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It was as early as the second century that the shape of the service took the form we use today. Let's look at one service in Rome as described by the church father Justin Martyr:

And on the day called Sunday, all who live in cities or in the country gather together to one place, and the memoirs of the apostles or the writings of the prophets are read, as long as time permits; then, when the reader has ceased, the president verbally instructs, and exhorts to the imitation of these good things. Then we all rise together and pray, and, as we before said, when our prayer is ended, bread and wine and water are brought, and the president in like manner offers prayers and thanksgivings, according to his ability, and the people assent, saying Amen; and there is a distribution to each, and a participation of that over which thanks have been given.

One might assume that this was especially relevant to Roman culture of that day, and in some ways it probably was. But what is interesting is that this liturgical shape became the standard shape of the Western liturgy for the following centuries—which prompts wonder at how this liturgy fit the thousands of cultures the church encountered over the centuries. How in the world has it been relevant in the Middle East, North Africa, Europe, the Americas, and Asia? Yet it has been the basic outline in Catholic, Orthodox, Anglican, Lutheran, Presbyterian, and other communions, in many cultures and eras.

Why this liturgy? Why this form? Because not only its content but also its shape have ushered people into a transcendent culture, where they meet the Trinitarian God and take their first baby steps in his kingdom.

In what's now an old essay, F. H. Brabant put it this way: "All liturgical acts … have a double function: one directed Godwards, expressing in outward form the thoughts and feelings of the worshippers, the other directed manwards, teaching worshippers how they ought to think and feel by setting before them the Church's standard of worship."

We have to pay attention to cultural context, no question. The history of liturgy has been in part about finding words and ritual that help people in a given culture express their thoughts and feelings to God in ways that make cultural sense. The liturgy has always had freedom and variety within its basic structure.

But it has steadfastly refused to let the culture determine its shape or meaning. Liturgical churches know that as profound a reality as is the surrounding culture, there is an even more profound reality waiting to be discovered. The liturgy gently and calmly gets us to open our eyes to the new reality, showing us the "necessary separation" from the old. Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, we find our gaze directed away from ourselves and toward God and his kingdom. When we return to our homes, we are never the same.

Mark Galli is senior managing editor of Christianity Today. This is an adapted excerpt from his latest book, Beyond Bells and Smells: The Wonder and Power of Christian Liturgy (Paraclete Press).

Copyright © 2008 Christianity Today. Click for reprint information.

Beyond Smells and Bells is available from ChristianBook.com and other retailers.

Our February 2008 cover story was about evangelicals and liturgical worship.

Galli's 2006—2007 column, SoulWork is available on our site.

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May 2008, Vol. 52, No. 5