Drinking Deeply from an Ancient Well

Liturgy has become a steady companion in my faith, giving me words when I have none and reminding me that I don’t walk this path of faith alone.

When someone I know needed spiritual encouragement recently, I grabbed a book of liturgy, hoping its truths would help when I read them aloud. I didn’t end up reading from it that night, but it sort of cemented the importance of liturgy in my mind.

If you aren’t from a tradition that uses liturgy in worship services, here’s one definition: “It comes from the Greek leitourgia, which is a combination of two other words: people (laos) and work (ergon). Literally, a liturgy is a ‘work of the people,’ or perhaps more helpfully, a ‘public service.’ Therefore, at its most basic, ‘liturgy’ refers to the order of a corporate worship service.”

As much as I appreciate liturgy in corporate worship, I think I benefit from it even more in private worship (my devotional life). A couple of weeks ago, I mentioned that I’m currently working through Jonathan Gibson’s Be Thou My Vision: A Liturgy for Daily Worship, and it’s outstanding.

Each day includes:

• A call to worship (from Scripture)

• A prayer of adoration (from various sources)

• A reading of the law

• A confession of sin

• An assurance of pardon (which often includes a historic Christian creed)

• A praise chorus (often the Gloria Patri)

• A catechism question or two (from the Heidelberg Catechism or the Westminster Shorter Catechism)

• A prayer for illumination (from various sources)

• A Scripture reading

• A prayer of intercession

• The Lord’s Prayer

• And the Appendix includes a Collect from the Book of Common Prayer (1552)

I’ve been thinking about why I’m so drawn to liturgy. And I’ve come up with a few brief thoughts I’d like to share here. I’ll preface them by saying I’m not advocating replacing Scripture reading with liturgy. I’m simply saying liturgy in private worship is an amazing supplement, much like other devotional material. Okay, now on to my thoughts about liturgy.

First, when my spiritual well is dry, using liturgy means I don’t have to keep scraping the bottom of the spiritual bucket, trying to figure out what to pray, sing or contemplate. That’s not to say I don’t have a place in my life for just lifting my hands and saying, “Lord, do with this day as you will.” I often start my day that way, in fact. But drawing on rich, theological truths found in liturgy begins to refill my well.

Second, there’s something so encouraging about joining Christians from across the centuries who prayed and contemplated the same creeds, confessions, catechisms and other truths. In some sense, it feels like getting a peek at the cloud of witnesses mentioned in Hebrews 12:1 who have already fought the good fight. It inspires me to fight against my own sin so I can run with endurance the race that is set before me.

Third, and this applies mostly to corporate worship, in a time when pastors can feel pressured to be engaging speakers, liturgy reminds me that truth stands on its own, unchanged and steady, offering the wisdom of generations of Christians. Anybody can ingest it, corporately or privately, and drink deeply from its well.

Over the course of my life, I’ve been in many different theological traditions. And along the way, I’ve appreciated something from each of them. Liturgy is one of the practices that sticks with me. It might not be for you. But if you’ve never experienced it, give it a try.

Gibson has compiled several other books of liturgy you could start with, including O Sacred Head, Now Wounded: A Liturgy for Daily Worship from Pascha (Easter) to Pentecost, and O Come, O Come, Emmanuel: A Liturgy for Daily Worship from Advent to Epiphany. Or you could try the Every Moment Holy Series: New Liturgies for Daily Life. If you prefer an app, consider downloading The Daily Office (which draws from the Book of Common Prayer) from your smartphone’s app store.

Liturgy has become a steady companion in my faith, giving me words when I have none and reminding me that I don’t walk this path of faith alone.