The Book of Common Prayer: A Biography
Alan Jacobs
Princeton University Press (2013, 2019 Reprint). 256 pp.
Book Review
The Life of a Book
Perhaps the greatest success of Alan Jacobs’s biography of the Book of Common Prayer (BCP) is his own facility with the English language. Thomas Cranmer’s masterpiece rivals Shakespeare in beauty and influence. Few contemporary authors do justice to this work, however, not for lack of expertise, but for lack of ability in the language Cranmer himself mastered. Jacobs succeeds where many others have failed. And thank goodness. This is a delightful book. Beginning with Cranmer in his library at Croydon, Jacobs weaves a compelling tale that carries us through nearly five centuries of turbulent history and sends us around the globe into a communion of nearly 80 million Christians worldwide.
This is a delightful book, but not without its problems. Jacobs’s strength as a writer and his expertise as a literary critic leave him occasionally exposed as an historian. There are a few critical mistakes (Cranmer attended Cambridge, not Oxford!), which will no doubt be corrected in future editions. But the problem runs deeper than the occasional factual error. Jacobs appears to depend on predominantly Anglo-Catholic historical scholarship, which shapes his approach to Anglican history and his understanding of the Book of Common Prayer. This is particularly clear in his assessment of the revisions of the 1552 BCP (pp.49-51). Contrary to the recent, magisterial work of Diarmaid MacCulloch, assessed and affirmed by others, Jacobs takes up the view that Cranmer likely favored the 1549 edition over the more thoroughly reformed version of 1552. Likewise, Jacobs concludes that the 1552 rite for Holy Communion is Zwinglian, with a strictly memorialist doctrine of the eucharist. While this is a possible interpretation, it has rarely been understood as such by reformed Anglicans and is by no means universally supported, not least of all by Hooker, to whom Jacobs refers.
There is no agenda on Jacob’s part, but there is a tacit dependence on Anglo-Catholic scholarship that shapes his approach. Jacobs is careful never to identify himself with any of the various strands of Anglican tradition. While often deferring to Anglo-Catholic historiography he is quick to critique Anglo-Catholic teaching and presuppositions. And though he never states his own bias, his description of Queen Elizabeth I may contain a hint of self-disclosure. He writes, “She was an evangelical, but a moderate one, and willing to tolerate a good deal more of the time-honored practices than many of her advisers” (p.58). Elsewhere, Jacobs has described himself as a “high-church evangelical,” a description that seems to fit him well. In his historical analysis, however, he too often defers to the Anglo-Catholic reading of Anglican history in a way that marginalizes the story an Evangelical or reformed Anglican might otherwise tell.
Part of the problem here is related to the scope of Jacobs’s work. This is a biography of the Book of Common Prayer. The BCP, however, cannot be properly understood in its 16th and early 17th century context without reference to the Homilies and Articles of Religion. These works must be held together – perhaps Anglicanism’s original three-legged stool! The Homilies and Articles give us deeper insight into Cranmer’s thought and his project for reform. They provide a necessary theological framework for understanding the Prayer Book. A history of the Prayer Book that does not give careful attention to the Homilies and Articles of Religion will invariably tilt out of balance. Perhaps the original assignment, which was to do just that, made the project difficult from the start.
These frustrations with Jacobs’s approach are not minor. It matters how we tell our story. But these frustrations will not keep me from recommending this well-written story of one of the most important works in the English language. I am grateful for Jacobs’s effort and will enjoy sharing it with friends.
The Drama of Common Prayer
Jacobs concludes the book with a helpful reminder of just what kind of work the Book of Common Prayer is. Reflecting on the idea that many books “learn” by reshaping themselves to new cultural environments and political situations, Jacobs concludes that a religious book does not: “it is concerned to teach; and a prayer book especially wants its teaching to be enacted, not just to be absorbed. It cannot live unless we say its words in our voices. It can learn with us, but only if we consent to learn from it” (p.193).
If this is so, and I believe it is, what would the Book of Common Prayer have us learn today as we participate in its timeless cadences? Another way to ask the question is to divide it into two. What kind of story is this liturgy telling? What kind of life is this liturgy shaping?
Plays or dramas tell stories. They have a narrative structure that leads to a climax followed by resolution. When you participate as an actor in a play you participate in the telling of the story. The same thing happens when we gather for worship. When we come together we join in a liturgy, meaning “a work of the people.” This liturgy tells a story. And whether you are Baptist, Reformed, Pentecostal or Anglican you have a liturgy that tells a particular story.
