Why I Go to a Liturgical Church: Duane W.H. Arnold, PhD
Why I Go to a Liturgical Church
When people ask why I still go to church, I often tell them that the real question is not simply why I go to church, but why I go to a liturgical church. In a time when many see little value in gathering at all—when worship is dismissed as boring, irrelevant, or unnecessary—I have found that the ordered rhythms of liturgy do what nothing else can: they call me out of myself, anchor me in a larger story, and draw me into the presence of the living God.
I go to a liturgical church because I need more than myself. Left to my own devices, my faith would quickly become a reflection of my preferences, my moods, and my blind spots. In the liturgy I am drawn into something older, deeper, and wiser than my own inclinations.
I go because the prayers are not improvised from my imagination, but are handed down through the centuries. They bind me to the communion of saints across time and space. The words I speak have been spoken by martyrs, monks, peasants, kings, and countless unnamed faithful who found in them the language of worship and hope.
I go because in the lectionary the Scriptures are read in their breadth, not cherry-picked to fit the preacher’s latest idea. The liturgy, in the DailyOffice and the Eucharist, forces us to hear the whole counsel of God—the comfort and the judgment, the promise and the demand— and to hear it day by day, week by week, year by year.
I go because the sacraments are not about my feelings but about God’s action. Bread and wine, water and oil—these ordinary things become the means by which Christ makes himself present, not because of my piety, but because of his promise.
I go because the liturgy refuses to let worship be entertainment. It is not actors on a stage. It is not about novelty or charisma, but about faithfulness. It teaches patience, discipline, and reverence in a culture that is addicted to shiny distractions.
I go because in a liturgical church I am reminded that the story is not mine to invent. It is, even now in 2025, Christ’s story, and I am invited to enter that story. The rhythm of confession and absolution, Word and Table, blessing and sending—this rhythm shapes my life in ways no program or Ted talk ever could.
In short, I go to a liturgical church because I need to be formed, not flattered. I need to be drawn into the mystery of Christ, not left with the echo of my own voice.
And perhaps that is the invitation I would extend to others: if you have found church empty or disappointing, do not give up on the possibility that there is more. Step into the liturgy. Listen to the prayers, follow the rhythms, taste the bread and wine. You may discover that in these ancient patterns lies not boredom but depth, not irrelevance but grace, and not just another private club, but the living Body of Christ.
Duane W.H. Arnold, PhD
Well done, Duane.
I would hope that people who are seeking something substantial would visit one of these churches…my fear is that few want something substantial.
Michael,
I have often wondered if these churches did not exist, could I manage to go to a Calvary Chapel, or a local evangelical mega church? Perhaps I could have at one time, but now I am afraid and I would not have the courage of my own convictions about the importance of church…
I attend a Liturgical Church, the ELCA version of Lutheranism.
No alpha male strongman in the pulpit, no MAGA nonsense, and we have had women Pastors come and speak. I’m happy as a clam, good coffee and donuts afterwards with great people too!
Muff
It is a world of difference…
You make a sound case as usual. We also have to acknowledge that we are his church. We are his people. We are His.
Keep writing Duane.
” I need to be formed, not flattered.”
While I am still teaching a home church during the middle of the week, we are attending a small Baptist church on Sundays. The people are really kind and the pastor is a decent teacher. I can identify with his world in so many different ways. The order of service is not presented very smoothly. Not much about the gathering flatters me. I don’t offer advice or critique his messages. I think I’m there to be formed in a way that I haven’t anticipated
Alan
Many thanks…
pstrmike,
“I think I’m there to be formed in a way that I haven’t anticipated” That is usually the way that it works…
I have 50 years experience in low church, and have just barely experienced Liturgy in the past month. My wife was raised Lutheran from birth until highschool and it meant nothing to here, just empty tradition and repetition. She got saved in The Vineyard church, but along with me has been burned by both charismatic and baptist churches. I can’t get her interested in high church. This is the first time we havn’t been on the same page, and neither of us wants the other to sacrifice for them. Its a quandary.
Terry,
That is a real quandary—and a tender one. When worship has always been something shared, it can feel unsettling to find yourselves standing in different places, not quite sure how to walk forward together.
I understand why liturgy can feel like empty tradition to someone who only knew it as words recited without meaning. Just as I understand why free-form worship can come to feel shallow or chaotic when you’ve grown weary of personality-driven churches. The truth is, either form can become hollow—and either can carry us deeply into the presence of Christ.
This isn’t something to win or solve. It’s something to hold gently. Perhaps, for now, it’s enough to be curious together. Visit a liturgical service now and then—not as a commitment, but as an exploration. Let her speak what she sees and feels. And maybe visit something familiar to her as well, so she knows you’re not trying to erase the path that formed her.
