Praise, Prayer and Praxis

Ecumenical Review, The, April, 2001 by Myra Blyth

Connections between Liturgy and the Decade to Overcome Violence

The ecumenical Decade to Overcome Violence presents a challenge to churches to, explore the power and potential of praise and prayer, doxology and intercession in the struggle to overcome violence. I believe this task is central to the worshipping lives of our churches.

In recent decades the ecumenical movement has witnessed striking examples of public acts of worship where the prophetic and priestly roles of the church have come together in a powerful way. In these situations we are reminded of the transformative power of liturgy to make a difference in the lives of communities and peoples, and we are challenged, in turn, to look for the ways in which worship can lead to transformation -- both spiritual and political -- in our own situations.

In 1989 East German Christians filled the churches, candlelight vigils marking their sense of expectancy. They hoped that the day they had longed for was now imminent. As they flocked out of the churches into the town squares still bearing their candles, and still praying their prayers, the thin line between worship and public witness was eroded. Time and again this apparent distinction between divine worship and prophetic witness is seen to be more perceived than actual, and most especially in situations where change is needed, and where change breaks in uninvited.

In South Africa during the 1980s, in the still dark and difficult days of racial apartheid, the scene of large crowds shuffling, dancing, singing, and propelling themselves inexorably towards the football stadium to hold a mass funeral was all too familiar. For the distant observer these scenes were both shocking and inspiring. The mixture of mourning and dancing, grieving and protesting in the face of both their government and their God was striking. This potent cocktail of doxology and intercession made prayer a powerful tool in the hands of South Africa's oppressed blacks, just as it had done, long generations before them, when the children of Israel suffered in the brickyards of Pharaoh's empire.

In the 1990s, in the days immediately following the overthrow of the Romanian dictator, President Ceaucescu, the church leaders came together for a meeting. At this meeting, for the firsttime in living memory, they met without the presence of the Securitate amongst them. Theirs was not an atmosphere of resurrection joy so much as awe and even fear in the face of this fragile freedom and uncertain future. Each looked at the other and wondered what would become of them. No leader was exempt from public scrutiny as to whether their role during Ceaucescu's reign had been equal to their calling. In spite of the climate of accusation and recrimination which some of these leaders were facing, they talked and prayed together and committed themselves before God to work together to rebuild community and nation. They understood well that issues of ethnic hatred and confessional hostility could not be allowed to prevail, and the churches, in spite of their own histories, needed to be in the forefront of building a new and reconciled society. They wanted to do their bit to build a culture of peace.

In the succeeding years cooperation along these lines has developed and resulted in many significant actions and initiatives. Amongst these was the creation of space and resources to share in prayer together, as well as space and opportunities for community learning through "training for transformation" workshops. These workshops helped to promote safe spaces where Hungarian-speaking Reformed, Romanian-speaking Orthodox and German-speaking Lutherans could come together, hear each other's experiences of the Ceaucescu years and consider together what could be done by the churches. This was a unique moment, when suddenly people no longer needed to look over their shoulder to see who might be listening to them and reporting on them. People could learn afresh the joy of thinking and deciding for themselves.

In spite of the dramatic melt-down of the cold war, the task of building peace seems harder today than ever. At a recent colloquium in India looking at the relationship between Christian values and issues of poverty and wealth, it was everywhere evident that violence sits at the door of every scenario ready to do its worst.

In India during these very days the land struggle between indigenous populations and multinational companies has led to violent clashes. People have been killed, and the natural habitat raped. All the while police and government officials have been conspicuous by their absence. The Dalit Christians liken their story to the biblical account of Naboth's vineyard. Their effort to re-tell Naboth's story as their story constitutes prophetic speech and belongs to the language and logic of liturgy even though it might not be seen, in conventional terms, as worship.

In present-day South Africa violence is escalating in the face of poverty and despair. The story was told in a recent ecumenical gathering of a mother who fell into debt. The moneylender, from neighbouring Namibia, consistently failed to receive any repayments. The woman owing the money avoided the debt collector by every means she could until one day, when the collector came to the house, she turned in desperation and told her daughter to deal with the collector. The daughter, 16 years old, struck the collector with a fatal blow using a fire poker. The daughter is now in prison for murder, confused and desolated by the fact that her mother will not visit her! (Like so many children drawn into the precarious world of their parents, this daughter was expected to solve the crisis. Child soldiers, child prostitutes, child drug traffickers and child labourers -- these are all ways by which children are paying with their lives for the unresolved problems of their parents.)