The Litany has a fault which runs throughout the Prayer-Book, that "vain
repetition" which, according to the Gospel, was denounced by Jesus of
Nazareth; the refrain of "Good Lord, deliver us," and "We beseech
Thee to hear us, good Lord," recurs with wearisome reiteration, and is
repeated monotonously by the congregation, few of whom, probably, would
know from what they were requesting deliverance, if the clergyman were
to stop and ask so unexpected a question. Gods the Father, Son, and Holy
Ghost are severally besought to have mercy upon the miserable sinners
praying to them, and then the Trinity as a whole is asked to do the
same. How far this separation is consistent with the unity of the
Godhead, and whether in praying to the Son we do, or do not, implicitly
pray to the Father, and _vice versa_, those only can tell us who
understand the "mystery of the Holy Trinity." This preamble over, the
remainder of the Litany is addressed to "God the Son," who is the "Good
Lord" invoked throughout, in spite of His reproof to the young man who
knelt to Him, calling Him "Good Master;" "why callest thou Me good?"
Various dogmas are alluded to in the succeeding verses in which few
educated people now retain any belief. How many really care to be
delivered "from the crafts and assaults of the devil," or believe in the
existence of the devil at all? He is one of those phantoms that can only
be found in the darkness, and which fade away when the sun arises.
How many believe in the "everlasting damnation," of the same verse,
or really consider themselves in the smallest danger of it? No one who
believed in hell could pray to be delivered from it in careless accents,
for the smallest chance of that awful doom would force a wail of terror
from the lightest-hearted of the listeners. Is it consistent to ask
Christ to deliver us from His wrath? if He loved men so much as to die
for them, it seems as though a great change must have come over His mind
since He ascended into heaven, if He really requires to be pressed so
urgently not to "take vengeance," and to spare us and deliver us from
His wrath. Which is right, the wrath or the love? for they are not
compatible; and does God really like to see people crouching before Him
in this fashion, praising His mercy while they tremble lest He should
"break out" upon them? If we were inclined to be hypercritical we might
suggest that the prayer to be delivered from "all uncharitableness"
gives a melancholy proof of the inadequacy of prayer; the answer to it
may be read weekly in the _Church Times_ and the _Rock_ more especially
in the clerical contributions. The other petitions are also curiously
ineffectual: "from all false doctrine, heresy, and schism," is so
manifestly accepted at the Throne of Grace in these rationalising days.
Jesus is then abjured to deliver His petitioners by the memory of His
days upon earth, and we get the ancient idea of an incarnate God, so
common to all eastern religions, and the curious picture of a God who
is born, circumcised, baptised, fasts, is tempted, suffers, dies, is
buried, rises, ascends. How God can do all this remains a mystery, but
these suffering, and then conquering gods are familiar to all readers
of mythologies; we learn further, that God the Holy Ghost can come to a
place where He was not previously, although He is the infinite God, and
is therefore omnipresent. Verily, it needs that our faith be great.
Being delivered sufficiently, the congregation proceed to a number of
additional petitions, the first of which is, unfortunately, as great
a failure as the preceding ones, for it prays that the Church may be
guided "in the right way;" and having regard to the multiplicity of
Churches, each one of which goes doggedly in her own particular way, it
is manifest that they can't all be right, as they are all different.
Then follow prayers for the Royal Family and the Government, and a
general request to "bless and keep all Thy people;" a request which is
systematically disregarded. In these days of "bloated armaments" it
is at least pleasant to dream in church of there being given "to all
nations, unity, peace, and concord." The "pure affection" with which
God's Word is received is also perfectly imaginary; those who do not
believe it criticise and cavil; those who do believe it go to sleep
over it. The last part of these verses seems designed simply to pray for
everybody all round, and this being satisfactorily accomplished, we come
across another trace of an ancient creed: "Lamb of God, that takest away
the sins of the world;" this is a fragment of sun-worship, alluding to
the sun-god, when, entering the sign of the Lamb, he bears away all the
coldness and the darkness of the winter months, and gives life to the
world. The remainder of the Litany is of the same painfully servile
character as the earlier portions; God seems to be regarded as a fierce
tyrant, longing to wreak His fury on mankind, and only withheld by
incessant entreaties. All possible evils seem to be showering down on
the congregation, and, if one closed one's eyes, one could imagine
a sad-faced, care-worn, haggard group of Covenanters, or Huguenots,
instead of the fashionable crowd that fills the pews; and when one hears
them ask that they may be "hurt by no persecutions," one is inclined
to mutter grimly: "You are all safe, mother Church, and you are the
persecutor, not the persecuted." The service concludes with the same
unreal cant about afflictions and infirmities, till one could wish
almost to hear something of the style of observation made by an angry
nurse to a tiresome child: "If you don't stop crying this minute, I will
give you something to cry for." If men would only be as real inside the
church as they are outside; if they would think and mean what they say,
this pitiful burlesque would speedily be put an end to, and they would
no longer offer up that sacrifice of lying lips, which are said to be
"an abomination to the Lord."