It is incumbent on all ministers to learn and
practice the rite, so that it may
have its full impact on the Church and her members.

The gestures of worship
By W. Patrick Cunningham

For those of us who are graced to serve around the altar, either in an ordained or a non-ordained capacity, one of the worst temptations is to think that we know exactly what we are doing. By that strange choice of words I mean that it is wrong for any of us to believe that we completely understand either the mysteries being worked out in the Church through our human words and actions, or the full meaning of those words and actions themselves. It is, therefore, a mistake for us, either through planning or negligence, to make significant changes in the words and actions of Liturgy. It is incumbent on all ministers to learn and practice the rite, so that it may have its full impact on the Church and her members.

Trying to “improve” liturgical celebrations by changing the words and signs is a little bit like trying to improve a finely crafted timepiece. I may know in general how a watch is designed and built. I may even understand the gears and escapements, but without a perfect comprehension of the design and construction, any change I make in it is likely to make it work less effectively, not better. The Divine Liturgy is far more important, and more carefully designed, than any watch.

This reality is a basic part of the Tradition. It has deep roots in Jewish worship, where every ritual was carefully outlined and, in the times of Jesus, scrupulously maintained. The Book of Revelations, which gives us a glimpse of the heavenly Liturgy, is “scripted.” Every word, every movement is divinely inspired and meticulously observed. And the effect is breathtaking.

Much attention has rightly been given to the words of worship — to the careful and prayerful proclamation of the Word of God and the sacramental language. As a result, there are signs that preaching has improved across the United States, and that a spiritual and liturgical renewal centered on the Word is catching hold in many areas.

But communications scholars tell us that well over half of the content of a communication is non-verbal. Facial movements, shoulder shrugs, inflection, and general posture often convey more meaning than the words that are spoken. Suppose, for instance, one asks a new acquaintance, “are you a Catholic?” and he answers “Yeah.” His non-verbal cues often give more information than the word. Is the face bright and enthusiastic-looking? That conveys one message. Is it lethargic and the eyes lifeless? That tells exactly the opposite tale.

Likewise, the nonverbal part of our liturgical prayer conveys even more than the words of worship themselves. We therefore ignore or alter those gestures and attitudes not only at the Church’s peril, but at our own also.

The altar server’s role
Several years ago, the majority of ink spilled over young altar servers was used in the cause of getting young women on the altar. Now, in many dioceses, they serve next to young men. Lamentably, though, there has not been much pastoral attention given to the matter of how they serve. It is my experience that the use of altar servers can even detract from worship.

When altar servers are trained, much attention is paid to their being in the right place at the right time. But, too often, they have little sense of what they are doing, or why. The altar server is first and foremost, praying as part of the congregation, but as a special part of the congregation assisting the hierarchical priesthood (deacon, priest and bishop) in their function at the altar. The first impression one should have of these young people is that they are at prayer. Unfortunately, their nonverbals often tell a different story. A few questions for them, and their leaders, can bring about constructive dialogue, and positive change.

Do the altar servers know the responses of the people at the formal prayers at least as well as the congregation? Do they recite the Confiteor with everyone else? Do they strike their chests at the confession of fault? Do they assume the prayer posture of the hands in front of their chests at all times, except when they are handling some object like a missal or bell? Or do they let gravity take over, their hands folded listlessly at the lowest possible position — in the “figleaf” posture?

Do the servers look like they want to be where they are? An attitude of pious attention is reflected in the mouth — if it isn’t moving in prayer, it should have a serious or half-smile. When hymns and acclamations are intoned, are they joining in enthusiastically? When they move, do they walk toward a clear objective, and deliberately reach it, or do they jump back and forth indecisively, and then lurch toward their assigned place (after a prompting)?

Serious and lengthy training in prayer and liturgical movement, including multiple practice sessions with an effective teacher, can be very helpful in raising the expectations and performance of altar servers. The regular use of a master of ceremonies, who directs the altar servers and gives them confidence, can also work wonders. But the most serious change that many churches need to make, without which the altar servers will always lose both morale and good altar habits, is to improve the liturgical posture and gestures of the ordained ministers.

