Archive for the ‘+The Breaking of Bread’Category

An “Egyptian” Eucharistic Prayer

Here is another sample Eucharistic prayer, this time based on ancient Egyptian sources.

Opening Dialogue

The Lord be with you.
And also with you.
Lift up your hearts.
We lift them up to the Lord.
Let us give thanks to the Lord our God.
It is right to give our thanks and praise.

Praise

It is truly fitting and right, holy and suitable,
and profitable to our souls,
Master, Lord, God, Father Almighty,
to praise you, to hymn you, to give thanks to you,
to confess you night and day
with unceasing lips and unsilenced heart;

You are the LORD, you alone;
You have made the heaven and the earth,
the sea, and everything in them.
To all of them you give life,
and the host of heaven worships you.

Thanksgiving

You made humankind according to your own image and likeness,
and granted us the pleasure of paradise.
When we sinned, you did not despise or abandon us,
but you called us back through the Law,
you taught us through the Prophets,
you saved us through your only Son,
the True Light: our Lord Jesus Christ.

Through this bread and this cup,
in obedience to Christ’s command:
We proclaim his death!
We confess his resurrection!
We await his coming again!

Giving thanks through him to you
we offer this spiritual sacrifice
and this bloodless offering,
which all the nations offer you,
from east to west, from south to north,
for your name is great among the nations,
and in every place incense and a pure sacrifice
is offered to your holy name.

Supplication

Fill us with your Holy Spirit, O God,
and these gifts now set before you,
That they may be to all who receive them
a medicine of life
for the healing of spirt, soul, and body,
and for new life in the kingdom of heaven.

Through the blood of Christ Jesus your Son,
receive our sacrifice of praise, and hear our prayer:

Remember your holy Church,
all your peoples and all your flocks.
Fill our hearts with heaven’s peace,
and grant us also the peace of this life.

Guide the President, the Governor,
and all who are in authority in all peace.
Bless our community and its leaders,
our neighbors, our families, and all that we do.

Send gentle rain to gladden the face of the earth.
Water its furrows, multiply its fruits.
Grant them to us for seedtime and harvest,
for the poor of your people,
for all of us who call upon your name,
for all who hope in you.

Give rest to the souls of those who have fallen asleep.
Remember our spiritual mothers and fathers everywhere;
and grant us to have a part
with [N., N., and] all of your holy prophets,
apostles, and martyrs.

[Conclude with one of the following endings:]

Doxology

Sanctus

Receive our prayers
through your only Son Jesus Christ,
in the unity of the Holy Spirit:

As it was and is and shall be
to generations of generations
and to all the ages of ages.
Amen.

For you are above every principality and power
and virtue and dominion
and every name that is named.
Thousands of thousands
and ten thousands of ten thousands
of the hosts of heaven continually worship you.
Receive also our worship as we sing (say):

Holy, holy, holy, Lord of hosts;
heaven and earth are full of your glory.

NOTES

Most of the earliest Eucharistic prayers did not have many of the features that ultimately became standard or even considered “necessary” for a valid sacrament.

This prayer is based on several such prayers known from ancient Egyptian sources. The main outline of the prayer and much of the wording comes from Strasbourg Papyrus 254, the oldest known example of the Anaphora of St. Mark. Its structure is praise-oblation-intercessions, rounded off at the end with a brief ascription of praise (in Jewish terms, a chatimah). The Strasbourg papyrus gives no evidence of Sanctus, institution narrative, or Epiclesis. Of the other sources consulted, I have leaned most heavily upon the Euchologium of Serapion of Thmuis and the final form of the Anaphora of St. Mark.

1. The “Praise” Section

The praise section contains two paragraphs taken from Strasbourg 254 and the Anaphora of St. Mark.

2. The “Thanksgiving” Section

This section is in three paragraphs. The first is from the preface of St. Mark, whence it probably came via the Egyptian Anaphora of St. Basil.

The second paragraph is an anamnesis or “remembrance” derived mostly from St. Mark.

The third paragraph is an oblation or “offering” which is a paraphrase of the original Strasbourg 254.

Strasbourg 254 does not contain an institution narrative and I have chosen to leave it out. The intitution narrative may be recited before the distribution of the elements. If you really must include the institution narrative in the prayer itself, it may be inserted between the first and second paragraphs of the “Thanksgiving” section (which would then read, “…your Son Jesus Christ, / who, on the night he was betrayed, etc. …/ Through this bread and this cup,” etc.).

3. The “Supplication” Section

The “supplication” is in two paragraphs. The first is an Epiclesis or invocation of the Holy Spirit. Since this is an “Eastern” prayer after all, it seemed appropriate to include an Epiclesis. It is fashioned mainly from Serapion and Egyptian St. Basil.

The intercessions abbreviate and paraphrase Strasbourg 254.

4. The Conclusion

Two options are given for a praise acclamation at the end of the prayer. The one marked “Doxology” is closer to the original Strasbourg wording.

The option marked “Sanctus” requires a bit of explanation. It has been theorized that the Sanctus hymn originally entered the liturgy in Egypt, and that it began its “career” as an ascription of praise at the end of the Eucharistic prayer. There are no extant documents that actually show this structure, and I personally am unconvinced by the theory. To my knowledge, Martin Luther is the first person ever to suggest concluding the Eucharistic prayer with the Sanctus. It is, however, true that later Egyptian Anaphoras have the intercessions early on, before the Sanctus.

I have suggested the option of concluding with the Sanctus because it strikes me as a creative way to re-insert a traditional element in a non-traditional way.

14

08 2009

A “Hippolytan” Eucharistic Prayer

Here is a sample Eucharistic prayer based on the Apostolic Tradition and its later adaptations.

Opening Dialogue

The Lord be with you.
And also with you.
Lift up your hearts.
We lift them up to the Lord.
Let us give thanks to the Lord our God.
It is right to give our thanks and praise.

