Brittany Petruzzi claims that the highest form of narrative art known to man is musical theatre. Christian Leithart tweaks her by claiming it is the meal (and, controversially, asserts a more God-honoring spelling of Theatre). In hopes of contributing to a conversation I am unqualified for (being the least knowledgeable interlocutor concerning music), I would like to offer a response that amplifies and focuses Ms. Petruzzi’s conclusion.
Musical theatre gets its supremacy, it was argued, because it engages the most senses. The very nature of books with its pages (or screens) and reliance on type “keep the reader at an intellectual remove from the story.” Video, though it adds the visual and aural aspect, restricts the viewer to the role of observer. Ms. Petruzzi concludes that, “Only in live theatre does the audience participate in and even shape the action.”
I wanted to demur at this point, but I patiently read through the article and found my objections mollified in the conclusion. “If Revelation is to be believed (and it is), all of eternity will be one big musical. And every seventh day we get a dress rehearsal.”
Though I would not lump worship in with musical theatre, nor would I call the weekly covenant renewal a “dress rehearsal,” I do agree that the formal worship service is the height of folk art and therefore the highest form of narrative art.
It’s a conclusion that requires expansion because I find it important enough to throw in some show tunes and a little razzle-dazzle. Worship isn’t a hodge-podge of events: singing, sermonizing, and supping; it’s a call and response, song and dance, a legally binding vow, and a ritual meal to seal the deal (is this razzle-dazzly enough?).
Musical theatre may respond to the audience, but in worship the audience is the world and the heavenly host.
Praise God, from whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
The congregants are participants. Imagine a musical in which those dancing on the stage require the audience to join the fun. Nothing engages the senses like worship.
Worship is art, but is it narrative? Aristotle has given his six elements of drama: plot, character, thought, diction, music, and spectacle. I don’t know why Aristotle gets to make the rules, but the Lord’s Service satisfies this list. The latter five are obvious enough, but let’s explore that plot element in more depth.
The plot is intense, each week God’s people are called, they respond by entering into his courts with praise, but there is a problem: God is holy. Thankfully, there is a ready solution. As the Sin Offering of ancient Israel was to purify the worshiper, so too is the confession a purification ritual after which absolution is declared on the basis of the blood of the Savior.
The congregation is able to be in God’s presence, but there is another problem. They are on earth, while God is enthroned in heaven. The gap must be bridged, the kingdom must come. Lord have mercy!
God’s people must be translated into fire to ascend. The Ascension Offering (misleadingly translated the Burnt Offering) is how the Israelite was, via the sacrificial animal, transformed and incorporated into the Pillar of Yahweh’s presence. The priest killed the animal and arranged it on the altar, much in the same way that the pastor consecrates the congregation through Scripture, catechism, and creed.
Once the people are instructed on how to conform to Christ there is a twist. What began as a lowly man seeking the presence of God, who was given audience, who was given equipment for his sojourn on earth, is now fed. And not just fed, but fed at the king’s table. This communion recalls the Peace Offering, which also concluded with a meal. After the Eucharist the adventure continues. Cleansed, consecrated, equipped, and now incorporated into the king’s mission to go out into the world where the fields are ripe for harvest and the gold of that land is good.
This of course wouldn’t satisfy Aristotle because when he talked about his six elements for drama he was talking about tragedy. He identified tragedy as the highest form of narrative art because it dealt with serious matters. Comedy, according to Aristotle, dealt with trivial matters and was therefore inferior. It must represent human action and have dire consequences for the characters of elevated social status.
It had to be dire because the world was dire. It had to be those from high society because it isn’t sad when the poor and lowly are crushed by the world, that’s just how it goes. It was sad when a king suffers because a king is rich and powerful and ought not be subject to dishonor. It’s not funny when a powerful man falls from his lofty position; however when a poor man is exalted it’s hilarious because we all know that a poor man’s plight is sadness and misery. A lowly servant discovering that he’s a king’s son is hilarious because that’s not the way the world operates.
The Christian era scoffs at such rules. Blessed are the poor, exalt those of low degree. The tragedy of death gets the whoopie cushion of the resurrection. Hah! A deus ex machina is at the heart of the world and at the heart of liturgy. Man is dead and God makes him live. Man is enslaved and God ransoms him. Man is blind and God gives him new eyes. Man is naked and hungry and God clothes him and feeds him. Man is homeless and God gives him a home and sends him out to bring others inside. That’s drama right there.
Ultimately, the theatre is a bunch of hypocrites in the classical sense. The Greek hypokrisis means “acting on the stage.” Hypocrisy, from hypokrinesthai, is to play a part or pretend to be someone or something you are not. But worship isn’t pretend. It is being who we should be. It is acting as we should act.
Theatre comes from the Greek word theatron, which was the seating for a stage, itself related to the word theaomai, a verb meaning: I view, I behold. Well, behold the lamb of God. That’s good theatre. At the end of every good musical the halls are filled with applause. Good show. In the worship of the true God, the mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.
Remy Wilkins teaches at Geneva Academy in Monroe, Louisiana and the author of two middle grade novels, Strays (Canon Press, 2017) and Hush-Hush.
