This was in USA Today:

Our churches are dying. To reach Gen Z, faith leaders must get back to the basics.

If religious leaders do not make some serious adjustments, 20 years from now a whole lot of church buildings are going to be restaurants.

Read in USA TODAY: https://apple.news/Aj0Zji2nNT-WmI8OlY06SoA

I believe Hilliard is right about almost every observation made.  And, I note what Hilliard describes as desirable is a good description of the Episcopal Church.  We are what Hilliard believes the Church needs to become.  

Hilliard wants the Church to ordain women.  (We've been doing it since 1976)

Hilliard wants the Church to address issues like poverty, trafficking, health care, education, addiction and other moral issue that warrant our concern. (Check out the Episcopal Public Policy Network)

My quibble with Hilliard (and it is a quibble) is with the assumption that if you are 25 years old and not going to worship services on Sunday, you will never be going to worship services on Sunday.  

It is true that our parishes are full of senior citizens on Sunday mornings.  But, it is also true that I (and everyone else) is getting older every day.  We replace those senior citizens who are dying with predictable regularity.

The "Baby Boomer" generation was large (hence the name).  Generations behind the "Boomers" are smaller.  There will be decline in the days to come, but it is not because 25 year olds are not attending worship services.  And, for Episcopalians (who are doing everything Hilliard says we all should be doing) it will not be due to climate change denial or gender (or sexual) discrimination.

Some decline is due to all the items Hilliard notes and all the changes Hilliard advocates are correct.  But, some decline is just demographics.

 Some thoughts on Holy Week

If you grew up as a Baptist (like I did), you may find it helpful to think of Holy Week in the Episcopal Church as a "Revival Meeting" in a Baptist Church. 

Growing up, the congregation of my childhood would annually host a revival. The event was to (as the name implies) revive one's faith.

Revivals often followed a pattern. Worship services were held every day for a week (or two sometimes). The themes would change from day to day. I could always count on a sermon on a particular topic on a specific night. And, we prepared. The preparation also meant anticipation. Several weeks before the revival, we would pray that we would be revived and that God would rekindle our faith.

Holy Week in the Episcopal Church is similar in that there are multiple worship services. And each night has a particular theme. And we prepare for Holy Week.

We begin our preparation with Ash Wednesday. Then, for 40 days (the season of Lent), we "get ready."

Holy Week in the Episcopal Church is a little like a week-long spiritual retreat. (Except you get to sleep in your bed.) It is a time for you to focus on God.

Holy Week begins on Palm Sunday. We will remember the triumphant procession of Jesus into Jerusalem, and we will retell the passion story (Palm Sunday is also known as Passion Sunday).

On Wednesday evening of Holy Week at St. John's, a special liturgy called Tenebrae is prayed. The liturgy is a meditation on the final three days of the life of Jesus. It is very different from anything else we do liturgically at St. John's, and we only pray this liturgy once a year.

Thursday of Holy Week is Maundy Thursday. We recall Jesus washing the disciples' feet, and we remember the institution of the Lord's Supper (Holy Eucharist). On Thursday, we remember the Last Supper.

Friday of Holy Week is Good Friday. On Friday, we remember the crucifixion and the death of Christ. We read the passion narrative from John's gospel each year.

We do all this in preparation for the Great Vigil of Easter on Saturday after sunset. The Great Vigil of Easter is the central act of worship in the Episcopal Church. At St John's, the vigil begins at 8:00 p.m. Every Sunday after that is a little Easter. The Great Vigil is the worship experience we have been preparing for, starting with Ash Wednesday. The Great Vigil is the climax of Holy Week, and experiencing the liturgy of the Great Vigil of Easter is to have a religious experience that revives your soul.

Do you feel the need for a revival of your spiritual life? Do you feel the need for a spiritual retreat? If so, I encourage you to observe Holy Week this year.

Preparation begins on Ash Wednesday. 

Thoughts on Hebrews 9:11-15

      There are many ways of thinking about the meaning of the death of Jesus: Peter’s eschatological “dawning of new age,” Paul’s legal musings on “justification,” Athananasius’ notions of  “deification,” Anselm’s “vicarious payment,” Calvin’s “vicarious punishment,” Aulen’s “vicarious victor”—all different from each other.      

    Our epistle reading for today is a portion of one such reflection.  The writer of the book we call “Hebrews” finds the meaning of Christ’s death by exploring temple ritual as an extended metaphor or model.