Praise

It is fitting and right, Almighty Master
to give you thanks unceasingly
for all your benefits
which you have given us.

Blessed are you, Lord our God, the Creator of all things.
All that you have made worships you:
the sun and moon and all the choirs of stars;
the earth, the sea, and all that is in them.

Thousands of thousands
and ten thousands of ten thousands
of angels, archangels, thrones, dominions,
principalities, and powers worship you.

The all-seeing cherubim worship you,
and the six-winged seraphim
which continually, night and day, cry ‘Holy.’
With them receive also our cry of ‘Holy,’ as we say:

Holy, holy, holy, Lord of Hosts,
Heaven and earth are full of your glory.

Truly, Lord of Hosts, heaven and earth
are full of the holiness of your glory.

Thanksgiving

We give thanks to you, Lord,
through your beloved Son Jesus Christ.
In the fullness of time you sent him to us
as Savior and Redeemer and Messenger of your will.

He is your Word,
inseparable from you.
Through him you made all things,
and in him you are well-pleased.

You sent him from heaven into the Virgin’s womb,
where he was conceived, and made flesh.
Born of the Virgin by the power of the Holy Spirit,
he was revealed as your Son.

Fulfilling your will,
he stretched out his hands on the cross,
to release from suffering those who have believed in you
and to gain for you a holy people.

And when he was handed over to voluntary suffering
that he might destroy death, and break the bonds of the devil,
and trample down hell, and lead the saints into light,
and appoint a day for judgment, and manifest the resurrection:

He took bread and gave thanks to you, saying,
“Take, eat, this is my body, broken for you.”
Likewise the cup, saying, “This is my blood, shed for you.
Do this in remembrance of me.

Remembering, therefore, his death and resurrection,
we set before you this bread and this cup.
We give you thanks, not as we ought but as we are able,
that you have held us worthy to minister before you as priests.

Supplication

Have mercy on us, Lord, and send your Holy Spirit
upon the offering of your holy church,
that he may show this bread to be the body of Christ
and this cup to be the blood of Christ.

Bring together in unity all who share these holy mysteries.
Confirm them in the true faith, forgive their sins,
deliver them from the evil one,
fill them with the Holy Spirit, and gather them into your kingdom.

(The following intercessions may be added, wholly or in part:)

May every sinful way may be driven out by the power of your name.
When hell hears that name it trembles:
the dragon is crushed, the spirits are driven away,
sin is cast out, disobedience is subdued, and every root of bitterness destroyed.

Grant, Lord, that we may see you with our innermost eyes:
to praise and glorify and serve you,
and to have a portion in you alone,
and in your Son, Jesus Christ, to whom all things are subdued.

Sustain to the end those who have gifts of revelations.
Confirm those who have a gift of healing.
Make those who have the gift of tongues courageous.
Keep those who rightly divide the word of truth.

Care for those who do your will always.
Visit the widows; help the orphans.
Remember those who have fallen asleep in the faith,
and grant us an inheritance with your saints.

Doxology

Grant that, with one mind and one heart,
we may always give you glory and praise through Jesus Christ,
who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit
forever and ever and to all eternity:

Amen.

NOTES

This anaphora is based on the one recorded in the Apostolic Tradition, as well as the various anaphoras that have looked to it for inspiration. These include:

  • The so-called “Clementine Liturgy” in Book 8 of the Apostolic Constitutions (ApConst, Syria, ca. 380)
  • The Anaphora of Epiphanius of Salamis (Cyprus, ca. 370-400)
  • The Testamentum Domini (Asia Minor? ca. 450)
  • The Ethiopian Anaphora of the Apostles (ca. 500?)

Almost all of the wording can be found in at least one of these sources.

Traditionally associated with the Roman presbyter Hippolytus in the early third century, more recent scholarship sees the Apostolic Tradition as a collection of diverse materials representing several geographic areas. A date sometime in the third century, though not as early as Hippolytus, is still a possibility. (See Paul F. Bradshaw, Liturgy 16 [2000] 7-11.)

I have re-cast this material into a tripartite structure with the most basic verbal cues used in the Jewish birkat ha-mazon or ‘table blessing,’ namely, (1) an opening section of praise for creation, (2) a section of commemoration of God’s saving acts, and (3) a concluding section of supplication (the epiclesis).

(1) The Praise Section: “Blessed are you.”

The preface and Sanctus are drawn from wordings found in ApConst and the Anaphora of the Apostles. The other adaptations of ApTrad do not attempt to include a Sanctus.

The line beginning “blessed are you” is derived ultimately from a line in ApConst, “glory be to you, Almighty God, for all things.” I have re-cast this line as a berakah to give the anaphora a more Judaic “feel.”

The introductory “it is fitting and right, etc.” comes from Epiphanius.

(2) The Thanksgiving Section: “We give thanks to you.”

From here on, the wording of ApTrad itself is followed more or less strictly. The original phrase “to establish the limit” seemed problematic due to its ambiguity of reference. I chose to paraphrase it “appoint a day for judgment” following the suggestion of R. H. Connolly (JTS 38 [1939], p. 362).

The line, “we give you thanks, not as we ought, but as we are able” is taken from the institution narrative in ApConst. It is such an fitting sentiment that I couldn’t bear to lose it. It is moved into the anamnesis to preserve the original introduction to the institution narrative.

(3) The Supplication Section: “Have mercy on us.”

I have elaborated upon the original Epiclesis with words or sentiments found in ApConst, Testamentum Domini, and Epiphanius. The opening words, “have mercy on us,” provide the last verbal cue to the birkat ha-mazon formula. There is precedent for the appeal “have mercy” in other ancient epicleses, for example, in the Jerusalem Liturgy of Saint James.

