifts the paten (the plate for the wafer-form bread) and chalice in turn. Unlike medieval practice, this entire prayer, though simple and brief, is sung aloud in the old chant tone of the Lord’s Prayer so the people can hear it.

After the presider concludes Christ’s words over the cup, the choir begins to sing the Sanctus and Benedictus: Holy, holy, holy Lord God of Sabbaoth, heaven and earth are full of your glory. Hosanna in the highest. Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest.

While they are so singing, the priest lifts the bread and cup well over his head, so the people can see them, so they can behold these concrete signs of the mercy of God in Christ. Many of the people fall to their knees before this sight, just as they have done all their lives. Luther’s theology of the real presence of Christ “in, under, and with” the elements enables the churches following him to retain the elevation, as long as the people understand its significance.

The paten and chalice are then replaced on the altar and the presider sings, “Taught by your saving precept, we make bold to say,” whereupon he begins to chant the Lord’s Prayer in the traditional tone.

With these words and ceremony, the promise of Christ is claimed, a thanksgiving prayer is said, and the Table is blessed.

None of the medieval prayers which followed at this point, mostly prayers for forgiveness and for a good reception of communion, are recited. Rather, the priest turns to the people and greets them with the fragment of the ancient kiss of peace which still survives: He says, “The peace of the Lord be with you always.” A few voices answer with the traditional response: “And also with you.” They have been taught that this mutual greeting is the very voice of the gospel, announcing the forgiveness of sins, and that trusting this voice is enough of a preparation for a worthy communion.

Text Continues: Then, while the Agnus Dei is sung, let him [the bishop] communicate, first himself and then the people. But if he should wish to pray the prayer, “O Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, who according to the will of the Father,” etc., before communing, he does not pray wrongly, provided he changes the singular “mine” and “me” to the plural “ours” and “us.” The same thing holds for the prayer, “The body of our Lord Jesus Christ preserve me (or thy) soul unto life eternal,” and “The blood of our Lord preserve thy soul unto life eternal.”
If he desires to have the communion sung, let it be sung. But instead of the complenda or final collect, because it sounds almost like a sacrifice, let the following prayer be read in the same tone: “What we have taken with our lips, O Lord … ” The following one may also be read: “May thy body which we have received … (changing to the plural number) … who livest and reignest world without end.” “The Lord be with you,” etc. In place of the Ite missa, let the Benedicamus domino be said, adding Alleluia according to its own melodies where and when it is desired. Or the Benedicamus may be borrowed from Vespers.
The customary benediction may be given, or else the one from Numbers 6 [:24–27], which the Lord himself appointed: “The Lord bless us and keep us. The Lord make his face shine upon us and be gracious unto us. The Lord lift up his countenance upon us, and give us peace.”
The bishop should also be free to decide on the order in which he will receive and administer both species. He may choose to bless both bread and wine before he takes the bread. Or else he may, between the blessing of the bread and of the wine, give the bread both to himself and to as many as desire it, then bless the wine and administer it to all. This is the order Christ seems to have observed, as the words of the Gospel show, where he told them to eat the bread before he had blessed the cup [Mark 14:22–23]. Then is said expressly, “Likewise also the cup after he supped” [Luke 22:20; 1 Cor. 11:25]. Thus you see that the cup was not blessed until after the bread had been eaten. But this order is [now] quite new and allows no room for those prayers which heretofore were said after the blessing, unless they would also be changed.

Commentary: Then the choir begins to sing the Agnus Dei (“Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world, have mercy on us, grant us peace”), while the presider communes himself and the people begin to come forward to kneel at the altar rail and receive Communion themselves. They are given both the bread and the cup, the former by the presider and the latter by another cleric. Today, these words are used at the distribution: The body of our Lord Jesus Christ preserve your soul into life eternal; and the blood of our Lord preserve your soul unto life eternal.

Luther’s reflections on a different order (prayer over the bread then distribution of the bread followed by prayer over the cup and distribution of the cup) remain only a literary conjecture for now, although later this rather awkward idea will be tried occasionally.

When the choir has finished the Agnus Dei and when they themselves have communed, they take up the chant of a passage of Scripture, called “the communion,” properly appointed for the day in the old missals. The presider, meanwhile, consumes what remains of the bread and wine and cleanses the vessels. When the choir has finished, he chants these prayers, facing the altar:

What we have taken with our lips, O Lord, may we receive with pure minds, and from a temporal gift may it become for us an everlasting remedy. May the body and blood which we have received cleave to our inmost parts. And grant that no stain of sin may remain in us whom this pure and holy sacrament has refreshed, O God, who lives and reigns, world without end. Amen.

The mass then comes quickly to a conclusion with the rites of Dismissal. Facing the people, the priest exchanges the greeting with them again. He then chants, “Let us bless the Lord,” the choir and some of the people responding, “Thanks be to God.” Then he extends his hands and intones the benediction. He and the other clerics leave and the people begin to move toward the door.

Text Continues: Thus we think about the mass. But in all these matters we will want to beware, lest we make binding what should be free, or make sinners of those who may do some things differently or omit others. All that matters is that the Words of Institution should be kept intact and that everything should be done by faith. For these rites are supposed to be for Christians, i.e., children of the “free woman” [Gal. 4:31], who observe them voluntarily and from the heart, but are free to change them how and whenever they may wish. Therefore, it is not in these matters that anyone should either seek or establish as law some indispensable form.… Further, even if different people make use of different rites, let no one judge or despise the other, but every man be fully persuaded in his own mind [Rom. 14:5]. Let us feel and think the same, even though we may act differently. And let us approve each other’s rites lest schisms and sects should result from this diversity in rites.… For external rites, even though we cannot do without them—just as we cannot do without food or drink—do not commend us to God, even as food does not commend us to him [1 Cor. 8:8]. Faith and love commend us to God. Wherefore here let the word of Paul hold sway, “For the kingdom of God is not meat and drink; but righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost” [Rom. 14:17]. So the kingdom of God is not any rite, but faith within you, etc.

Commentary: Again Luther states the central principal: It is we who need ritual, like we need food and drink, not God who requires it. Therefore, the liturgy should rightly be traditional, but it must also be evangelical, a use of the gospel and a reception of Christ’s gift. The details of the ceremony must never be made into a new law.

(Text excerpted from “An Order of Mass and Communion for the Church at Wittenberg, 1523,” in Luther’s Works, vol. 53: Liturgy and Hymns, ed. by Ulrich S. Leupold [Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1965], 19–31.)