The gospels record that Jesus and his disciples traveled on more than one occasion to Jerusalem during pilgrimage time.  And, following Jesus’ ascension, the first Christians, who were of course all Jews, continued to participate in the fasts, prayers, and sacrifices of the Temple in Jerusalem.  

But, as time went by some began to question whether it was proper for a follower of Jesus to participate in Jewish ritual practices.  And, eventually, the view that Christians ought not participate prevailed.  Thus, Christians would become one of the few groups in the Roman world, who did not offer sacrifices.  And, the book of Hebrews is a defense of this rather eccentric behavior. 

Now, the writer of the book of Hebrews has no lack of sympathy with Judaism.  In fact, the author is Jewish and is well informed about Temple practices and rituals.  The writer reveres the holy scriptures and worships the God of Abraham and Moses (following the practice of Jesus).

Further, like the temple priests, and everyone else the writer knew, the writer believed forgiveness and the shedding of sacrificial blood were connected.  The writer is explicit:  “without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sins” (chapter 9, verse 22).  The writer had, all his life, been immersed in temple rituals.  Everyone the writer knows believes blood cleanses.  This belief was unquestioned, taken for granted.  Nevertheless, the writer rejects the practice of making sacrifices at the temple.  His reasoning:  Jesus’s death displaced the practice.

We, however, find the notion (“without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sins”) difficult and alien.  It is hard for us to wrap our minds around this metaphor.  It makes no sense to us.  For this reason, contemporary theologians who want to explore this metaphor spend most of their time explaining how the shedding of blood is necessary for the forgiveness of sin. The notion is not obvious to us.

But, to understand our epistle lesson for today, you only need to understand that the writer of the book of Hebrews, unquestionably believes “without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sins.”

For the writer, Jesus’ death was like a temple sacrifice.  Paul chooses a different extended metaphor, a different model, to explore.  For Paul, God is like a judge and our relationship with God is a legal one.  For Peter the extended metaphor or model was “a new age.”  The dawning of a new day had been ushered in by the death of Jesus.  Peter and his listeners took for granted that in the new age God would grant forgiveness to all, everyone.  So, it did not seem strange to think of Jesus’ death as an eschatological event, an event of cosmic importance.  Forgiveness and dawning of a new age were (to their minds) self-evidently linked.  The metaphor made perfect sense.

For Paul, Peter, and the writer of the book of Hebrews these three metaphors or models arose, quite naturally (and with all their presuppositions intact) out of a shared culture, a shared, common life.

We are far removed from that culture, that life—both in space and in time.  We tend to feel that sacrifices are repulsive and superstitious; we regard a desire for justification has quixotic or neurotic; and we regard the anticipation of a new age as escapist. 
I am not suggesting that these metaphors or models or analogies are untrue, quite the contrary; I believe they express profound truths about the meaning of the death of Jesus.  But, they do so in terms of the culture and life common to first century Jews living in Palestine—a culture and life we do not naturally share.  Twenty-first century people living in Ocean Springs, Mississippi need metaphors, analogies, or models that can speak to us profound truths as these metaphors or models spoke to first century Jews living in Palestine.  Providing working metaphors is the task of theologians.  So, we get Athananasius’ notions of  “deification,” Anselm’s “vicarious payment,” Calvin’s “vicarious punishment,” Aulen’s “vicarious victor” (to name but a few).

No one model or metaphor can carry all the meaning of the cross.  Peter’s model did not exhaust the meaning of Jesus’ death.  Paul’s model did not exhaust the meaning of Jesus’ death.  Likewise, Calvin’s or Anselm’s musings on the meaning of Christ’s death did not exhaust all the meaning of the cross of Christ.  There is always a surplus of meaning.  All models or metaphors or analogies have their limitations—stretch them or bend them too far and they break.

Which brings us back to our second reading today.  After the death of Jesus, the first Christians began to question whether it was proper for a follower of Jesus to participate in Jewish ritual practices.  (Famously, Paul would say no to the practice of circumcision.)  Eventually, the view that Christians ought not participate would prevail.  Christians would, thus, become one of the few groups in the Roman world who did not offer sacrifices.  And, the book of Hebrews is a defense of this odd behavior.  The question asked:  “Why don’t Christians make ritual sacrifice like everyone else?”  And, the writer of the book of Hebrews answers (and I paraphrase):

When Jesus came as the high priest of the new Temple, he entered once for all into the Holy Place, not with the blood of goats and calves, but with his own blood, thus obtaining eternal redemption. 