The petition to “show” the bread to be the Body of Christ, etc., is a literal translation of the original Greek ἐπιφάνη, “show,” “reveal,” or “manifest,” in ApConst and other ancient anaphoras.

The optional intercessions are from the Testamentum Domini. I have abbreviated this section and paraphrased a line or two.

12

08 2009

Can the Blood of Jesus Make You Sick?

I don’t mean this to sound snarky, but I’m seriously confused by stories coming out of places like Palm Beach, Peoria, and Austin that their respective Catholic archdioceses are recommending worshipers not receive the precious Blood of Christ from a common cup, or at all, at the Eucharist due to fears over the spread of swine flu.

I’m confused because it has been my understanding that Catholics believe in transsubstatiation, the view that at the Eucharist the physical elements of bread and wine are transformed in substance so that they are no longer bread and wine but in fact the Body and Blood of Jesus. The outward “accidents” of the elements are unchanged (the taste, aroma, etc.) but the inward “substance”—what it really is—is transformed.

So, what does it mean theologically that germs can be spread through the medium of consecrated Communion wine? Can the Blood of Christ make you sick? The image that comes to mind is someone hesitating to shake hands with Jesus because Jesus may have shaken hands with someone contagious. I’m not sure what I think about that image, but I struggle to see the faith in it—Eucharistic or otherwise.

I can understand why other groups (the Austin TX article mentioned Methodists) would consider the possibility of contagion from Communion wine and take suitable precautions. For them, it’s still wine in substance and not merely in accidents. (It may be considered to convey the real presence of Christ, depending on the denomination we’re talking about, but the wine is “really present” as well.)

I welcome any clarification or correction from my Catholic readers. And yes, I will delete any uncharitable comments directed at any point of view concerning the meaning of Communion.

03

05 2009

A Rock and a Roll

I am fairly comfortable with the historic Baptist position on the Lord’s Supper. In other words, I find the way it is observed and talked about in most Baptist churches today to be dismally inadequate. I may not agree with you about the philosophical and theological niceties of how Christ is present in the bread and the cup, but please place me in the “real presence” column and not in the “real absence” camp of most of my contemporary fellow Baptists.

I prefer to live in a sacramentally charged world where even everyday, earthy things can be conduits of grace. I’ve been thinking of a couple of incidents that may explain what I mean by that unBaptist statement. Both of them point to fresh ways traditionally non-sacramentally minded folk might think about Communion and its importance. If nothing else, perhaps these illustrations can help others see why this is an important issue for me.

A Rock

Connie was a preschool teacher in Louisville. Jonathan was one of her two-year olds. One day on the playground, Jonathan gave Connie a rock. “Here, Miss Tonnie: a rock!” and he proudly plopped it into her waiting hand.

Later, Jonathan’s mother explained what a great honor it was to be given one of Jonathan’s rocks. He didn’t give them to just anybody, you see. He loved to play with them on the playground, pick them up, feel their weight and texture, look at their shapes and colors. He was just fascinated with rocks. For all I know, Jonathan is hoping to enter the University of Louisville in the next couple years as a geology major!

Connie has cherished that rock for over fifteen years. It was one of the sentimental treasures we were sad we lost when our house was burglarized last year.

But it’s only a rock, right? Why should anyone get so worked up about a rock?

Sure, it was only a rock to people who didn’t know the story—who didn’t live the story. In itself, it was just an aggregate of silicon, oxygen, and other elements, a perfectly ordinary product of geological processes at work before any of us were born. But when Jonathan took it in his hands that rock was transformed. When he gave it to Connie, he was giving her a part of himself. Nor did it matter that Connie was clueless about what the rock meant. Now she knows, and she’s genuinely sad and frustrated that she no longer has it.

A Roll

At big family get-togethers, we make “Henrietta Rolls.” They are absolutely delicious, but they are also a lot of work. You have to mix up the dough and then let it rise, then let it rise again. Then you have to punch out little circles of dough, slather them in butter, and set them aside until you’re ready to bake them. We call them Henrietta Rolls because my Mom got the recipe from Henrietta, who was the leader of one of her civic clubs when she was younger. Henrietta made the rolls for Mom and the other young ladies and shared the recipe with them. They’ve been Henrietta Rolls ever since.

We had company over for Christmas dinner and mom told the story of the rolls and remarked about how it always brought back fond memories when she makes them. Rebecca was hearing the story for the first time, and when Mom started talking about how the rolls reminded her of special times, she offered this powerful theologoumenon: “They’re a memory you can eat!”

That’s it exactly! The eating is pleasant enough, but the whole experience—mixing the dough, kneading it, shaping it, buttering it, baking it—has far greater significance than the taste of the finished product. If you don’t know the story, it’s just a roll—the best roll you’ve ever tasted, I guarantee, but still just a tiny morsel of bread. Once you know the story, and once you’ve lived it in the kitchen of people you love, you know it’s something more.

I never knew Henrietta. Whenever I eat those rolls I can’t help but think of family feasts or a house full of honored guests—my Dad’s basketball teams, my Mom’s parliamentarians, or just the friends who always used to come to my parents’ New Year’s Day open house. I remember my grandmother and my Aunt Lena helping to bake sheet after sheet of the things!

Connie usually refers to them not as Henrietta Rolls but as Grandmommy Rolls. I’ve got a feeling that’s what Rebecca will be calling them decades from now.

Why is the Lord’s Supper so important to me? Because it is a gift Jesus gave us, and therefore we ought to receive it graciously and gratefully. And, because faith tells me there’s more to it than a tiny morsel of bread.

It is a memory we can eat.

07

01 2009

Sacramental Journey 4

The cup of blessing that we bless, is it not a sharing in the blood of Christ? The bread that we break, is it not a sharing in the body of Christ? (1 Cor 10:16)

It was a shock to me when I learned that first-century Christians held their weekly worship services around the dinner table and that the first “Lord’s Suppers” were real-live meals and not just tiny crackers and thimbles full of grape juice. How could anyone possibly have the Lord’s Supper and a church potluck at the same time? It just wasn’t natural.