You don’t have to force agreement. You only have to keep loving one another while you seek Christ, who is present wherever his people gather—whether in the ordered cadence of liturgy or in the simplicity of a song and an open Bible. Sometimes the way back to worshiping together isn’t found by choosing a side, but by rediscovering him in the quiet space between them.
This is a really good article, Duane. Thanks for posting it.
For those who think liturgical churches are empty tradition and vain repetition, I can only say this: It does require you to pay attention. All the words of the Liturgy are directed to God and you are invited to join in. There’s not much of entertainment value because, since it’s directed to God, He doesn’t require entertainment. There are some things that happen that will give you goose bumps, like when a basso profundo deacon belts out the Creed. There’s a miracle every Sunday, too, as the bread and wine become the Body and Blood of Christ. If a person does not engage with the Liturgy they will come away thinking it’s dull and vain.
Xenia,
Many thanks…
I think that’s the heart of it. Encountering liturgy often means slowing down and letting it unfold, rather than expecting it to seize your attention the way entertainment does.
People come to it at their own pace. For some, the depth and beauty are immediate; for others, it takes time for the words, gestures, and rhythms to seep beneath the surface. And that’s all right. Liturgy isn’t trying to impress us—it’s patiently forming us. It waits for us to grow quiet enough to notice what it’s been saying all along.
What often feels like “empty tradition” at first can, with time and attention, reveal itself as a living stream—steady, ancient, and astonishingly full of grace. No one needs to rush that discovery. It’s enough simply to keep showing up and letting the Church’s prayers carry you until they slowly become your own.
I was raised in one and the pastor called me asking if I was going to attend confirmation the following evening.
I replied that I couldn’t answer the required questions because I didn’t memorize the answers.
He said that it was okay, he would ask me an easy one and verbally coach me out loud.
I declined the invitation as I couldn’t in good conscience go along with the script/act. I think that he felt sorry for my mom who was raising me alone. That was it for me for fifteen years.
Years later after I got saved my wife and I cared for her and would take mom who was paralyzed to her church.
Her funeral was to be held there and when I called to enquire the then pastor replied rudely because of my sister who slandering us with malicious poisonous gossip said people like us shouldn’t even be allowed to speak at the funeral. Then he finally agreed to let me speak but only for five minutes.
We never went even though we lived three blocks from there.
Also in the many years of our attendance the only occasion where we heard what they referred to as the “gospel” was when someone recited a verse or at most two out loud from either Matthew, Mark, Luke or John.
So if you’re happy to attend such a church good for you but my experience doesn’t encourage me to relive the past.
JD
Thank you for sharing that—it’s clear those experiences left deep wounds, and it makes sense that you would carry them with caution. What you describe isn’t just disappointment; it’s the kind of hurt that reaches into the heart, especially when it comes from the very place that was supposed to offer grace.
I hear in your words both honesty and grief. You were asked to go through the motions without conviction, and later met with coldness at a moment that should have been marked by compassion. Those things matter. They shape how we see the Church, and how safe or unsafe it feels to trust it again.
If you never return to that place, that’s understandable. God is not confined to a building or a liturgy, and he has walked with you through it all. Yet if you ever do find yourself near the door of a church again, I hope it is one where the gospel is not just quoted but lived—where honesty is welcomed, grief is honored, and no one is made to earn their place at the table.
You don’t have to relive the past to seek Christ. He meets us even on the long road away from what once wounded us, and sometimes—gently, slowly—he brings us to places where healing can begin.
Duane,
Thanks for taking the time to share those encouraging words.
JD
Thanks Duane! We might have found a middle ground with a Presbyterian church. I just wish they celebrated communion weekly instead of monthly. Neither of us wants to go back to a contemporary worship service, with massive video screens and concert stage lights.
Terry,
That’s good news, indeed!
Duane, your words to JD are so compassionate, pastoral, and encouraging! I’m glad I’ve read this far into the thread.
I still can’t do it. There is no connection for me. It doesn’t speak my language. I am glad that some can go to liturgical churches and find fulfillment, because I can’t find fulfillment at all.
Josh,
I understand what you’re saying. It isn’t unusual to stand on the edges of liturgical worship and feel nothing. It can seem distant, foreign, even hollow if you only glance across its surface. Liturgy rarely dazzles at first sight. It does not perform. It waits.
The thing is, it was never meant to be sampled or tasted like a new interest, never meant to be weighed on the scale of personal preference. It is not crafted to entertain, nor to persuade. It is meant to form us—and formation is slow work. It shapes us over time, word by word, like water carving stone.
If you step into it expecting to be stirred, you may walk away unmoved. If you linger long enough to be shaped, you may find that what once felt lifeless begins quietly breathing around you. And if it truly does not speak your language, then it is better to say so honestly and walk on, rather than to linger at the edge as a spectator. Holy things are not curiosities.
I am glad when others find fulfillment there. For me, it has become a deep well. Yet I know it tastes like nothing if you only sip and never drink.