During our last Parish Council meeting, someone suggested explaining the Eucharist service, so I decided to do something different for our weekly Cover Letter. On some Sundays, I’ll be writing about our liturgy. This is the beginning of a series of cover letters in which I’ll be sharing reflections on different parts of our liturgy—what we do every Sunday, why we do it, and what it means for us as Anglicans/Episcopalians in our time.
I’ve always believed that the beauty of our worship lies not just in the words or gestures, but in the deep well of tradition and meaning from which they come. The more we understand the story behind our liturgy, the more we can pray it with our whole hearts.
So let’s begin at the beginning: with a brief journey through the history of the Anglican liturgy and why it matters so deeply to us today.
When we talk about “liturgy” in the Anglican tradition, we’re speaking of more than just a service—we’re talking about a sacred pattern of worship that shapes our hearts, our theology, and our common life. The word liturgy comes from the Greek leitourgia, meaning “the work of the people.” In other words, liturgy is not just what the priest does at the altar—it’s what we all do together as the Body of Christ. It’s our shared offering of praise, thanksgiving, repentance, and prayer to the living God.
The roots of our Anglican liturgy go back, of course, to the early Church. The apostles gathered for the breaking of bread and prayers, just as Jesus had taught them. As Christianity grew, these gatherings developed structure—Scripture readings, psalms, prayers, a sermon, and the Eucharist. Over time, the Church in the West, centered in Rome, developed the Latin Mass, and this was the form of worship in England for centuries. We can talk later about the history of the Church in England and its beginnings.
Everything changed in the 16th century with the English Reformation. Under the leadership of Archbishop Thomas Cranmer, the Church of England sought to preserve the best of the ancient liturgical tradition while making it more accessible and rooted in Scripture. The result was the Book of Common Prayer (1549), a groundbreaking and deeply poetic liturgical book that put worship into the hands—and the language—of the people. Instead of Latin, the services were now in English. Instead of a priest praying alone at the altar, the congregation was invited to actively participate.
The Book of Common Prayer has gone through many revisions since Cranmer’s day, but its core remains: worship that is both ancient and reformed, catholic and evangelical, poetic and pastoral. Whether we are reciting Morning Prayer, baptizing a child, or standing at the grave of a loved one, we are praying with words that have carried generations of Anglicans through life’s most sacred moments.
Here in the Episcopal Church, we use the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, which reflects both our Anglican heritage and the liturgical renewal of the 20th century. It gives us flexibility and depth. It holds together traditional rites and more contemporary language. It centers our life on the Eucharist and calls us to a baptismal way of living.
Why does all of this matter?
Because in a world that often feels fragmented and distracted, our liturgy grounds us. It gives us a rhythm. It teaches us how to pray. It connects us with Christians across time and space. It reminds us that faith is not just about what we believe—it’s about how we worship, how we love, and how we live together.
In the coming weeks, I’ll be reflecting on different elements of our Sunday liturgy: from the opening acclamation to the final blessing, from the confession to the Eucharistic prayer. My hope is that these reflections will deepen our appreciation for what we do every Sunday—and help us enter worship not just with our voices, but with our whole hearts.
With love, Javier