For the first Christians, it made prefect sense to share meals together in which they remembered the many meals Jesus shared with his disciples, and especially the last supper on the night he was betrayed. The Corinthians, however, faltered in preserving the spiritual significance of their meals. Instead of a sharing in the body and blood of Christ (1 Cor 10:16), their gatherings became occasions for drunkenness and class prejudice (11:20-21). Paul needed to remind them that eating the bread and drinking from the cup were not magic rituals. Sharing the church’s meal couldn’t protect them from God’s judgment any more than eating the Passover protected those Israelites who fell into idolatry in the wilderness.

Christ is present when his people gather in his name. We should remember that when we approach his table.

21

06 2008

Sacramental Journey 3

Father, hallowed be your name.
Your kingdom come.
Give us each day our daily bread.
And forgive us our sins,
for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us.
And do not bring us to the time of trial. (Lk 11:2-4)

Jesus taught the disciples to pray, “Give us each day our daily bread.” Bread is such a powerful symbol of God’s provision that I’m surprised we don’t pay more attention to its use in Scripture. In our economic abundance, perhaps we have forgotten that, for most of human history, food was often hard to come by. Fruits and vegetables were only available in season, and meat was mostly a delicacy of the rich. Bread, however, was a staple at every meal. In ancient Greek, one of the words for “fish” even means something like, “that which is eaten with bread.”

Jesus supplies our every need. More than once in the Gospels, this is illustrated through the provision of bread. When Jesus gives bread to his followers, the spiritually attentive see it as a sign of divine presence. Like the Emmaus disciples, they “recognize Jesus” in the breaking of the bread.

20

06 2008

On Liturgy and “Relevance”

Do check out this article by Mark Galli at Christianity Today. Galli has recently written a book about the growing attraction some evangelicals feel for traditional Christian liturgy. Here, he summarizes some of why that attraction exists. Some of my favorite bits include:

The worship leaders wear medieval robes and guide the congregation through a ritual that is anything but spontaneous; they lead music that is hundreds of years old; they say prayers that are scripted and formal; the homily is based on a 2,000-year-old book; and the high point of the service is taken up with eating the flesh and drinking the blood of a Rabbi executed in Israel when it was under Roman occupation. It doesn’t sound relevant.

Yet many evangelicals are attracted to liturgical worship, and as one of those evangelicals, I’d like to explain what the attraction is for me, and perhaps for many others. A closer look suggests that something more profound and paradoxical is going on in liturgy than the search for contemporary relevance. “The liturgy begins‚Ķ as a real separation from the world,” writes Orthodox theologian Alexander Schmemann. He continues by saying that in the attempt to “make Christianity understandable to this mythical ‘modern’ man on the street,” we have forgotten this necessary separation.

And:

[C]hurches that perceive themselves as relevant often by their nature limit a full-bodied expression of the church‚Äîthat is, they “target” 20- and maybe 30-somethings, and usually those of that group who are middle- and upper-middle-class white-collar types rising in income and influence. Few churches that consciously seek relevance want to clear the way to church for the poor, the homeless, welfare moms, drug-addicted men, or those trapped in nursing homes and convalescent hospitals. These “target audiences” are not very relevant to many “casual, contemporary” churches.

This is one reason I thank God for the liturgy. The liturgy does not target any age or cultural subgroup. It does not even target this century…. Instead, the liturgy draws us into worship that transcends our time and place. Its earliest forms took shape in ancient Israel, and its subsequent development occurred in a variety of cultures and subcultures‚ÄîGreco-Roman, North African, German, Frankish, Anglo-Saxon, and so on. It has been prayed meaningfully by bakers, housewives, tailors, teachers, philosophers, priests, monks, kings, and slaves. As such, it has not been shaped to meet a particular group’s needs. It seeks only to enable people‚Äîpeople in general‚Äîto see God.

Ponder as well at Michael Bird’s aphoristic explanation of why one needs a healthy balance between word, sacrament, and Spirit:

1. If you focus predominantly on the power of the preached Word, but push the Sacraments to the corner and domesticate the Spirit to suit your theology, then you’ll turn the church into a Mosque.

2. If you focus on the experience and euphoria of the Spirit, and have the Word eviscerated into some pop-psychology, and relegate the Sacraments to something too “liturgical” and passe you’ll soon find yourself practicing Mysticism.

3. If you focus on the Sacraments as instruments through which we encounter God, but reduce the Word to sound bites of moral advice, and censure the Spirit as the concern of a few eccentric enthusiasts, then you’ll find yourself pushing Magic.

Press deadlines beckon, but I expect I’ll have more to say about all this in a couple of weeks.

05

05 2008

Christian Worship and the Unbaptized

So far we have seen that the earliest forms of distinctively Christian worship have their origins at the dinner table where a few baptized and committed believers gathered to share a common meal. Furthermore, the evidence strongly suggests this form of worship was a private affair at which non-believers were forbidden. Wayne Meeks, for example, describes how Paul understood the Lord’s Supper ritual as a “boundary marker” of Christian community (The First Urban Christians [Yale University Press, 1983] 159-60). This exclusion flies in the face of current ministry philosophies that make much of the church’s weekly worship service as a “front door event” at which pre-Christian seekers are assumed to be present.

Modern church practice, crossing all denominational lines (as far as I know), does not bar anyone from simply attending a service where the Lord’s Supper is celebrated. I have been present at Catholic Mass on several occasions, even though as a Protestant I would be deemed unqualified to receive Communion. My mere presence, however, was never a sticking point. Churches generally give some sort of notice, either spoken or printed, as to who is or is not invited to receive the bread and the cup. The attendance of people not permitted to participate fully is not considered a problem. This practice is an outgrowth of medieval Christendom, in which it could be safely assumed that nearly every member of society had been baptized in infancy and was thus at least nominally Christian. As our society becomes more secular and post-Christian, this assumption will need to be named and evaluated biblically, ecclesiologically, and theologically.