Little changes: Big results
I have been told by priests trained prior to Vatican Council II that strict attention was paid by their professors to liturgical posture, gestures and movement. Many of these men considered this training to have been perhaps too fussy. In response, however, we should turn to the types of training given in other disciplines. In sales, for instance, the best trainers insist on very careful compliance with the words and gestures of a “sales track.” Every salesperson is trained to say the same things, to point out the same features of a product. The sales event is orchestrated, choreographed. The reasons for this are many, but I think the most important one is that the development of habits of word and gesture free the salesperson from having to “make it up as he goes along.” He can, then, focus on determining the customer’s wants and needs, and on closing the deal, rather than on composing or remembering what to say.

Military training, when properly done, has the same objective — to bring the words and actions of officers and men under their command into a strict discipline. In that way, trained military units can leap into action on command, without having to refer to operations manuals or having to drill in the performance of their duties.

When a sacred minister acquires habits of doing the actions of worship in exactly the same way each time, he can focus on being attentive to the Word, on gauging the congregation’s response to Word and worship, and actually lifting his mind and heart to God. He is not distracted with having to compose the words and gestures of worship while he is doing them.

Moreover, when he disciplines himself to follow the rubrics exactly, he models behavior that he can then expect to be replicated in his assisting ministers and the altar servers (as well as the congregation!). The simple habit of the presider holding the hands together in the traditional posture of prayer will probably be imitated by everyone on the altar without saying a word of reprimand. On the other hand, if the presider fails to do that, it will be very difficult to motivate the altar servers to assume any but the most lackadaisical prayer posture.

When ministers at the altar pay strict attention to posture, gesture and movement, the liturgical action can assume the character of a sacred drama. Historically, Greek theater was intimately connected to Greek religion. Christian worship elevated that connection to a new level — sacred liturgy became a real participation in the divine drama of salvation. We would do well to restore that reality, if we are to make all the graces of liturgical prayer available to God’s people.

Points of dramatic liturgical action
One of my oldest opinions about training ministers is that each should have some experience both in speech and in drama. Dramatic performance adds to the speaker the elements of cooperation, movement, posture and gesture, all skills that add immeasurably to the effectiveness of a minister at the altar. But even ministers with no dramatic experience can learn from the principles of acting, which can be illustrated by certain points of action in the liturgical drama, specifically here the Holy Sacrifice:

The entrance procession of the Mass sets the dramatic tone for what is to follow. All ministers should process with careful posture, hands joined in prayer, or carefully holding the instruments of worship — cross, crosier, Gospel book, candles or torches. Ideally, a refrain or antiphon should be sung so that hymnals do not have to be used by the ministers. The procession should move at a steady but unhurried gait. All should bow at the altar at the same moment, and then move deliberately to their liturgical stations. The reverence at the altar by the ordained clergy should be simultaneous and unrushed. This careful pacing should then extend throughout the Mass.

At the Sign of the Cross and Confiteor, an important principle of drama should be meticulously followed: gestures should be clearly visible. The introductory Sign of the Cross should be done slowly and reverently, and encompass the entire upper torso — the cross becomes an “embrace” by Christ of the baptized.1 The Confiteor contains the important mea culpa, with the symbolic striking of the breast. This should not be omitted, and, indeed, should be at least audible in the sanctuary. It tells the world that we come to the altar as sinners, with the hope and expectation that the sacrifice of Christ will transform us into his image.

This principle of clarity of sign should carry throughout the Mass, especially during the homily. If the homilist makes a gesture, it should be high enough, and dramatic enough, to catch the eye of the listener. Moreover, such gestures should never be threatening, like a finger shaken in the direction of the congregation.

When a minister moves, he should continue to be deliberate and unapologetic. As a minister moves in front of the altar, there is a prescribed bow (when the Eucharist is not present) or genuflection (when the Sacrament is present). That bow should be from the waist, and profound, not perfunctory. The “ten-degree” bow many ministers habituate looks like a mistake retracted. At the end of the reading, the practice of holding the Bible aloft while saying or singing “The Word of the Lord” is theologically misleading. Christ is the Word, and the contact of the Church with Christ is in the proclamation of the Word, which endures in the hearts of the faithful whether there is a physical book present or not. Holding up the book, then, eviscerates the sacred sign and liturgical language, rather than explicating them.

