Presiding:: The Dying Art of Leading Worship With Fire, Mystery, and Word-Craft

Her name is Andrea Gibson and I am part of the swelling minority who think she is the best contemporary slam poet around. It's not necessarily her metaphors - though they come flying through the space in technicolor with Steve McQueen speed - it's her presence. It's how she stands in such a way that her soul is exposed through her ribs, her hands opened as though she is simultaneously pulling you towards her and giving you everything. It's the placement of her pitch, tempo, and speed with the careful and purposeful arrangement of a designing genius. It's her fire. It's her almost painfully real and whole being there. It's the way she means it.

She is a liturgist.

Yeah, okay, not really a "liturgist" but a presider. A flesh-and-bone holy voice. A creator of liminal space. She doesn't stand before an altar or fit her words succinctly between a medley of praise songs, but she is a presider, priestly, in-between, and prayerful.

As worship leaders, we live somewhere between the polarities, the two extremes (and the vast landscape that exists between them) of speaking and leading a room-full of people in a sacred act. There is the purely spontaneous worship leader who calls out to Jesus between songs or almost cries out his prayers in the transitions. Yet, there is something about the obvious lack of ancient mystery, rootedness and intentional word-designing that can sometimes make that passion feel almost sentimental, adolescent, and fleeting in it's naivety. Then there's the cut-and-dry liturgist, the words delivered with a vaguely superstitious notion that they can speak for themselves; that the sheer effort of lifting the prayers and creeds from the page to the air will make them sacred, transformational, and encounter-rich. This extreme tends to believe that the traditional/formal liturgy is relevant to everyone exactly as is - it can become the proverbial sacred cow of certain mainline and even post-church contingents.

The biggest issue facing us as contemporary priests and presiders is the fact that we aren't taught, trained, apprenticed into this role as spirit-speakers. We aren't prepared to bear the weight of it when done honestly. In the lost art of this profound and important role, there are a few things to keep in mind:

Words have physical weight.
In the flow of the worship service, it is almost imperative that we come to a new realization of the intentionally placed and shaped word. A basic understanding of the ancient flow and narrative of the worship service could work to dramatically shape the choice of our words, the vocabulary of our rites and GOD-affirming moments. Words create tangible space, bind people together, and cause a physical - and very holistic - reaction wherever they land. The thoughtfully crafted word, the prose of a well-sculpted liturgy or litany can overturn, disturb, awaken, resuscitate, convict, and inspire. The liturgy of the early church, and the prayers of the Old Testament prophets, were poetic and image-drenched. It was fired in story and the profound mystery of GOD's character and spirit in ways that left behind the concrete and the cliche - rather it threw the door open on ambiguity, ash-and-velvet encounter, blurred dimensions, and boundless invitation. It was rhythmic, musical, and authentic to the moment.

Interpretation emerges from content.
Speaking the liturgy, giving it breath, is an art form that gives life and paints pictures in three dimensional ways. The liturgy of the season, the prayers of the people, all lend themselves to be interpreted in ways that make the words even more real, even more true, more potent. Doing this authentically and in a real way means that we have to be able to inhabit the words for ourselves. We have to be able to see the destination and recreate it in a meaningful and contextualized way. This means fire, earth, air, mystery, picture, color, breath. This means truly being a priest.

Content is the thread.
This is where the story matters, where it suddenly becomes important if you use the traditional liturgy or craft your own. [can you imagine Andrea Gibson presiding over the Gloria...breath-taking ] A little Psalm 101 or Romans 12 idea about corporate worship will not serve you well here. Liturgical mentors, time, reading, and the vast sea of beautiful and theologically opulent pieces of spoken word liturgy are waiting for people to find them, interpret them, reintroduce them in a savory way. Writing your own liturgy is a wonderful and necessary skill for the active worship leader - especially if it is rooted in GOD's story, in world-present metaphor, in something almost creepy in its bigness. The days of Hallmark card prose to GOD is fast moving past us as the rich truth and poetic challenge of the traditional liturgy inspires us. Content matters.

This isn't just a new creative fix or a trendy how-to. This is a spiritual art form. A discipline and craft that pulls together the gapped seam between heaven and earth, the Church and her lost voice. I have no fast answers, no crash course. What I have is a fierce hope that we will hold to this piece of our heritage and GOD-connection; that we will re-enter the rituals of our faith with a fire that is contagious and propelling in ancient and soul-grounding ways.

This is our place, our commission - that on behalf of the Church, we are to do as Andrea Gibson does and to reach out to draw the Divine into us while we simultaneously give all to those who are waiting. This is presiding.

If you are interested in the vision and power of poet Andrea Gibson as an "outside" liturgist and presider, check out her poem "Yes."


Jodi-Renee Adams is a teacher, author, and visionary for community worship. She serves as a liturgy pastor and teaching pastor at Ecclesia Denver, a new urban faith community.

Passionate about empowering artists and leaders to take their congregations beyond the Christian-culture box, Jodi is a contributor to CTI's FaithVisuals.com and GiftedforLeadership.com and speaks regularly on the convergence of post-church crisis, cultural issues and worship.

Jodi is currently completing her M.Div. at Denver Seminary and finishing her first book, which is due out next year. She and her jazzy husband, Justin, live in Denver with their three children: Sara, Anna-Michelle, and Leo, along with Karma the Wonder Dog.