On at least one occasion, however, Paul discussed Christian worship on the assumption that unbelievers would be present. In discussing the exercise of charismatic gifts, he told the Corinthians,

If all prophesy, an unbeliever or outsider who enters is reproved by all and called to account by all. After the secrets of the unbeliever’s heart are disclosed, that person will bow down before God and worship him, declaring, “God is really among you” (1 Cor 14:24-25)

It should be noted that Paul (1) assumed that the presence of an “unbeliever or outsider” was a real possibility, and (2) urged the Corinthians to adjust their worship practices so as not to put unnecessary stumbling blocks in such a person’s path.

From earliest times, therefore, Christians invited the unbaptized to participate in some forms of Christian worship but not others. Specifically, only the baptized were permitted to attend the Eucharist. A number of options presented themselves for working out the logistics of this decision.

Let us call the most widespread arrangement the “Classical” option. This option was universal by the fourth and fifth centuries. Simply put, the unbaptized were permitted to attend the first part of the service, in which the Sciptures were read and explained, but were dismissed before the Eucharist. So long as there was a vital catechumenate, those who had made at least a preliminary commitment to follow Christ were dismissed with a blessing and sent to another location, where they would receive additional instruction.

Two earlier options may be designated by the locations in which they first appear in the documentary record. The “Bithynian” option is suggested by Pliny’s interrogation of certain lapsed Christians. Around the turn of the second century, Pliny discovered that the custom of Christians was to meet in the pre-dawn hours for prayer, and then to gather again in the evening to share a common meal. It has been conjectured that the early-morning prayer service was modeled on Jewish synagogue practices. Although there is no indication of the presence of seekers at the morning service, it seems likely that they would have been welcomed, just as “God-fearers” were welcomed in Hellenistic synagogues in the first century.

Earlier still, we find the “Corinthian” option in the writings of Paul. In 1 Corinthians, the Lord’s Supper was apparently exclusively for Christians (1 Cor 11), but seekers were permitted to join in the “symposium” immediately following (1 Cor 12-14). Though it may seem strange to us, it was unremarkable in ancient times for hosts to invite only a few close friends for dinner and to invite additional guests to come after supper to take part in the evening’s entertainments. Such a practice seems to be implied in 1 Corinthians.

Finally, we should mention the “Constantinopolitan” option, known only from a historical reminiscence in a sermon of John Chrysostom (Homily 27 on 1 Cor 11:17). Chrysostom described an ancient church custom by which “the poor” were invited to a dinner that took place in the church at the conclusion of the Eucharist. If “the poor” included unbelievers (and this is not certain), this would be the only ancient option in which non-believers were invited to share food with Christians! There is no evidence that any church actually observed this custom in ancient times, but it deserves consideration, if for no other reason than it is faithful to Jesus’ own example of eating with society’s outcasts.

technorati tags: agape, baptism, catechumen, communion, eucharist, lord’s supper, unbaptized

26

03 2008

Why Did Eucharist and Agape Diverge?

As yet we have not addressed the most vexing question of all: why did Christians see fit to separate the Eucharist from the agape?

Abuses

As early as the New Testament itself evidence surfaces that there were abuses connected with the agape. These abuses apparently arose from failure to grasp the spiritual nature of the meal.

Paul described a situation in 1 Corinthians 11:17-34 in which social stratification led to inequities in the food. As Paul described it, when the worshipers gathered for the agape, the rich (who, with more flexible schedules, are most likely to arrive early) shared their own higher quality food and wine before the poorer members of the church could arrive. One goes hungry, Paul observed, while another becomes drunk. As Theissen suggests, this seems to have been acceptable behavior by Greco-Roman standards. Paul was eager to expunge this practice from the Eucharist. He therefore urged the Corinthians to discern the body (11:29) so as to eat worthily. Rather than bring such behaviors into the observance where the church was to celebrate and demonstrate its unity and equality, Paul suggested those who wanted more sumptuous fare to eat at home before coming to worship. Otherwise, they must wait for everyone to arrive before beginning to eat.

Another form of abuse is hinted at when Paul speaks of drunkenness as a problem at the Lord’s Supper. Jude 12 also indicates immoral behavior as a blemish upon the church’s agapes.

All in all, the agape did not fare well when it first entered the Greco-Roman milieu. This may well explain the later exhortations to uphold the feast with sobriety and decorum. One early example of such exhortation is found in the Apostolic Tradition:

But when you eat and drink do it in good order and not unto drunkenness, and not so that any one may mock you, or that he who invites you may be grieved by your disorder, but [rather] so that he may pray [to be made worthy] that the saints may come in unto him. For he said, “You are the salt of the earth” (ApTrad. 26:7).

Such abuses would have created an impetus for removing the Eucharist from a morally questionable environment. Indeed, they probably played a part in the complete discontinuation of the agape. These abuses, however, do not provide the only rationale for separating the Eucharist from the fellowship meal. Additional factors also contributed to the separation.

Persecution

In Pliny’s letter to Trajan, he describes the practice of Christians in Asia Minor around the turn of the second century. According to lapsed Christians whom he interrogated, it was their former custom to gather for worship early in the morning, and then to re-assemble for an evening meal. Pliny further recounts that they had discontinued this meal practice after he issued an edict, following upon Trajan’s instructions, forbidding “political associations” (hetaeriae).

