Low Church vs. High Church

I've been thinking a lot about this subject lately, having had similar conversations with three different groups of people over the last couple of weeks.

An interesting example of synchronicity...possibly partially explained by the fact that this is the beginning of Lent for those of you of the High Church persuasion.

When I first started attending Baptist services, I was really surprised at the differences compared to the ones offered by the Presbyterian church I'd attended while growing up...and those were more Middle Church than High.

Middle Church is like High Church, but with hobbits.

(...sorry.)

Where were the raised wooden pulpit, the choir robes, the colored altar cloths? Why was there no mention of the church calendar? No hymnals, no pews?

COOL.

This was fresh, new, and different, and I liked it. A lot.

There are a lot of things I love about High Church traditions. The familiarity of the services, the organized movement through the ecclesiastical year, the beauty of gothic stone construction and stained glass windows...aesthetically, it's lovely and graceful.

But it's Low Church that really moves me. I love that we start out singing praises, and that the songs are modern gospel songs you might hear on the radio. I love learning new music. I love that there are no pre-set ecumenical guidelines for which sermons to preach on which Sundays - the pastor prepares sermons and speaks as the spirit moves him. I love that we all greet each other. I love having so many opportunities to learn and study the Bible. I really love the emphasis on the teachings of Jesus.

It's a living faith. It's something I use in my daily life. (I know that not everyone reacts the same way to the same type of service, which is why choice is good.)

Interestingly, the novel I'm currently reading (The Perpetual Curate, by Margaret Oliphant - I am addicted to Victorian fiction) touches on this subject as well. The curate of the title is Anglican, torn between a rector who wants to stop him doing mission work in poor neighborhoods because it hasn't been offically approved yet, and his three brash and evangelical aunts who attend services with disapproving looks, ask loudly about Dissenting chapels, and are shocked that money is spent on altar flowers and surplices when there are people starving.

You can't please everyone. (And why is it that so many evangelical characters in mainstream literature are either comic or dastardly or both? I suppose that's another subject for another time. Mrs. Oliphant quite fairly plays both extremes off each other - I'll be interested to see how the story ends.)