One of the functions of liturgical gestures and postures is to sign forth the hierarchical reality of the Church. Lamentably, this fact seems to embarrass some clergy, who in response attempt to level out the gestures of worship, to create a false impression of radical egalitarianism. The primary gesture of hierarchy, which is really a hierarchy of service, is the orantes position of prayer assumed by the presiding priest, bishop or deacon. When the presider refuses or neglects to use this position, he is really cheating the Church out of a sign of its reality. When he confuses it, especially by encouraging everyone to adopt that posture and join hands at the Lord’s Prayer, he is impoverishing, not enriching, liturgical prayer.

The dramatic climax of the Mass is, of course, the Eucharistic Prayer and consecration. There the hierarchic and hieratic reality is most clear. Careful attention to the details of word and movement are essential. Here, exaggeration is no vice. The deacon may kneel at the epiclesis, in the presence of the action of the Holy Spirit.2 The elevations of Host and cup should be most reverent, and unhurried. When the principal celebrant neglects the elevation, he is symbolically calling into question the Real Presence. This is probably unintentional,3 but in an environment where many Catholics are unsure about the reality of Christ’s presence, substantially, under the forms of bread and wine, one cannot be too careful of giving scandal. The use of bells at the double elevation adds an element of celebration, and the effect is enhanced if all the ministers and altar servers, even if kneeling, bow at the twin genuflections of the presider.

One of the less fortunate corruptions of the Eucharistic service is the “dumbing down” of the Pax. At the Kiss of Peace, in the older Latin Rite, the ministers at the altar “passed down” the embrace of fellowship, from principal celebrant to the other ministers. It was a true abrazo, a sign of solidarity and love. The hierarchical character was always clear.

Adding the participation of the people in the pax was not necessarily a bad idea, but in practice it has turned into a clubby handshake ritual. Moreover, that informality has bounced back into the sanctuary, so that the embrace is at least awkward (“does he want a hug or a handshake?”) or the handshake perfunctory. There are multiple reasons why the rubrics tell us that the clergy should not run out into the congregation to spread the shake, and, again, the principles of drama can tell us why not.

Primarily, abandoning the altar for a group hug interrupts the sacred action, and leaves the Host of the sacrificial meal alone. It is the ultimate act of horizontality, the symbolic dereliction of the very God who calls us together. Dramatically, it leaves an empty stage, and tells everyone that the important action is going on in the nave, not the sanctuary. The movement of clergy out into the congregation detracts from the procession of divine gifts from the altar to the point of communion just moments later. Finally, it is a sign of contradiction: the very action that is supposed to show our brotherhood leaves out the majority. “Why did Father greet the guy in front of me and ignore me?”

The last action of most liturgical services is the Rite of Dismissal. Many commentators have noted that this rite, which is supposed to send out the congregation to do good in Christ, has never fulfilled its total potential. Many congregants rush out right after communion. The triple invocation, a beautiful addition to the rite, is either ignored or mishandled. The dismissal itself, proclaimed by the deacon, the principal minister of service, is often not answered.

The solution to these problems is quite simple. Checking the rapid egress of the faithful may be solved by catechesis. Liturgically, however, the ministers can fix the other problems merely by singing everything. The congregation doesn’t respond to the triple invocation because they don’t know when this variable prayer ends. So the presider should sing the invocation and drop a third on the last word. That triggers a sung “Amen” automatically. The same thing can be said about the dismissal itself: the deacon sings whatever variant he prefers and on the last word, drops a third. That should engender a response, sung, “Thanks be to God.”

All these ideas are little details. They are incremental improvements in worship, but they can bring great results in attention, understanding, and prayer. They take very little time in the service itself, but bring wonderful benefits. But consider our Scriptural model of dialogue between God and humans: The dialogue between the Blessed Virgin and the Angel Gabriel takes, even when read slowly, less than three minutes. But her attention to that conversation, brief and apparently inconsequential though it was, set in motion a chain of events that was the salvation of the world.