This imperial policy was probably instrumental in moving the Eucharist from evening to morning. By the time of Justin Martyr, a Eucharist at sunrise was apparently the norm. Justin’s accounts of the Eucharist make no mention of an agape. The first Christians perhaps could not bring themselves to completely abandon their communal banquet, but under the threat of persecution reasoned that it was justifiable to reduce it to only the barest elements.

A practical consideration at this point is the cultural expectations about supper as opposed to breakfast. In late antiquity the main meal of the day took place in the late afternoon or early evening. Breakfast, however, was traditionally quite small and simple. It often consisted of a single piece of bread. Pre-Christian sources sometimes even describe a breakfast of bread dipped in wine. So the transition from evening to morning Eucharist entailed a transition from supper to breakfast as the predominant mealtime frame of reference. It is not difficult to see how a light meal of bread alone could eventually become a single morsel of bread, eaten not to sustain the body but for purely sacramental motives.

Liturgical Minimalism

All of the New Testament accounts of the Last Supper show signs of liturgical shaping. Details of the Passover Seder became eclipsed so as to cast greater emphasis on Jesus’ words and actions surrounding the bread and the cup.

Lietzmann’s reconstruction of literary dependency would seem to hold:

  • The original tradition was preserved in two forms, Mark 14 and 1 Cor 11.
  • Matthew is an elaboration on the Markan form of the tradition.
  • Luke is dependent on both Mark and Paul.

Dix suggests that this phenomenon shows a growing disinterest in the details of the Last Supper itself, particularly in Mark and Matthew bringing together the bread and the cup.

No one would gather from either account that anything occurred in between. They are writing primarily for gentile readers, to whom the details of the Jewish custom would be unfamiliar and perhaps not particularly interesting. But they are also writing for Christian readers, and it rather looks as though the interrelation of Eucharist and supper to one another was no longer familiar or interesting to Christians.

Rather, the early Christian communities were re-casting the observance in terms of their own liturgical practice.

Asceticism

The ascetic impulse began early in Christian history. In second-century Syria, even John the Baptist’s food in the desert became something of an embarrassment. The statement that he consumed meat—albeit locusts—apparently caused a scandal among the ascetically minded. Some writers simply made John into a vegetarian, explaining the akrides of the Greek text either as a plant name, or as a corruption of akrodrua, “wild fruits.” Tatian removed the problem entirely in his Diatessaron by making John’s diet consist of milk and honey.

The ascetic standard with regard to food was simple, vegetarian fare, and as little as possible even of that. Athanasius’s Life of Antony describes the ideal ascetic diet:

[Antony] ate once a day, after sunset, sometimes once in two days, and often even in four. His food was bread and salt, his drink, water only. Of flesh and wine it is superfluous even to speak, since no such thing was found with the other earnest men. (Life of Antony 7)

In a subculture that stresses physical self-denial and fasting, even what was originally a full-on meal is likely to become attenuated until it is ultimately only a “token” eating.

Closed Communion

The earliest documentary evidence suggests that from the very beginning only baptized Christians were allowed to participate at the Eucharist. Even so, Paul voiced the expectation that there would be outsiders present at Christian worship assemblies (1 Cor 14:23-25). So from the beginning churches had to make arrangements for both restricted and unrestricted gatherings. Jeremias suggests that this might have been accomplished by holding the Eucharist at the very end of the agape, after outsiders had been dismissed. This theory assumes that originally all were invited to participate in the agape, a possibility raised by John Chrysostom’s mention of inviting the poor to the common banquet in Homily 27 on 1 Corinthians.

Of course, an equally compelling case can be made for holding the Eucharist first and then bringing in additional guests for the agape. At any rate, it was deemed necessary to separate the special food ritual of the Eucharist from the more common (albeit still religiously significant) agape ritual that the unbaptized could attend.

technorati tags: agape, apostolic tradition, communion, eucharist, lord’s supper

24

03 2008

The Earliest Liturgy: Developments

Patterns of Christian Meals

In my previous post, I only discussed Christian meals that have an explicit Eucharistic element. Other sources are ambiguous, and scholars have debated for some time whether certain texts (e.g., the Didache) are describing the Eucharist or some other form of Christian banquet. Finally, some documents take pains to insist that the meal they are describing is not the Eucharist.

Part of the problem is almost certainly our tendency to impose later understandings of what constitutes a “proper” Eucharist. Jesus shared meals with his disciples (and with the outcasts of society) throughout his earthly ministry, and all of those mealtimes factor into the first Christian patterns of meeting and eating together. The Last Supper has a special place because it was the last meal before the crucifixion, and therefore was especially remembered by at least some early Christian communities.

In The Shape of the Liturgy, Gregory Dix suggests an almost surgical disentanglement of the Eucharist from the agape, leaving an agape-free Eucharist as the regular custom by the time of Ignatius (ca. 110). He takes great pains to highlight the theological and liturgical acumen that went into discerning precisely what needed to remain a part of each observance. He is probably correct that the separation was accomplished with great sensitivity to the underlying Jewish meal liturgy, and I am willing to agree that it was probably accomplished in most regions by the early decades of the second century, if not sooner.

But there is in fact evidence to suggest that the separation took some time to accomplish. First, there is the evidence of combined Eucharistic agapes well into the 2nd century and beyond. Furthermore, even when the Eucharistic nature of the agape was explicitly denied, there are tantalizing hints that in an earlier stratum of tradition one might have read a different story.

The final separation is attested in the Apostolic Tradition, where the author took great pains to hammer home that the agape is not to be construed as a Eucharist in any sense (ApTrad 26:2). Even here, though, there are indications that the agape is more than a simple meal. There is the explicit requirement for the clergy to officiate, and there are exhortations to sobriety and decorous conversation. Above all, the “blessed bread” is forbidden to catechumens. Indeed, in describing an agape, Apostolic Tradition 26:5 declares, “A catechumen shall not sit at table at the Lord’s Supper.” In short, had Ignatius’ contemporaries possessed prayer books, they are unlikely to have thrown them out overnight to embrace the liturgical innovation of celebrating the Eucharist apart from a meal.

