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The historical development of Christian worship
Sacred space is often constituted by
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Music of the Episcopal Mass On Sunday, December 3 I attended the Solemn Mass at the Church of the Advent, in the North End. Now, you have to understand that I am religiously challenged, at best. I’ve been to my share of weddings and funerals, but growing up I averaged one regular church service every year or two. When I did go, it was either to Hardshell Baptist or Dunkard Bretheren services, with my father or mother’s side of the family, respectively. Both these denominations focus heavily on simplicity and egalitarianism. The churches are usually one room, wooden affairs with a simple lectern. The music draws heavily on the English folk tradition, and the service is delivered in a straightforward manner. Imagine my trepidation, then, when I walked into this church, with its high, vaulted ceilings and an enormous, emaciated, and slightly malicious-looking Christ figure suspended thirty feet among my head. As I came through the entrance, the prelude began. It sounded like nothing less than the soundtrack to a horror movie, as the slasher is about to leap out and dice an innocent schoolgirl. The organ wailed in threatening, building minor chords and did nothing to allay my trepidation. I quickly found a seat in the back of the room. Then, what did I behold, but a procession of similarly robed, somber looking men waving banners, crosses, and other crystal and gold implements above their heads. As the leader passed me he began swinging a golden canister about his head, and noxious fumes poured out. My eyes and throat burned, and I thought some sort of crazy cultists had gassed me. The moment passed, however, and I realized that they were the leaders of the church, and it was nothing but incense. After parading... ... middle of paper ... ...s in this class, and that’s great because that’s exactly what the choir and organ performed next. It was very upbeat and more happy-sounding than anything since the Offertory had been. The "Post-Communion Prayer" was accompanied by organ, as was the "Blessing and Dismissal." Everyone sang along with the Organ on the last hymn. Then, the organ played another slasher tune to mark the Postlude, and the cultish figures in robes made some more laps around the sanctuary and vanished out a side door. As they passed people started breaking for the door, before the organ had even stopped moaning. I stuck around until the final chords had been ground out and the candles had been extinguished, then I tried to gracefully leave, and was only mildly rude to the guy in a robe and a hat with a topknot standing outside who kept asking if I was going to come back next week.
...altar through the royal doors, and censing the altar. I found this part to be very interesting. Everyone stood while the censing was taking place and the offered up prayers and crossed themselves as the Priest and Bishop walked by.
Why I Left the Church” by Richard Garcia is a poem that explores the ongoing and conflicting relationship between a child’s fantasy and the Church. Although the majority of the text is told in present tense, readers are put through the lenses of a young boy who contemplates the legitimacy of the restricting and constricting nature of worship. It is a narrative that mixes a realist approach of storytelling with a fantasy twist that goes from literal metaphors to figurative metaphors in the description of why the narrator left the church. The poet presents the issue of childhood innocence and preset mindsets created by the Church using strong metaphors and imagery that appeal to all the senses.
She closed her eyes slowly, tuning the harpies out. When she opened them, she gazed up at the ceiling, tracing the high, arcing beams that came together in a beautiful golden rosette. The church her mother-in-law had chosen for her departed son’s service was an old one, with timber walls, huge, multi-paneled stained-glass windows and enough golden gild that put together, could probably rival the weight of the Charging Bull on Wall Street.
My eyes follow the jet black hands on my watch that creep more and more nigh five past six. As the big hands of the clock pass the minutes go by that guarantee relief from agony. The more that time expires, the flowers begin to wither like the hope in my heart that Hester with arriving at the cathedral due to the notice is given by the letter. The wind howls and slams into the cathedral doors giving me false hope that the women of my dreams will be walking through the door. Bending at the waist, and praying to god Hester will come to greet me I feel a breeze hit the back of my neck and reawaken from my concentration in God. As I rise from the pew, I see small women walk through the doors with a black clock and a candle whose burning wax drips down the sides, casting light that guides the way to me. Thine figure in the black cloak hands me a letter and runs away without my response.
I am a nondenominational Christian and I decided to attend a catholic mass. I attended mass at the Conversion of St Paul Parish on April 6, 2014. The preside was Father Senan Glass and the starting time was 10am. The Conversion of St Paul Parish’s location is 4120 Euclid Ave, Cleveland, Ohio 44103. The church was very big and the stain glass windows were beautiful. At first, I felt uncomfortable because I did not know where to sit or what to do. I really did not have an idea of what to expect. Everything seemed very formal and the service was easy to follow because of the bulletin I was given, which had the order of service on it. The service was concise and it only lasted about an hour.
As the sunrises over the crisp fall horizon, followers begin to surround the sacred space in anticipation for what is about to take place. The sacred space is soon surrounded by people who are dressed in the sacred colors, some wearing necklaces of their totem, while others wear headdresses that adorn with their sacred symbol. People begin to drink, play music, and prepare a banquet feast for each other, creating a festival atmosphere in hope that today’s ritual will be a success. As the ritual gets set to begin followers begin to crowd into the sacred space, surrounded with pictures and names of those who have reached greatness. As the ritual begins, music is played in order to bring everyone together and prepare for the events that are about to unfold. It is now that the followers have a very simple focus, to aid in the success of the ritual. Those who celebrate the ritual take there places in the middle of the sacred space, with the followers surrounding them; now that the ritual has begun the celebrants begin to perform and focus on certain actions in order connect themselves with the transcendent sacred. The followers who look on begin to aid by chanting, allowing themselves to also transcend. In hopes that the ritual was a success, everyone does their part until the last second of the ritual is completed, it is only then that it can be decided if the ritual was a success and they can either celebrate or grieve by signing in their most sacred song, bonding them once again with each other.