As we tell this story in worship we aren’t merely acting. Although many of our lines are scripted, and stage-directions – like sitting, kneeling and standing – are prescribed, we are not acting, we are living the gospel story. For Anglicans the story that our liturgy for Holy Communion tells can be divided into 5 acts. (Note: Not all authorized rites for Holy Communion fit the exact pattern described below. This is, however, a typical arrangement; and it reflects the practice most commonly in use in N. American churches. The story it tells remains consistent across the authorized versions).
When we gather for Communion on Sunday mornings our worship begins with a hymn, or songs of praise, followed by the Collect for Purity, another ancient song called the Gloria, and the Collect of the Day. We then read several passages from Scripture – beginning with the Old Testament and ending with a Gospel lesson. This first section of our service leads up to the sermon, which ought to explain the meaning and significance of at least one of the passages that has been read from Scripture.
The central concern of this whole first sequence is to put us in the presence of God as he reveals himself to us. The songs and the Gloria in particular speak to us of God’s might and heavenly reign. Scripture speaks to us God’s own words as he reveals himself, first to the people of Israel in the Old Testament, and then to the nations in the Gospels and New Testament. Throughout this portion of the service we are being led to a place of awe and praise in the presence of God. We may call this Act I: Worship begins with God revealing himself to us.
As the sermon ends we respond by proclaiming our faith in the words of the Creed. A Scripture-shaped life leads to a creedal life – public confession of the faith as the Church has received it throughout history. It also leads naturally to self-examination, conviction and the confession of sin. In the face of the revelation of God’s holiness and gracious love we cannot help but repent. Act I leads naturally into Act II: In the face of God’s revelation we profess the faith and confess our sins.
Once we have gone to our knees and confessed our sins a pastor stands at the front and declares the assurance of God’s forgiveness because of what Christ has done on the cross: “Almighty God, have mercy on you, forgive you all your sins through our Lord Jesus Christ…” The priest is not the one who forgives – it is God who does that. The priest’s role is to communicate that forgiveness and give assurance. This is Act III: God responds to our repentance by purifying us and forgiving our sins.
Some might think that at this point our worship should be over. We’re in with God. We’re forgiven. We’ve prayed and sung and sermonized. Everything’s good. Now we can get back to real life. But there is much more to come.
Those who remember struggling through Shakespeare in High School know that the climax of a play usually occurs in Act IV. The same is true in our service of Holy Communion. Having revealed himself to us, led us to confession and purified us through forgiveness, God draws us into his presence and transforms us through feeding us with the body and blood of his risen son. This is Act IV.
The climax of our worship comes when we tell this story and share this meal. It is here that we are reminded of Christ’s sacrifice. It is here, when we eat the bread and drink the wine, that we accept anew the grace God offers us in Jesus – trusting in the power of his death and resurrection for our salvation. It is here that we are drawn into God’s presence and commit ourselves to him afresh. It is here that we are comforted, transformed, strengthened, emboldened and prepared for the week ahead.
In many of our churches The Prayer of Humble Access is said just prior to receiving bread and wine. It captures the poignancy and the wonder of the moment:
We do not presume to come to this thy Table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy Table. But thou art the same Lord, whose property is always to have mercy: Grant us therefore, gracious Lord, so to eat the flesh of thy dear Son Jesus Christ, and to drink his blood, that our sinful bodies may be made clean by his body, and our souls washed through his most precious blood, and that we may evermore dwell in him, and he in us. (1662)
The focus of Act IV is eating and drinking. It is a physical act, and in most Anglican congregations you leave your seat and move forward to receive – God’s people gathered at a common table, sharing a common cup. The meal of Act IV leads into the final drama of Act V: From the presence of God we are sent out to serve.
When we have finished sharing the body and blood of Jesus we conclude with a prayer of thanks and praise. This is also a prayer of commissioning. We thank God for including us as members of his family, for drawing us near and transforming us. We then ask him to give us strength and courage as he sends us out into the world to love and serve him. Worship sends us out with a purpose.
Our liturgy tells a story in five acts:
Act I: Worship begins with God revealing himself to us.
Act II: In the face of God’s revelation we profess the faith and confess our sins.
Act III: God responds to our repentance by purifying us and forgiving our sins.
Act IV: In the presence of God we are transformed.
Act V: From the presence of God we are sent out to serve.
Each week when we gather we take part in this drama of worship, participating together in the story of God’s radically self-giving love for us in Jesus Christ.
Now to our second question: What kind of life is our liturgy shaping? With a formal, written liturgy it is possible to speak lines, stand, sit and kneel but never really engage with your heart. When we worship in this way it is merely a performance. But worship is never meant to be a performance. The words we say, the songs we sing, the Scripture we read are meant to play a part in forming us as new creatures. This formation begins as a work of the heart.
Notice the frequency with which the word “heart” appears in our worship. It begins with our very first prayer, the Collect for Purity:
Almighty God, to you all hearts are open, all desires known, and from you no secrets are hid: Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of your Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love you, and worthily magnify your holy Name; through Christ our Lord. (1979).