For if the blood of goats and bulls, with the sprinkling of the ashes of a heifer, sanctifies those who have been defiled so that their flesh is purified, how much more will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself without blemish to God, purify our conscience from dead works to worship the living God! 

For this reason Jesus is the High Priest of a new covenant, so that those who are called may receive the promised eternal inheritance, because a death has occurred that redeems them from the transgressions under the first covenant.

  

 

 Homily for Proper 22 Year B 2021 

       There are no good answers to bad questions.  The assumptions and presuppositions of the question itself get in the way of providing an appropriate answer.

       The Pharisees ask Jesus a bad question.  “Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?”

       Jesus then explains to them that it is a bad question.  The assumptions and presuppositions of the Pharisees provide no opportunity for a good answer.  

       The question arises from a discussion of the meaning of Deuteronomy 24:1-4.  The passage is to provide protection to the wife and to give her certain safeguards (possession of divorce papers, right to remarry, prevention of the former husband from interfering in a subsequent marriage).  Given the patriarchal nature of the culture, the protections and safeguards are rather remarkable.  But, the Pharisees entirely miss that point.  They reconstrue the issue at hand, and not surprisingly, make it about them.  They wanted to know if they could divorce their wives. I say, “they” divorce “their” wives, because wives did not have the legal ability to “file” for divorce, only men could that.

       They found themselves in a situation where the “law of the land” was in tension with the “law of God.”  Legally, they were allowed to divorce their wives.  But, should they?

       Rabbi Shammai said that a man may not divorce his wife unless if she is unfaithful.  Rabbi Hillel said that a man may divorce his wife even if she burnt dinner.  Rabbi Akiba said that a man could divorce his wife if he found someone prettier.

       And so, such was the religious debate about if it was religiously permissible to get a divorce.  The Pharisees wanted Jesus to weigh in on the subject.  What did he think?

       And, Jesus thinks it is a bad question.  He disagrees with the assumptions and presuppositions implicit in the question itself.  Deuteronomy 24:1-4 is not about what grounds you need to get a divorce and you should not be making it about your wants.  The Pharisees were looking for some sort of theological rationalization, and Jesus was having none of it.  Jesus rejects the assumptions and presuppositions of the question they asked.

       And, he does so by the use of hyperbole or overstatement (a teaching technique Jesus sometimes employed).[1]  He gives them a shocking answer.  An answer, we, like the Pharisees, still find shocking (some things don’t change).

       And, the Church has been trying to explain Jesus’ answer ever since he said it.  Paul, in his first letter to the Corinthians (1 Cor. 7:10-11), quotes from the oral traditions of Jesus concerning the subject of divorce and his telling of the story essentially matches that of Mark.  But, by the time Matthew was written, some felt need for explanation and elaboration.  Matthew, when he tells the story, wants the reader to understand that Jesus was engaging in hyperbole (in case you missed it) and he is not to be taken literally.

       But, we, like the Pharisees, want to justify ourselves, our behavior, our choices.  (Rationalizations are, as psychologists will tell you, very important.)  We aren’t concerned with protecting the vulnerable—we don’t want to be held accountable for our behavior, our choices.  So, we read this story from Mark like the Pharisees first heard it, and Matthew worries his readers will read it.  We too want to justify ourselves.

       So, to answer the question of the Pharisees:  “Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?”  Moses, Paul, and Matthew all indicate various reasons one might seek a divorce.  But, Jesus does not want to talk about the exceptions to the rule—he is concerned they have lost sight of the rule itself.  Jesus seeks to emphasize the permanence of marriage in an ideal world.  A divorce, any divorce, reveals a failure of the ideal.  The ideal is a lifelong marriage.

       But Jesus knows, as Moses, Paul, and Matthew know, we don’t live in an ideal world.  We live in a world that has gone wrong, is going wrong, and will go wrong.  And in a world gone wrong, we can trust in the steadfast love of God.  God’s mercy is never ending.

       I can imagine someone, after hearing today’s gospel, might be thinking about a previous marriage.  Maybe your role in that particular gone wrongness is tiny; maybe it is gigantic.  Only God can judge the size of your role in that particular gone-wrongness.  It is not for you, or for me, or for anyone else to judge.  

In a few moments, we will pray the General Confession.  Know that if you ask God to forgive you for the role you played in the gone-wrongness, God will forgive you.  And, that is the Good News.  

