Attending a liturgical church means that once or twice a week I am saying aloud my fundamental beliefs about reality, spirit, and truth. When I initially began attending Saint Patrick’s Anglican Church I wasn’t sure about my belief in some of the things I was chanting as I stood and kneeled. I had resolved to give it an honest try, but I had to confront the question of whether or not what I was proclaiming every week was true.
As I went to church, studied the Bible, and began the practice of morning and evening prayer, I was like Simon Peter who obeyed a complete stranger, Jesus, as He commandeered his boat and told him to take it out and lower the nets after a fruitless night of fishing. Simon obeyed, skeptically, without belief, and a miracle of abundance occurred.
That’s how it was for me as my doubtful obedience led to the Holy Spirit, slowly and subtlely, never without permission, entering me, changing me, stripping away my worst habits with ease, bringing peace and a miracle of abundance to my soul. Chanting the liturgy became a joyous shout of grateful affirmation.
I am still a sinner. I still backslide. Occasionally the enemy slyly encourages nostalgia for the days of wine and roses, but the liturgy reminds me every Sunday, every Wednesday evening, that I have been delivered from the domain of darkness and transferred to the Kingdom. I can’t imagine church without liturgy.