Liturgical texts for agapes are rare and often subject to varying interpretations. There is enough evidence, however, to suggest some overall structures. Occasionally, we are even in a position to suggest the wording of actual prayers. For the most part, however, we are forced to use our imagination in applying what we know of the “normative” Justinian liturgical pattern to the “alternative” situation. Some of the most primitive Eucharistic prayers, for example, might have been used at a combined Eucharistic agape.

A Syro-Egyptian Pattern

We begin with the most commonly encountered structure, found in Syria, Egypt, and Asia Minor. In both the Didache (Syria, ca. 100) and the Canons of Hippolytus (Egypt, ca. 340), we encounter a combined Eucharistic agape, with the Eucharist positioned at the beginning of the meal. There is also a 4th century Egyptian treatise On Virginity in which one finds an agape very similar in structure to that of the Didache.

In the Canons of Hippolytus there are two descriptions of an agape. One is for a funerary meal and the other is for an ordinary “Lord’s Supper.” The Lord’s Supper pattern begins with the Eucharist, received standing. Then comes the fellowship meal. The meal is concluded with the lighting of lamps and psalmody.

Whereas earlier commentators disputed the Eucharistic character of the meal ritual depicted in Didache 9-10, the growing consensus is that this is in fact an ancient Eucharist. In Didache 14:1, believers are to confess their transgressions to one another before the Eucharist, “that your sacrifice may be pure.” Aaron Milavec suggests that the corporate confession was omitted at a baptismal Eucharist, as is depicted in chapters 9-10, for pastoral reasons (The Didache: Text, Translation, Analysis, and Commentary [Michael Glazier, 2003] 77).

The cup and the bread are both consecrated in a single prayer before the meal, in distinction to the New Testament pattern (cf. 1 Cor 11). Surprisingly, the cup is mentioned first in the prayer of thanksgiving, a pattern only repeated in the shorter textual tradition of Luke 22. Didache 9-10 presents a rather straightforward Jewish religious meal, but with no mention of a second cup associated with the final prayer. The consecration of the cup and the bread consists of three brief prayers, each concluding with a chatimah or ascription of praise. Many interpreters believe these simple praise sentences were chanted by the congregation.

At the conclusion of the meal is a final prayer that bears strong affinity to the Jewish birkat ha-mazon or table grace. Originally, the prayer would have almost certainly been spoken over a cup, which would then have been shared by the participants. In its current context, the cup is nowhere to be found.Following these prayers is a brief section that has been construed as a kind of liturgical dialogue:

May grace come, and may this world pass away.
Hosanna to the God of David!
If any is holy, let him come; if any is not, let him repent.
Marana tha! Amen.

There is no shortage of possible interpretations of what this text is and what it is doing in its current context. Lietzmann simply says it has been mis-placed in the textual tradition. Senn suggests it is not a liturgical piece as such, but an exhortation to the reader. Jeremias believes Didache 9-10 describes the non-Eucharistic portion of an agape, and that these words form a transition to the Eucharist proper with which the meal concludes.

Milavec has suggested that these brief praise acclamations “represent the spontaneous shouts or chants of various members of the congregation who were caught up by the future expectation wich which the prayer leader closed the official prayer” (71). He further speculates that these sentences may have served to “prime” the prophets for their charismatic prayers of thanksgiving. By this interpretation, which has much to commend it, these words form a transition between the meal and the symposium. Judging from 1 Corinthians 12-14, the exercise of spiritual gifts in the earliest churches took place at precisely this point-after the conclusion of the meal.

Finally there is the meal structure found in a treatise dubiously attributed to Athanasius of Alexandria called On Virginity. Whether or not Athanasius wrote it, this instruction for female monastics reflects Egyptian practice in the 4th century.

Apart from the absence of any mention of a cup, the basic pattern of the meal described in On Virginity follows closely that of the Didache rite, and shows clear literary dependence on that source. The observance proceeds in three movements. Before the meal, while the nuns are still standing, there is a bread-blessing rite which includes:

  • A threefold sign of the cross
  • A prayer over the bread, with a wording virtually identical to that of Didache 9.
  • The Lord’s Prayer
  • Sharing the broken bread

Next comes a common meal, at which catechumens and “careless and frivolous women” are to be excluded. After the meal, all rise and there is a final blessing that “appears to be remotely derived from the first paragraph of the old Jewish berakah after meals” (Dix, 94):

Blessed be God, who is merciful and nourishes us from our youth, who gives food to all flesh.” Fill our hearts with joy and good cheer, that everyone everywhere might have sufficiency, abounding into every good work in Christ Jesus the Lord, with whom to you belongs glory, might, honor and worship, together with the Holy Spirit, for ever and ever. Amen.

This does not seem to be a Eucharistic consecration. While it may simply be the communal meal of the monastic community, one wonders whether perhaps we have here a form of Communion from the reserved sacrament. The practice of Communion outside of the Eucharist was of course a well-established tradition by this time. Most commonly, Communion would be in the form of pre-consecrated bread only, although occasional mention is made of the practice of dipping the pre-consecrated bread in ordinary wine. The recitation of the Lord’s Prayer as a pre-Communion devotion was first being introduced in this general period, it being first attested in the Mystagogical Catechesis of Cyril of Jerusalem around 380. Certainly the presence of a prayer patterned on the Didache’s Eucharistic prayer is significant. Whenever else this prayer form appears in an Egyptian text (for example, in the anaphora of Sarapion of Thmuis and in the Der Balyzeh papyrus) it is as part of a Eucharistic consecration.

