As a young Pentecostal beginning to worship in Anglican churches there were many practices which seemed odd and took getting used to, among them the liturgical use of the Alleluia. I was used to “Hallelujah” as the constant and spontaneous expression of worship to God: we sang it in choruses, we waved it on banners, we shouted it and whispered it and peppered our extemporaneous prayers and songs with this ancient Hebrew word. It is both imperative and declarative; it calls one to “praise Yahweh” and it speaks one’s own praise to him. There were no rules or set customs as to its use in our services.
It seemed odd to me that the Greek form, “Alleluia”, showed up in the liturgy at specific times for the congregation to say. It also seemed strange to me that the word was often said by the congregation in a way that seemed most specifically non-Pentecostal. Formal. Stuffy. It wasn’t until I hung around some charismatic catholics that I heard the liturgically ordered Alleluia said – or even shouted – with the enthusiasm I was accustomed to. It was then, I think, that I began to get why it was ordered at certain points rather than only used spontaneously (and we charismatic Anglicans do still use it spontaneously too!).
Historic Christian worship is ordered in ways that bring the hearts of the people of God into one voice. Worshipers don’t just happen to be in the room together to do their individual thing. We worship in one accord and often with one voice so that our individual minds and hearts and voices can be formed by God’s word and even by our mutual response to that word. He speaks to us together; we respond to him together. Christ our Passover is sacrificed for us! Alleluia indeed. Let us go forth in the name of Christ! Alleluia indeed. My heart’s response has been genuinely shaped by the corporate liturgy.
But what of this practice of abstaining from the sung and spoken Alleluias during Lent? Why forbid for weeks of the year the highest word of praise we know?
Since at least the fifth century the Western churches have kept this practice as a way of muting the celebrative tone of our worship during Lent. Alleluia, after all, is the highest song of angels and is the song of the coming kingdom where heaven and earth are reconciled in Christ. We know that we are reconciled to God even in Lent, but we are taking this period to reflect on our mortality, our “bent to sinning”, the world’s need for the atoning work of Christ. We worship just as fervently during Lent, but we discipline our worship during this time to strike a different tone with our common voice. At Redeemer we kneel more often. We sing Trisagion instead of Gloria in excelsis. We forgo the Alleluia hymns as we fast our likes and even our highest expressions in preparation for Easter.
Easter. Then we will sing Alleluia with new verve and with new vigor. We’ll sing it and say it again and again. The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia! When a seed is planted in the ground it brings forth much fruit, you see. For a season we plant a part of our celebration in order to bring forth a harvest of gladness at Pascha. Therefore let us keep the feast….