When life is less than ideal, God loves you.  

You are a beloved child of God.  

And, God is always working to make something good happen out of the gone-wrongness of our lives. 

The good question would have been, "When life goes wrong does God love me?"  Jesus would have had a good answer to that question.  I can hear him say, “oh, yes.  Always.”   

---

[1] See Robert Stein, Method and Message of Jesus’ Teachings (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1978) pp. 7-33.

Homily for Lent 3 Year A 2020

Do not be afraid.  As the Lord said to Lady Julian: ‘All shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.’

Dame Julian lived in Norwich in the late 14^thcentury, early 15^thcentury-- during the time of “Black Death,” the Peasant’s Revolt, and the suppression of the Lollards.  It was, to say the least, a difficult moment in history to be alive. There was much to fear.  But, from her writings:  “Revelations of Divine Love” you do not learn of these things. She does not mention them.  What she writes were the words of Jesus to her, words that came to her in a vision:  ‘All shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.’

In the sermon on the mount, Jesus said:  

“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes?......Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” (Matt 6:25, 31, 34) 

Do you know what the most oft- repeated command is in the Bible? Not “Be holy” or “Be good” or “Sin not.” It is: “Be not afraid! Fear not!”[1]  

In Luke’s telling, the shepherds were told to “Be not afraid, Fear not!” They lived on the fringe of society, like those who subsist on day work. They were the last to be hired, the first to be fired. They were among the most vulnerable in that society.  But, the angel—messenger from God--said to them:  "Be not be afraid, fear not!”  Knowing how close fear lives to our hearts; knowing that to do anything worth doing for ourselves or for the world, we must walk through our fear—God’s message:  “Be not afraid.”

Before the angels delivered God’s message to the shepherds, an angel had appeared to Mary.  Mary was an innocent young lady, barely more than a girl, from a pious, God-fearing family, respectable, upright.  She was also poor.  Young. A woman.  Poor.  In her world, she was very vulnerable.  An angel, a messenger from God, appeared to her.  The messenger said:  “Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favor with God.”  Fear not.  And a few moments ago we sang of her “and blessed is she…blessed is she.”

According to Mark, on Easter morning, three women – Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome – had come to the tomb where Jesus was buried.  A young man, dressed in a white robe, was sitting in a tomb.  They were, understandably, alarmed.  The young man’s first words were, “Don’t be afraid.”  

Fear most often controls our anxious hearts and minds. It stops us in our tracks, it hides all that is beautiful in the day, it kills our creativity, it keeps us from being who God made us to be.

So the young man says, to the three alarmed women, “Be not afraid” – which means more than “be not afraid of me,” but be not afraid of life, of yourself, of all you are about to experience.  Of women witnessing the risen Christ, we sang a few moments ago:  “and blessed are they…oh, blessed are they…”

In the book of Genesis, we read of Hagar and Ishmael cast off and wandering in the desert.  The skin of water that Abraham had given Hagar the day of the departure was now empty.  She and her son were about to die of thirst.  She placed her son under a bush and walked a distance away and said, I cannot bear to watch the death of my son.

But, God came and spoke to her and said, “Fear not…”  God opened Hagar’s eyes and she saw a well of water.  This story tells the beginning of a people, a story dear to the hearts of our Muslim neighbors.  God saved Ishmael as God would save Isaac and as God continues to hear the cries of us all.

And, that brings me to another well and another woman.

Jesus was passing through Samaria. He came to a Samaritan holy place, Jacob’s Well.  He was tired and thirsty. So, he asked the woman for a drink of water.  The woman, no doubt, was startled by the request. Here is a Jewish man asking a Samaritan woman for a drink.  There are at least three boundaries Jesus is crossing here: religion, race, gender.

Some boundaries need to be maintained.  During the outbreak of a novel virus, we need to follow the counsel of our public health professionals.  Helping to mitigate the spread of an infectious disease is not about being afraid.  It is about being helpful.  You don’t wash your hands because you are fearful.  You wash your hands because it is the loving thing to do, out of empathy for those around you.  When you are sick, you self-quarantine; not because you are afraid, but because you don’t want to take the chance that you might accidently be spreading a novel virus. 

But, not all boundaries are healthy.  So, despite (no doubt) being startled by the request, she does not flee; and she and Jesus have a conversation.  In the course of the conversation, she says she believes the messiah is coming.  Jesus says: “I am he.”  The woman becomes the apostle to the Samaritans!   And, of her we sang a few moments ago:  “and blessed is she…blessed is she.”

