Gij die weet = You who know, 1972 - 2021

This eucharistic tableprayer is the song of the people and it is not found in the pages of the Roman Missal. The Voice of the People is the authentic response within Covenant Partnership with the Deity, as endorsed by the charism of baptism. From beginning to end, it is a song, challenging us as to confront how well we actually know ourselves, how complete we may ever be within ourselves. It asks about our strengths and vulnerabilities.

It is only when we gather in memory and thanksgiving as one community do we come face-to-face with the One who has called us, and who knows us better than we do ourselves. This is the moment when life’s mysteries fall into place. Here is one who has shared our flesh and blood, knowing from experience every level of doubt, fear, uncertainty, passion and pleasure, wavering, all our hopes and longings. We address this Deity as Who, with a litany of all the attributes which have formed our history. From the raw material of humanity, we are able to shape our offering of thanksgiving alongsidfe all of creation; this is the heart of eucharistia. This is a celebration not of theology but of humanity. It celebrates the mystery of One, from God who took on human form, and is now inseparably woven with the strands of the human condition.

How ironic it is that we attempt to understand God when we don’t understand ourselves! God is beyond all understanding. Our use of triumphalistic language is, to say the least, anachronistic. To sing Holy God We Praise Thy Name reduces usto a state of submission, even subjugation. This is at odds with our vision of a Pilgrim People on a journey in quest of One who is the guarantee of our future. Instead, we find here a eucharistic song which refreshingly discovers a God with a human face, as well as our enigmatic selves rather than our sinfulness. Here we are given the opportunity to drawn on our memories, the experiences shared by our ancestors.

These moments of insight provide a glimpse of the Jesus of History and not and not one enshriend in triumph. Christianity has spun so many theologies around the Chrestos, the anointed Messiah, that he would be unrecognizable by his disciples. But was this God’s plan for the world? A complex figure rather than a simple wisdom teacher seeking to elevate the poort? This tableprayer acknowledges that there is something good in humanity, capable of reaching God in ways other than through atonement. The constant presence of the poor among us evokes the voice of a liberating God, who intervenes in human history, breaking down structures of injustice. Holiness is not kneeling before a splendid throne but siding with the outcast as part of their plight so as to be lifted up with them.

'Who are we?' asks Oosterhuis. We are tremendous yet puzzling, and almost nothing, all in one breath. We are divided, strangers to ourselves, to one other. Riveted to our bodies, we are nailed to our origins and shortcomings. We are only half-known in our names, and are soon forgotten. Yet we are still good enough to be in the image and likeness of God. Capable of believing, we are able to grow. Faith is not an emotion, a thought at the back of the mind. It is a constant oscillation, a decision between yes or no, to grow and to become, and not to remain static. It urges us to never be satisfied until we have reached our fullest potential.

Traditional ways of talking to and about God may no longer work for us, but that does not mean we have been reduced to silence. Our voice calls out in many ways. We grope in uncertainty to understand the One who is beyond understanding. We have b=names which may express feelings, but serve only as analogies to name that which cannot be named. Yet our inner voice is calling us constantly, to meet in assembly with the One Who is forever into Covenant. We live not in past centuries of grandeur but in the present age, where we can no longer rely on certainties. While becoming more uncertain and vulnerable, we develop new insights into what it means to embrace the One without whom our lives would be incomplete and meaningless, devoid of reason. On the strength of this, our fate is not to remain as dead as the tomb which fails to give back life. Only through self-emptying and questioning the values which determine our lives will we make room for our own fulfillment.

Huijbers stressed an important feature of this ritual song. He has divided the Institution Narrative between various sections of the assembly, no longer the sole preserve of a presiding minister. In fact, in many of the tableprayers, there is no Institution Narrative, a practice noted in John’s Gospel account of the first eucharist, the feeding of the 5000 (chapter 6), from which the earliest surviving prayer of the Apostolic community, The Didache, was compiled. Since the 4th Century clericalization of the Church, the words of the Institution Narrative were assigned only to an ordained minister. Sixteen centuries later, Huijbers has restored responsibility to the assembly, divided into three sections for the people, the choir and the leader, giving them ownership of once again of their own hymn of thanksgiving.

Moreover, these words are to be sung not just once but several times, over and again, to indicate that they don’t operate as magic, as a spell which works by one iteration. Repetition, too, is good, because it is part of the conversation of Covenant. Each repetition is an echo of words not yet spoken, calling us into a fuller life yet to be achieved. Each repetition offers a deeper resonance and level of understanding about who we are, what we are doing, and for whom we’re doing it. Each repetition is an aspect of the vibrancy of Liturgy, that no matter how often we might do the same thing, each time is forever new, forever changing, drawing us deeper into the unfolding of the mystery embracing us. And he has restored to this ritual song the trilogue dynamic of a blend of voices in which the audience and performers are the same people, between a leader, a choral group and the people, as found in ancient Greek theater and adopted by those seated at table for their chaburah, the weekly agape of remembrance and gratitude. But the people own the primary voice, while choir and leader respond, a reversal of the customary dialogue of worship. This is our symphony, the dramatic response of the assembly, embracing all of Humanity and Creation in communion with the One Who Is Beyond All. - Tony Barr