Catherine Madsen. The Bones Reassemble: Reconstituting
Liturgical Speech. Aurora, CO. The Davies Group: 2005. Pp. 204.
This is a powerful book about
liturgical language in the Jewish and Christian traditions. Madsen begins with
a sharp critique of modern liturgies such as are found in most liberal churches
and synagogues: ÒThe [egalitarian] revisions call attention to themselves with
a kind of smug pride (we know enough to use this nonsexist locution, we know that calling God a king
is benighted) É forcing every congregant artificially into taking one of these
sidesÉ. But the very thing liturgy is meant to reduce is self-consciousnessÉ.
The self that knows what it thinks, and is chiefly set on making a public
statement to the rest of the congregation, hears only its own voiceÓ (5). The
critique, however, is broader than egalitarian language. It contrasts modern
liturgies which Òreassure us that there is no need for acute attentionÓ with
older liturgies whose purpose was Òto disturb and awakenÓ the person using the
liturgy. Older liturgy ÒstammersÓ; it repeats itself; it evokes the numinous;
it alludes, and does not make suffering explicit.
Chapter
Two is a dialogue with speech theorists, child psychologists, philosophers and
others on the nature of language. There is, for instance, the Òprivate speechÓ
of children which is without the intent to communicate, without an audience,
which contrasts with Òsocial speech.Ó Prayer is closer to the Òprivate speechÓ
of children than to the Òsocial speechÓ of adults. Liturgy is a form of public Òprivate
speech,Ó one that is spoken and listened to by many while still being deeply
private (39). Metaphor is the scaffolding between feelings, thoughts, and insights
(55); its rhetoric is crucial to liturgy and its exclusion from much of modern
liturgy is to be regretted.
Chapter
Three is a dialogue with Tyndale, Bacon, Steiner, and others on translation and
the use of language. Classical writing captures the personality as it emerges;
it does not state facts. Classical translations and liturgy prefer strangeness to
intelligibility, and understatement to explicitness (74, 102). Classical
literature was written to be heard; modern liturgy is intended to be read (85).
The purpose of liturgy is not to make an argument but to describe the move from
one state of consciousness to another as one progresses through the text (97).
Chapter
Four is a chapter on what liturgy could be. It is the most powerful of the
chapters because Madsen contrasts the Òaffective thinnessÓ of modern liturgies
with the profound speech of survivors of sexual and physical abuse. Having done
some work in both areas, I confess that I had never appreciated the depth of
the contrast between the two types of language. The words used by survivors are
always strong, powerful. They are on the edge of human experience. They deal
with suffering and trouble, with hurt and pain. They are always narrative. They
confront. How shallow most of modern liturgy seems by comparison! It is like
motherÕs day cards (131). It Òsheds sentimental tears but does not weepÓ (116).
So
what could modern liturgy be like? First, it must never lose the link between
religion and extremity in human affairs (115). It must Òrecreate the rawest
statesÓ of human experience (116). Second, liturgy must preserve allusiveness
yet it must repeat, over and over again, the story of trauma and salvation
because the repetition of culture overrides the repetition of trauma (116,
138). It must Òrehearse both trauma and cureÓ as in the recitation of the akeda
or the crucifixion (141). Third, liturgy must always maintain emotional
presence (129). It must maintain Òstillness in the midst of turbulenceÓ (116). Fourth,
liturgy must be sensitive to the ÒotherÕs exigent need.Ó It must create and
review the Òtrauma of ethicsÓ (144). Madsen summarizes the task of modern
liturgy as follows: ÒAvodah [worship] at its most urgent arises as an antidote to the
woundedness of avdut [slavery]Ó (141). It could not have been put better. As one who
has tried to do this for the post-shoah Jewish liturgical tradition,[1]
I deeply appreciate MadsenÕs insights and urge liturgists to heed her advice.
The
book concludes with a meditation on the kaddish and the eucharist. Madsen
concludes that no blessing interprets itself. Good liturgical language allows
for multiple, as well as for very private readings of very public texts
(137-38).