In his letter to the Philipians, the Apostle Paul wrote:

Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus (Phil 4:6-7). 

Paul speaks of the calm serenity that characterizes the very nature of God—Peace which transcends understanding.  God’s peace, guarding our hearts and our minds.

It was that peace Julian of Norwich found, even as she lived in a tumultuous moment in time, a time when everyone was fearful, afraid.  She heard Jesus say to her:  “All shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.”

---

[1]N. T. Wright, Following Jesus(Grand Rapids, Michigan: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1994), p. 66.

On Spiritual "Disciplines"

Someone recently asked me about my use of the word "discipline" in a sermon.  They associated the word "discipline" with punishment; a very different use of the word than the one I had in mind.

So, I wrote back:

I don’t use the word “discipline” as a synonym for punishment.  I most often use it in the academic sense of "a field of study.”  But, in the sermon I used it as “training that molds moral character.”  I actually didn’t think about people hearing “punishment” when I said “discipline.”  Thank you for pointing out that punishment is one of the ways the dictionary defines the word (even if that it not my own usual usage).

When I was in high school there was a popular book:  https://www.amazon.com/Celebration-Discipline-Special-Anniversary-Spiritual/dp/0062803883/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2HIRPE7GZGV4O&keywords=celebration+of+discipline+by+richard+foster&qid=1570672698&sprefix=celebration+of+di%2Caps%2C382&sr=8-1

More recently, Diana Butler Bass wrote https://www.amazon.com/Practicing-Congregation-Imagining-New-Church/dp/1566993059/ref=sr_1_13?crid=XX3HV8FG3FIE&keywords=diana+butler+bass&qid=1570673297&sprefix=diana+but%2Caps%2C335&sr=8-13

She uses the word “practices” rather than “disciplines.”  Perhaps, I should have used the word practices.

I was thinking of practices that shape or form us as disciplines.  Perhaps I could have used the habits.  I was thinking about monastic spirituality https://www.amazon.com/Rule-Benedict-Spirituality-Century-Spiritual/dp/0824525949/ref=sr_1_2?crid=2XXQX6YU7Q7AK&keywords=benedictine+spirituality&qid=1570673725&sprefix=benedictine+sp%2Caps%2C168&sr=8-2  such as one of the things one might do in a “rule of life."

Turning on the Gloria

At dinner with some seminary professors, I asked about the history of the ceremonial practice of the choir "turning on the Gloria." I was currently the Rector of a parish that had this habit and was curious about its origin and unsure of its theological significance.  To my surprise, none of the professors were aware of this practice, but another parish minister did indicate that he once had been the priest of a parish that had the same habit.  And, he assured the professors gathered that it was a widespread practice.  With that, the conversation moved in another direction.

A few months later, at yet another seminary, I tried again.  But, still, none of the professors knew the answer to my question and like before had not even heard of the practice.  I informed them that I had served in two congregations in different parts of the country that had this habit and in both there had been consternation as to whether or not the choristers were to "turn on the Gloria."

From informally interviewing those who had this habit, I already knew that they had no idea why the did it, or they had a variety of views and thus no consensus opinion.  Some believed they were facing the cross, others thought they were facing the altar, many believed they were facing God when directly addressing God in prayer, and most said they did it because everyone else was doing it and not to do it would be odd.  Others spoke of reverence, and still, others spoke of the enjoyment of "doing it right" and beauty of the liturgy and being part of a "dance with God."

Various priests had given them multiple answers when they had asked the question over the years, and I was sure that the priests (as priests are prone to do when they don't know the answer) just made stuff up. 

So, doing what any sensible person would do, I went to the library.  I spent a day “in the stacks,” sometimes laying the floor and pulling one book off the shelf after another, dipping into and out of numerous tomes.  And, it turns out…

In the mid-nineteenth century, a renewed appreciation for catholic ceremonial practice appeared in the English church. The “Oxford Movement” (or “Tractarianism”) gained a faithful following in the Church of England.  (If you are fuzzy on the history, see J. R. H. Moorman’s chapter on the subject in his “A History of the Church in England).  Supporting this movement was a group of architects, the Cambridge Camden Society, which promoted the construction of places of worship that were congruent with the ceremonial practices of the Tractarians.

