Its necessity is based on our relation to God; and on our own nature. God, as in himself infinitely perfect, as our creator, our ruler, and provider is entitled to our acknowledgment of his perfections and of his dominion over us, to thanks for benefits conferred, to supplication for their continuance. We owe him this duty not merely as beings having souls, but as that which we are—beings, having a body and soul—as men. The feelings of the soul, especially if earnest, cannot be pent up in it. They need expression. When strong and earnest they flow over into the body, they express themselves in bodily action. Man, as such, acts with the body and the soul. Moreover, we owe God worship not merely as individuals, [{722}] but as society. God made society and all that gives it charms. He is the author of the bonds that hold it together; he gave us those faculties that force us into it; the wants that in it alone are satisfied; and the powers that contribute to their satisfaction. Society, as well as the individual man, is one of those beautiful and bountiful works that call forth our admiration and demand our gratitude. Society can recognize and thank its author only by external and common public worship. The internal feeling needs something to lean on, as it were, to give itself strength and almost to give itself an existence. The internal act, is, of course, the soul of true worship, but, like the soul itself of man, it needs a body in which it may become incarnate to fill the end of its being. Without this it has neither life nor power. It needs this to give itself intensity.
The external act becomes as it were a depository in which the soul lays what is produced at one moment, while it is adding more and more. As the iron receives in deposit the powers of each of the circles of the magnetic wire that turn and turn again around it, and is ready to discharge their combined force at any moment, so the external act catches as it were the fire of the internal emotion, holds it until that of another is added, and enables the soul to seize again the power of those that have vanished and resume its work with redoubled vigor. Thus going on from faith to faith, from worship to worship, from virtue to virtue, all these rise higher and higher, strike their roots deeper and deeper, until the internal feeling becomes intensified and strong and as worthy of the great object to which it is directed as it can be in a mere creature.
The ceremonial is nothing else but this external expression of inward worship. It is an expression that gives it consistency and strength. It intensifies and preserves it. It transmits it from one to another, and to succeeding generations. In it society expresses itself. The individual man has his own organs of expression. The organ of the Christian body is the minister of the church. Through him she acts as a body; she expresses herself as a unit. On this account she very properly regulates minutely, how he shall discharge this duty. This gives his actions a meaning and a value over and above, and to some degree independent of, the value they possess, as expressions of his own individual devotion.
Worship does not consist, properly speaking, in receiving instruction. This is, of course, a good thing, but it is only a means to an end. It is like the ladder to ascend, or the scaffolding used in the erection of a building. To receive it with respect and other dispositions due to the word of God, may imply faith in him, and submission to him; but, properly speaking, in as far as it is mere instruction or information, it is not worship. Worship is our submission to God, a performance of the duty we owe him. As far as instruction shows us how, and leads us to do this in a proper manner, it is good, but in itself—as a mere expansion of the mind, or the storing of it with knowledge, it is not worship. In paying worship, we must act, not merely be acted upon; we must do, not merely hear. For this, the ceremonial affords most useful aid; not, of course, as far as it is a mechanical movement, which if it stop there would be useless, but inasmuch as it is the instrument of the inmost soul. Light and instruction must precede to give it significance, but when life has thus been breathed into it, it becomes itself an action, a practice of virtue, a discharge of the highest virtues, which are those that have God himself for their immediate object.
This ceremonial consists of the words that are used, and the acts that are performed. Words, said or sung, are a part of it, but only a part. Many acts often express the feelings more effectually. These are sometimes [{723}] more or less natural; at other times they may be said to be conventional. But though arbitrary as words themselves, when they receive a determined meaning, they become capable of effectually and powerfully expressing the internal feelings of the individual and of society. Kneeling or standing erect, raising up or clasping the hands or striking the breast, an uplifted glance to heaven or a reverent bowing of the head, will express adoration, reverence, sorrow, or supplication as well and often better than words. When you walk in a procession with torch in hand, accompanying the blessed sacrament, or to honor some other mystery of religion, you are professing your faith in it as effectually, and impressing that faith in your soul, perhaps, more deeply than when you recite the creed, just as the citizen expresses forcibly his political principles by analogous acts. These, of course in particular cases, may be acts of hypocrisy or hollow pageant, just as words may be a lie or an empty sound, but this takes nothing from their intrinsic appropriateness. Nay, acts of this kind would seem to draw the soul into what is intended to accompany them and be expressed by them more powerfully than words.