Brittany Petruzzi claims that the highest form of narrative art known to man is musical theatre. Christian Leithart tweaks her by claiming it is the meal (and, controversially, asserts a more God-honoring spelling of Theatre). In hopes of contributing to a conversation I am unqualified for (being the least knowledgeable interlocutor concerning music), I would like to offer a response that amplifies and focuses Ms. Petruzzi’s conclusion.
Musical theatre gets its supremacy, it was argued, because it engages the most senses. The very nature of books with its pages (or screens) and reliance on type “keep the reader at an intellectual remove from the story.” Video, though it adds the visual and aural aspect, restricts the viewer to the role of observer. Ms. Petruzzi concludes that, “Only in live theatre does the audience participate in and even shape the action.”
I wanted to demur at this point, but I patiently read through the article and found my objections mollified in the conclusion. “If Revelation is to be believed (and it is), all of eternity will be one big musical. And every seventh day we get a dress rehearsal.”
Though I would not lump worship in with musical theatre, nor would I call the weekly covenant renewal a “dress rehearsal,” I do agree that the formal worship service is the height of folk art and therefore the highest form of narrative art.
It’s a conclusion that requires expansion because I find it important enough to throw in some show tunes and a little razzle-dazzle. Worship isn’t a hodge-podge of events: singing, sermonizing, and supping; it’s a call and response, song and dance, a legally binding vow, and a ritual meal to seal the deal (is this razzle-dazzly enough?).
Musical theatre may respond to the audience, but in worship the audience is the world and the heavenly host.
Praise God, from whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
The congregants are participants. Imagine a musical in which those dancing on the stage require the audience to join the fun. Nothing engages the senses like worship.
Worship is art, but is it narrative? Aristotle has given his six elements of drama: plot, character, thought, diction, music, and spectacle. I don’t know why Aristotle gets to make the rules, but the Lord’s Service satisfies this list. The latter five are obvious enough, but let’s explore that plot element in more depth.
The plot is intense, each week God’s people are called, they respond by entering into his courts with praise, but there is a problem: God is holy. Thankfully, there is a ready solution. As the Sin Offering of ancient Israel was to purify the worshiper, so too is the confession a purification ritual after which absolution is declared on the basis of the blood of the Savior.
The congregation is able to be in God’s presence, but there is another problem. They are on earth, while God is enthroned in heaven. The gap must be bridged, the kingdom must come. Lord have mercy!
God’s people must be translated into fire to ascend. The Ascension Offering (misleadingly translated the Burnt Offering) is how the Israelite was, via the sacrificial animal, transformed and incorporated into the Pillar of Yahweh’s presence. The priest killed the animal and arranged it on the altar, much in the same way that the pastor consecrates the congregation through Scripture, catechism, and creed.
Once the people are instructed on how to conform to Christ there is a twist. What began as a lowly man seeking the presence of God, who was given audience, who was given equipment for his sojourn on earth, is now fed. And not just fed, but fed at the king’s table. This communion recalls the Peace Offering, which also concluded with a meal. After the Eucharist the adventure continues. Cleansed, consecrated, equipped, and now incorporated into the king’s mission to go out into the world where the fields are ripe for harvest and the gold of that land is good.
This of course wouldn't satisfy Aristotle because when he talked about his six elements for drama he was talking about tragedy. He identified tragedy as the highest form of narrative art because it dealt with serious matters. Comedy, according to Aristotle, dealt with trivial matters and was therefore inferior. It must represent human action and have dire consequences for the characters of elevated social status.
It had to be dire because the world was dire. It had to be those from high society because it isn’t sad when the poor and lowly are crushed by the world, that’s just how it goes. It was sad when a king suffers because a king is rich and powerful and ought not be subject to dishonor. It’s not funny when a powerful man falls from his lofty position; however when a poor man is exalted it’s hilarious because we all know that a poor man’s plight is sadness and misery. A lowly servant discovering that he’s a king’s son is hilarious because that’s not the way the world operates.
The Christian era scoffs at such rules. Blessed are the poor, exalt those of low degree. The tragedy of death gets the whoopie cushion of the resurrection. Hah! A deus ex machina is at the heart of the world and at the heart of liturgy. Man is dead and God makes him live. Man is enslaved and God ransoms him. Man is blind and God gives him new eyes. Man is naked and hungry and God clothes him and feeds him. Man is homeless and God gives him a home and sends him out to bring others inside. That’s drama right there.
Ultimately, the theatre is a bunch of hypocrites in the classical sense. The Greek hypokrisis means "acting on the stage." Hypocrisy, from hypokrinesthai, is to play a part or pretend to be someone or something you are not. But worship isn’t pretend. It is being who we should be. It is acting as we should act.
Theatre comes from the Greek word theatron, which was the seating for a stage, itself related to the word theaomai, a verb meaning: I view, I behold. Well, behold the lamb of God. That’s good theatre. At the end of every good musical the halls are filled with applause. Good show. In the worship of the true God, the mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.
Remy Wilkins teaches at Geneva Academy in Monroe, Louisiana and the author of two middle grade novels, Strays (Canon Press, 2017) and Hush-Hush.
-->