John Purchas’ “Directorium Anglicanum” (1858) is an example of the interest in reclaiming a more catholic theology and practice.  Interestingly, Purchas was charged with breaking ecclesiastical law in 1869 for (among other things) facing east at the altar.  

The definitive guide for clergy who desired to adopt these practices was Percy Dearmer’s “The Parson’ Handbook” (1899 with many subsequent editions).

While the Tractarians were attempting to recapture a lost past, innovations were nonetheless introduced.  The Cambridge Camden Society’s preference for chancels with facing stalls was soon populated by choristers in surplices.  For instance, in Leeds in 1841, a worship space built in the spirit of the Cambridge Camden Society saw the west gallery disappear, and a vested choir appear in facing stalls between the nave and the sanctuary. 

The style became very popular and Dearmer, via many editions of his handbook, helped shape how the space was used.  

The Oxford Movement coincided with a revival in choral church music.  (There is an excellent doctoral dissertation written on the subject by Bernarr Rainbow, “The Choral Revival in the Anglican Church 1839-1872”).  So, in parishes experiencing both the choral revival and the Oxford Movement, accommodations had to be made.  Since the choristers were vested, they mimicked the movements of the clergy.  When the clergy knelt, they knelt.  When the clergy stood, they stood.  When the clergy turned to face east, so did the choristers. 

Cranmer’s rubrics called for the priest to officiate from the North side of the altar, which was why Purchas’ could be charged with breaking ecclesiastical law for facing East (he also placed candles on the altar and formed processions!)

Facing east during certain portions of the liturgy, was one of the many ritual practices of the Tractarians.  And, when the ministers would turn, the choristers would also turn.  With everyone vested and seated in the chancel correctly performing the choreography, it  is was, no doubt, an aesthetically pleasing sight. 

Of course, not all clergy were Anglo-Catholics. So, when a more evangelical, Protestant, or “broad church” priest would follow an Anglo-Catholic priest in a parish, ceremonial practice was apt to change.  Or, at the very least, the interpretation (explanation) of the practice was apt to change.  For instance, rather than “facing east” the turning might be described as “facing the cross.”  Even Anglo-Catholics would become confused in time and begin describing the practice as “facing the altar.”  That is, the practice continued, but a new understanding emerged.

The Cambridge Camden Society was enormously successful, and many parishes were built according to it’s specifications, and others were retrofitted accordingly.  But, much to the dismay of its members, many congregations refused to alter their buildings or when building new structures conform to the dictates of the Cambridge Camden Society.

And, as priests began pulling altars away from the wall and facing west to celebrant Holy Eucharist, some consternation arose amongst choristers sitting in stalls facing each other in the chancels as to what to do.  Thus, a period of experimentation ensued in local parishes, depending on the sensibilities of the priest in charge.

By 1979, when the prayer book allowed a song of praise other than the Gloria to be said at the opening of Holy Eucharist, confusion arose as to when and if to turn.  Did one always turn on the “song of praise” or only if the song of praise was the “Gloria.”  Some would not turn if it was the “Kyrie” or the “Trisagion” but would only turn if the song of praise was the “Gloria.”

Followers of the Oxford Movement were often passionate about “doing it right.”  Parishioners often absorbed the passion of the Anglo-Catholic priest, but often never knew or soon forgot the theology that drove the practice.  So, once  such a priest departed the parish, parishioners were often left unsure as to what to do, but very concerned about “doing it right.”

This insistence on "doing it right" was not confined to the Anglo-Catholics.  Evangelically minded protestants were also very concerned about ceremonial practices, and for them "doing it right" often meant doing what they had been doing before the Oxford Movement began mudding the waters. 

Broad Churchmen were not exempt from these ceremonial woes.  Temperamentally and theologically comfortable with many of the practices of the Anglo-Catholics on the one hand and the Evangelicals on the other, practice in many parishes became not one or the other but some combination of the two.  But, what combination could vary widely from parish to parish. 

Further, as parishioners moved from one parish to another, they would take with them the practices of their former congregation.  For many parishes' a ceremonial stew was thus served with a sprinkle of this and a dash of that.  Such is the nature of the history of institutions as they evolve, develop, and change over time.

So, to answer the question:  "Why do we do that?"  In sum, the choral revival of the mid-nineteenth century in England, the Oxford Movement of Anglicanism, and the work of the Cambridge Camden Society mark the beginning of the current practice (in some parishes) of "turning on the Gloria."