Some of the acts of this worship have, in themselves, a power and efficacy apart from any impression they may produce on the beholder. Such is the case in all the sacraments. The sacred rite, duly performed may be compared to the spark, which, however powerless of itself, when falling on the proper material, awakens a great power of nature, that will rend mountains, and hurl into shapeless masses, the proudest works of man. The sacred rite has been chosen by omnipotence, as his agent and instrument, and its power has only the limits which omnipotence has been pleased to assign. It is the same thing in the celebration of mass. The words of Christ, pronounced by his minister, effect a great change. For he who first took bread and said, "This is my body," and by his infinite power made true what he said, addressing his apostles, added. "Do this"—yes, even this, great as it is—"in commemoration of me." And they "do" it, and by doing it, "show forth his death until he come." The effect follows by the power of God, no matter who is present, no matter who is instructed or edified, even though no heart beat more in unison than did the hearts of the Jews, who stood by while the great offering was made on Calvary. But other parts of the ceremonial, which, though not of equal importance, occupy more time, realize their end only when they express our feelings of reverence, or give them strength and light. Many are directed to aid the priest alone, in the proper performance of his high duties. Many, while they have this object also, are likewise directed to instruct, and become expressions of the devotion of the people. The ceremonial, therefore, first of all makes provision for the priest. It is important for himself and for the people that he be a worthy minister of Christ; that he discharge the duty of offering up the holy sacrifice with all the reverence, the humility, the fervor which so great an act demands. The ceremonies become a means of his doing this. In performing them properly he exercises all these virtues. The church makes him descend to the foot of the altar, and there acknowledging himself a sinner before God and the heavenly court, express by words and acts his sorrow, demand pardon before venturing to ascend the altar on which is to be laid the holy of holies. He then ascends with trembling step, and having again silently prayed for forgiveness, he intones the noble hymn,"Gloria in Excelsis Deo." Whether the voices of the choir take up its thrilling notes and make the vault resound with a call to give glory to God on high or he continue it in a subdued tone, every word he utters, every motion he is called on to make, enables him to express more and more [{724}] earnestly his desire for God's honor, his homage to Christ, "alone holy, alone Lord, alone most high."
Prepared by this introduction and having admonished the people to turn to God, he pours out in simple but touching words his supplications for our various wants. He then reads choice extracts from the sacred volume conveying the most important teachings of our holy religion. I will not stop to describe to you the ceremonies at the offertory, nor speak of the sublime "Preface" preparatory to the most sacred part of the sacrifice. Having prayed for all conditions of the church, having appealed to the blessed in heaven with whom the church on earth is in communion, he approaches the solemn act of consecration. Every word he utters, every glance, every motion, is directed to fill him with awe, with reverence, to express a demand, an act of homage, of gratitude or of invocation; and when the sacred words are pronounced, and he stands before the incarnate God truly present, though not visible to corporal eyes, with profound inclination he expresses his adoration, while the victim is raised up, that all present may, like him, kneel down and adore. And so all through the holy sacrifice.
While these lessons are taught and put in practice by the priest, the people, before whom they are performed, learn from them to cherish similar dispositions, and to unite their spirit in the expression of his devotion. It is the same thing with all the ceremonies, which, like those alluded to, are expressive of the feelings we should entertain for God. They frequently express them more forcibly than words could. Even ordinary feelings often become too strong for language and seek expression in some action. The fond mother would find words too tame to express the love she bears her child. She hugs it to her bosom, and impresses warm kisses on its face. We meet a long-lost friend. Words would not express all we feel. We clasp him in our arms, and press him to our heart. The model of repentance, the prodigal, when he meets his father, forgets a part of the discourse he had resolved to pronounce, and folded in his father's arms, expresses his sorrow more forcibly in silent tears and heart breaking sobs, and is forgiven. Even anger, which cannot find an adequate expression in the most impassioned language, seeks to manifest itself in the uplifted clenched fist, if it cannot gain its object by striking a blow. Do not tell me, then, that all this action in the church ceremonial is mummery. It is often a higher expression of devotion than words would afford.
If yon wish to test this, look at a devout congregation of Catholics kneeling before the altar. The organ that had lifted up their hearts when singing the "Glory to God in the highest" is silent, or a few low notes are heard that make the silence of the congregation more sensible. No voice, scarcely a breath, is heard, when the priest, having raised his eyes to heaven, is now inclined over the sacred elements. Thousands are kneeling around in awe. A slight stroke of the bell announces that the act is done. The priest prostrates himself in silent adoration, and then elevates the consecrated host. Every head is bowed in the presence of a God. Will anyone who has witnessed that scene, who has tried to enter into the feelings of that congregation, please tell me the words, or write out the speech, that would have expressed so powerfully their reverence, their adoration, their gratitude, and their love? Yes, ceremonies are a noble expression of our highest feelings. They are even more; for they intensify them, embalm them, and preserve them from evaporating. They communicate them and spread them abroad, and transmit them from generation to generation.
All this is a consequence of human nature, and this is so true that it is made an objection to our system. It is said that we build too much on human nature. But if worship be made for man it must accord with his nature [{725}]—not, indeed, with that which is corrupt in it, but with his nature as it came from God. Now, this need, this power, this efficacy of the expression of feeling by outward ceremony, is no effect of the fall: it is in the very nature of man. Hence we have recourse to it in everything else. What is the shake of the hand when we meet a friend, or the salute, or the banquet to which we invite him, but a ceremony to express friendship or esteem? Look at our processions and various political demonstrations. What are they but ceremonies in which political or other feelings seek expression—an expression which we know will strengthen them, deepen them, communicate them to others by creating and giving force to what may be called a contagions influence? What are our national and party airs; our national and party festivals, but expressions of a similar character looking forward to similar results?