A Western Pattern

The western pattern also places the bread (and possibly the cup) before supper. The relevant texts from Rome and North Africa have no overt Eucharistic reference. Evidence for this form of worship-meal comes primarily from the Latin text of the Apostolic Tradition and the description of an agape found in Tertullian’s Apology. From Cyprian (Epistle 63, 16), we learn that the western agape involved sharing a common cup, at least in North Africa.

The Latin Apostolic Tradition gives a bread-blessing rite followed by a cup. Each participant is to speak the blessing over his or her own cup, following Jewish custom. This is essentially a bare-bones Jewish meal, without even mention of a grace after the meal, although perhaps there was one.

Tertullian’s description of the agape (Apology 39) is a more fleshed-out version of the same pattern. In fact, if Cyprian’s common cup is associated with Tertullian’s concluding prayer, the Jewish pattern is reproduced almost perfectly.

Here is Tertullian’s description in full:

We do not take our places at table until we have first tasted prayer to God. Only so much is eaten as satisfied hunger; only so much drunk as meets the need of the modest. They satisfy themselves only so far as men will who recall that even during the night they must worship God; they talk as those would who know the Lord listens. After water for the hands come the lights; and then each, from what he knows of the Holy Scriptures, or from his own heart, is called before the rest to sing to God; so that is a test of how much he has drunk. Prayer in like manner ends the banquet. (Apology 39:17-18)

The pattern is thus:

  • Beginning Prayer (all standing)
  • Meal
  • Hand-washing and lamp-lighting
  • Hymnody (including “table talk” and/or charismatic expressions?)
  • Concluding Prayer

Tertullian noted that the agape both begins and ends with prayer. Can we interpret him to imply that there was an opening prayer over the bread and a closing prayer over the cup? It is tempting to do so, and the church’s rule of secrecy (disciplina arcani) surrounding the details of the liturgy might be legitimately invoked as the reason he omitted reference to these symbols in a document intended for outsiders. But there is no way to know for sure where Cyprian’s common cup should go. Assuming the opening prayer is a bread-blessing (as in all known agape structures), placing the common cup directly thereafter would produce the same format we find in the Apostolic Tradition. Placing it at the end of the meal gives us the original Jewish domestic liturgy.

It is not inconceivable that the cup would have been omitted entirely under the pressure to create a clear distinction between the agape and the Eucharist. But if that were the case, however, one would expect mention of the cup in the earlier source (Tertullian) and omission of it in the later (Cyprian).

An Egyptian Pattern

A final pattern is found only in the Ethiopic text of the Apostolic Tradition and a passing comment in the Ecclesiastical History of Socrates (ca. 440). These sources are probably too late to be totally reliable guides to pre-Constantinian practice, but they are included for the sake of completeness, and because of the apparent antiquity of the practice that Socrates describes.

In this pattern, the rituals surrounding bread and cup come after the main meal. In the Apostolic Tradition the observance is emphatically not to be construed as a form of Eucharist, while in Socrates it is explicitly a combined Eucharistic agape.

First let us look at what Socrates wrote:

The Egyptians in the neighborhood of Alexandria, and the inhabitants of Thebaid, hold their religious assemblies on the sabbath, but do not participate of the mysteries in the manner usual among Christians in general: for after having eaten and satisfied themselves with food of all kinds, in the evening making their offerings they partake of the mysteries. (Ecclesiastical History 5:22)

This Egyptian observance stands out on a number of counts. First, the Eucharist (“partaking of the mysteries”) comes after a meal, even though the general custom in Socrates’ time was to fast before Communion. Second, it takes place in the evening. Sunrise was the customary time for the Eucharist from the second century on, but an evening meal was the original practice, attested in Pliny’s Letter to Trajan. Finally, the meal takes place on the Sabbath rather than Sunday, whether at the beginning of the Sabbath (i.e., Friday night) or the end of the Sabbath (i.e., Saturday night), is not specified. All three of these features suggest great antiquity. If Socrates is to be believed, he provides evidence for the persistence of a combined Eucharistic agape well into post-Nicene times.

The Ethiopic text of the Apostolic Tradition describes a more elaborate observance than the Latin text noted above. Like the Latin text, the Ethiopic text begins with bread- and cup-blessings and then a common meal. The Ethiopic text, however, gives a much fuller picture of what transpires after the meal is completed (ApTrad. 26:20-32). First the deacon brings in lamps and the bishop offers a prayer. After the lamp-lighting the children and virgins are invited to sing psalms. The banquet ends with a second ritual involving both bread and a cup:

And afterwards the deacon holding the mingled cup of the oblation shall say the Psalm from those in which is written “Hallelujah,” [likely a later interpolation: "after that the presbyter has commanded: 'And likewise from those Psalms.'"]. And afterwards the bishop having offered the cup as is proper for the cup, he shall say the Psalm “Hallelujah.” And all of them as he recties the Psalms shall say “Hallelujah,” which is to say: We praise him who is God most high: glorified and praised is he who founded all the world with one word. And likewise when the Psalm is completed, he shall give thanks over the cup, and give of the fragments to all the faithful (ApTrad. 26:29-32).

The basic structure is thus a confused or mutilated version of the Passover Seder as it would have been practiced in the second or third century:

  • An initial bread-blessing, by the bishop
  • Blessing of cups, by each participant individually
  • Meal (and “table talk”)
  • Lamp-ceremony
  • Psalmody
  • The the first part of the Hallel, by the deacon
  • A prayer over “the cup of oblation”
  • The second part of the Hallel, by the bishop
  • A prayer of thanksgiving over the cup
  • The people share broken bread

The concluding cup and bread ritual may be a reminiscence of primitive Eucharistic customs, but we are not in a position to offer conclusive proof. Put alongside Socrates’ remark about Alexandrian agape practice, however, the possibility remains open.

Next: Why Did Eucharist and Agape Diverge?

technorati tags: agape, apostolic tradition, communion, didache, eucharist, lord’s supper, de virginitate

22

03 2008