A long line of women fills up a traditional looking catholic church. One by one they are pouring into the tiny, wooden Confessional. At the bottom right corner, a box sits saying “The Axe Effect” and the image of a can of Axe body spray. The women seem to be all different ages, business women to high school ,and come from all walks of life though their faces are not showing. With their hands crossed, and heads bent at a slight angle. Hands are full, perhaps showing a crunch for time during their busy days. Crowding into the small sanctuary looks slow and tiring. Are these women reluctantly waiting to spill the beans of a night to remember or trying to get their hands on the priest who bought the wrong body wash? Their stance is tight and it reads as unclear if they feel rushed to be there or to leave. Light pours into the room like a spotlight and gives everyone's clothing muted hues. The placement of the confessional and the slope of the line of women leads the eye to the kneeling women and straight down to can of Axe. The minimalistic use of typography and graphics keeps it ...
At last I arrived, unmolested except for the rain, at the hefty decaying doors of the church. I pushed the door and it obediently opened, then I slid inside closing it surreptitiously behind me. No point in alerting others to my presence. As I turned my shoulder, my gaze was held by the magnificence of the architecture. It never fails to move me. My eyes begin by looking at the ceiling, and then they roam from side to side and finally along the walls drinking in the beauty of the stained glass windows which glowed in the candle light, finally coming to rest on the altar. I slipped into the nearest pew with the intention of saying a few prayers when I noticed him. His eyes were fixated upon me. I stared at the floor, but it was too late, because I was already aware that he wasn’t one of the priests, his clothes were all wrong and his face! It seemed lifeless. I felt so heavy. My eyes didn’t want to obey me. Neither did my legs. Too late I realised the danger! Mesmerised, I fell asleep.
Buffoons, enthrall my beloved mummers." The party had commenced. I saw a thousand people, dancing, drinking, and jesting away without cessation like there wasn't a threatening entity attempting to crawl and sneak right behind them. Even the butlers and servants walked around and worked to death with beaming faces, for they assume they will not face death. But that’s when “it” happened. The chimes. The gigantic, monstrous, ebony clock at the end of the seven rooms. The seventh room. The cimmerian room with an isolated bloodshot light cutting in. The clocked chimed blatantly across the entire abbey. It chimed once, and the sound continued. It seemed as if the clock had a mind of its own and never wanted to cease. While it rang, the people froze completely. No one even blinked. “Why did they freeze,” I wandered, “why did everything become silent and mute?” It was as if the people were struck with fear and dismay that they just paused the whole party. The musicians stopped playing, the dancers stood in place, the jesters shut up for once and even the Prince paused in fear. Once the sound of the clock ceased, the people continued to dance, drink, and jest as if nothing happened. “Interesting,” I thought, “I believe I can use this as an
I never thought I’d be here, didn’t know this was allowed honestly. The last time I was in this old church was a week ago...doesn’t seem that long to me but for everyone else I can only imagine how long it’s been. 7 little days in scheme of things doesn’t seem that important. 72 hours even more so, it passes in the blink of an eye for most...but for me those 72 hours felt like they would never end. I didn’t even know how long I was there at first, it was so dark...I can hear the piano being played, they’re playing my favorite song I and I can almost hear my mom’s tears hit the ground though the door. I’ve been standing in front of these doors for what seems like forever now waiting...just waiting. Waiting for my moment, I don't know when it will be, that only my Daddy knows….Finally the doors are opening and everyone in the chapel turns to see who is coming in late. They are all looking right at me, each with their own set of bloodshot eyes and tear stained faces. I almost feel like crying myself, never knew how many people actually cared.
Ritchie, M. (1999). Community bible chapel. The story of the church – Part 4, Topic 5. The Protestant
Instead I went into the church, took a Bulletin, dipped my finger in Holy Water and genuflected. The inside of the church smelled like damp wood and furniture polish, not alive at all. My father took off his coat and draped it over the edge of the...
As I was attending mass, I noticed, it was very organized. There was a lot of sitting and standing, where I found myself struggling to understand. I noticed that they read some passages from the bible and sang a lot of psalms and hymns. The only thing that was familiar to me was the Eucharist.
When I was a child I used to be frightened of entering such a place for it seemed so imposing and somewhat dangerous, especially when music was being played. One day, in order to keep a promise I had made, I saw myself forced to enter. It took me quite a while to get the courage to pass through the old oak door, but the moment I stepped in, I realized just how enchanting and breathtaking this building could be. Its fantastic architecture and exquisite frescoes reflect perfectly the unity between this earth and the unseen kingdom of angels in such a manner that one cannot say where one ends and the other begins. The way in which the church was built is also the vivid testimony of a medieval period. Although it is a place that can sometimes be cold and ask for respect it is where prayers are answered and magic is done. An overwhelming feeling of inner harmony takes over you once you enter and God seems much closer. Darkness and light are welded perfectly together creating Redemption’s house. The tower allows you to see the entire town from the smallest river to the biggest building site, offering you its mightiness.
I attended Mass at my local parish, the Parish of St. Francis de Sales, on Sunday, October 9th, in order to receive the Sacrament of the Eucharist. This also happens to be the 28th Sunday of Ordinary Time because the priest of the parish, Father Phan, wore green in order to symbolize life, anticipation for the coming of Christ, and hope. The liturgical season of Ordinary Time is also significant because it focuses on the fruits of Jesus’s three-year public ministry, his educational parables, and his extraordinary miracles. The season of Ordinary Time also serves as a reminder that the Church’s mission, our mission, is to not only share the life and hope of Jesus