We begin by recognizing that God can see our hearts, and we invite him in. We are torn open, exposed and vulnerable, and so we quickly acknowledge that our hearts are not fully his. In the confession we say:
We have not loved you with our whole heart
As we then prepare to join in Communion we begin by lifting our hearts together to God in order to be fed and filled:
Celebrant: The lord be with you.
People: And also with you.
Celebrant: Lift up your hearts.
People: We lift them to the lord.
Then at the invitation to share in communion we are reminded that we are not merely eating and drinking but responding with our hearts in faith and with thanksgiving. The congregation is invited to receive communion with these words:
The gifts of God for the people of God. Take them in remembrance that Christ died for you, and feed on him in your hearts by faith, with thanksgiving.
Finally, as we go out we declare that our hope and prayer for the week ahead is that we will be whole-hearted servants of God:
Grant us strength and courage to love and serve you with gladness and singleness of heart.
Worship is not primarily about ritual, language, music or elaborate vestments. It is about the transformation of our hearts and hence our lives by the power of the living God. The kind of life the Anglican liturgy seeks to shape is one that is captured by the love of God, drawn into the life of God and placed in communion with God’s people who are then sent out into the world in mission. This is first and foremost a work of the heart.
Borrowing the Drama
It is increasingly common for non-Anglican pastors to make use of Anglican liturgical material in designing worship services. More and more evangelicals, in particular, are discovering the treasure trove of resources in our tradition. Is this a good thing, or is this somehow unfair to the tradition? While purists might decry the cutting and pasting of Anglican prayers, confessions and litanies there is precedent for this in the work of Thomas Cranmer himself.
When Cranmer set out to write the first Book of Common Prayer in English, he relied heavily on the Latin liturgies of his day. In the crafting of the Prayer Book he was part translator, part theological editor and part poet. One sees this in the many short prayers called “collects” that Cranmer included in his Book of Common Prayer. Of the 100 collects included in the Prayer Book 67 are based on earlier Latin texts, while 33 appear to be Cranmer’s own compositions. He borrowed freely from the great tradition of the Church, adding original work only when necessary. In that original work Cranmer shows no interest in novelty. He relies on Scripture both for content and for forms of expression. In the collects he penned there are some 30 direct quotations from Scripture, along with countless allusions and references.
Cranmer sets a helpful precedent for pastors today. In crafting biblical worship Non-Anglicans should feel free to borrow liberally from Anglican liturgies. The material is replete with Scripture and is tried and tested for public use. This encouragement, however, comes with two cautions.
First, not all Anglican liturgical material is biblically faithful and theologically sound! Over the past century our early liturgies have been revised and new liturgies developed for special use in a variety of national settings. Cranmer stressed the need for worship to be in the vernacular. Careful revision, therefore, should be a normal part of the life of Anglican liturgies when the language becomes outmoded or alienating. Some of the work of revision that has been done is necessary and even good. Some of it, however, is not; and many of the newly written liturgies are incredibly poor. Beware what you use! And when you choose to do your own revising, be warned: it is not as easy as one might think.
Second, as I have argued above, good liturgy works like a drama. Not only does it tell a story, it shapes the heart and directs the will. Cut-and-paste liturgies may be fine, but without a playwright-theologian behind them they will lack structural integrity and may be theologically weak. They will leave out important acts. The narrative will become truncated and the gospel quite possibly compromised. Beware the desire to create fresh forms of worship using a few older prayers for that “vintage feel.” Creativity may well work against good discipleship. This caution applies to many of my fellow Anglicans. More and more Anglicans are playing cut-and-paste with our liturgies. In an effort to streamline worship and adapt to shorter attention spans some Anglicans are among those who are guilty of pillaging the tradition at the expense of a complete and compelling drama. If we really believe that corporate worship has the power to shape the affections, then it matters greatly what we do and say, and how the disparate pieces of our worship fit together into a coherent whole. There are far fewer playwright-theologians out there than there are hack liturgists attempting to compose something “fresh.”
Conclusion
While Alan Jacobs is strictly correct that the Book of Common Prayer was used “as an instrument of social and political control” (p.7), it was not primarily such a tool. Rather it was a Bible-based means of proclaiming the timeless gospel in the language of the people, created in an effort to convert and disciple a nation. It remains a useful tool for that work for 80 million Anglicans, and for countless other Christians around the world today.
John W. Yates III is the Rector of Holy Trinity Church in Raleigh, NC. He holds a PhD in New Testament from the University of Cambridge and is currently serving as a series editor for the Reformation Anglicanism Essential Library (Crossway). He is a member of the St. Anselm Fellowship of the Center for Pastor Theologians.
