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Reopening the Old Wells: Bringing Ancient Liturgy to the Modern Age
Isaac dug out again the wells that were dug during the lifetime of his father Abraham. The Philistines had closed them up after Abraham’s death. Isaac gave them the same names his father had given them. Isaac’s servants dug wells in the valley and found a well there with fresh water. (Genesis 26:18-19 CEB).
I came to faith as a teenager and had very few church experiences up to that point. My earliest formation as a Christ follower took place within Open Bible church settings, where I found deep community and meaningful spiritual experiences that I continue to value. At the same time, as in many modern evangelical churches, there was limited exposure to the ancient liturgies and historic practices of the wider Church.
These traditional cornerstones that were foundational to ecclesial life for millennia had been almost eliminated in the churches I attended. It seemed to me that these practices were at best met with ignorance and at worst with grave suspicion. The predictable result was that any real understanding and appreciation for ancient liturgical practices was absent from the first two decades of my church life. I rarely thought about things like Ash Wednesday services, the Book of Common Prayer, and Advent, and if I did, it was with a healthy side dish of uninformed judgment. I viewed Lent the same way I viewed lentils: it was a cold and exotic experience that was both frightening to prepare and painful to consume.
I viewed Lent the same way I viewed lentils: it was a cold and exotic experience that was both frightening to prepare and painful to consume.
This was my context as a few of our church staff began asking whether we could introduce some of these ancient practices into our church worship experience. As you might imagine given my church background, it took me a while to warm up to the idea. I began a process of asking questions, listening, and learning, even reaching out to an Anglican priest friend to hear his take on the value of these long-held traditions. Through all this, Christ in His goodness and patience has allowed us now to incorporate many of these practices into our regular church experience. As a result, I am happy to report that we are experiencing wonderful depth and meaning in our gatherings as we’ve adopted and applied some of these long-proven elements of discipleship.
Our time of worship now always includes the public reading of a Psalm (a practice we have adopted from the Book of Common Prayer) to bring us back to the ancient hymn book of Israel. We have a fresh understanding of what it is to give up something physical in order to gain something spiritual as we fast in the forty days of Lent. Christmas time and the lighting of Advent candles help us celebrate Christ’s first arrival while reminding us to await His second arrival. And Ash Wednesday, with its outward sign of repentance and mortality, leads us to humble ourselves before God, understanding how desperately we need His saving grace. Finally, the celebration of life on Easter Sunday has far greater meaning now because it is preceded by the sobriety of the death we remember on Good Friday.
This is not to say that incorporating these elements has always been smooth. We’ve learned to introduce them slowly and with great attention to the “why” behind the “what.” Along the way, we’ve had our share of growth opportunities and mishaps. One example happened early on in our journey, when we tried to introduce some ancient call and response types of prayers. The practice led several people to worry that we had become a completely different kind of church. We haven’t yet reintroduced those prayers in our services.
We have found that moving slowly and consistently, explaining the meaning of the practices, and laughing at ourselves through our failed attempts have been the key ingredients to discovering the power of these ancient gifts.
Another example took place during last year’s Ash Wednesday service. During this type of service, ash is used to mark the sign of a cross on each believer’s forehead. This marking symbolizes our own mortality and repentance, as we take up our cross and turn from our sins. Well, our beloved worship leader wanted to add scent to the ashes to create a fuller sensory experience. To do so, he incorporated essential oils, including cinnamon, into the ashes. Little did any of us know that undiluted cinnamon oil burns on the skin. Talk about your full sensory experience. All of us in the service sat wondering what it reveals about our spiritual condition if the ash cross on our forehead feels like it’s on fire. There was a great sigh of relief when our executive pastor let people know what had happened, and a mad dash to the bathrooms ensued as people quickly washed away the painful marker. The next Sunday I formally apologized for turning their Ash Wednesday into a Rash Wednesday.
In these moments and more, we have found that moving slowly and consistently, explaining the meaning of the practices, and laughing at ourselves through our failed attempts have been the key ingredients to discovering the power of these ancient gifts. Just as Isaac reopened the ancient wells of his father to discover pure water, we too can rediscover the meaning of these ancient practices in our churches and experience their fresh water again.
About the Author
Aaron Sutherland is the founding pastor of Cove Church in Eugene, Oregon, and the Director of Multiplication for Pacific Region Open Bible. Along with his wife, Paula, he finds great joy in watching God reveal the new stories being written into the lives of people from every corner of the world.
Y volvió a abrir Isaac los pozos de agua que habían abierto en los días de Abraham su padre, y que los filisteos habían cegado después de la muerte de Abraham; y los llamó por los nombres que su padre los había llamado. Pero cuando los siervos de Isaac cavaron en el valle, y hallaron allí un pozo de aguas vivas. (Génesis 26:18-19, RVR-1960).
Me convertí al cristianismo en la adolescencia y, hasta ese momento, había tenido muy pocas experiencias en la iglesia. Mi formación inicial como seguidor de Cristo tuvo lugar en la iglesia de la Biblia Abierta, donde encontré una comunidad profunda y experiencias espirituales significativas que sigo valorando. Al mismo tiempo, como en muchas iglesias evangélicas modernas, el contacto con las antiguas liturgias y prácticas de la Iglesia en general era limitado.
Estos pilares tradicionales, que durante milenios habían sido fundamentales para la vida de la Iglesia, habían sido prácticamente eliminados de las iglesias a las que asistía. Me parecía que, en el mejor de los casos, estas prácticas se ignoraban y, en el peor, se miraban con gran recelo. El resultado previsible fue que, durante las dos primeras décadas de mi vida eclesiástica, no llegué a conocer ni a apreciar realmente estas antiguas prácticas litúrgicas. Rara vez pensaba en cosas como los servicios del Miércoles de Ceniza, el Libro de Oración Común y el Adviento, y, si lo hacía, era con una buena dosis de prejuicios. Veía la Cuaresma de la misma manera que veía las lentejas: una experiencia fría y exótica que daba miedo preparar y era dolorosa de consumir.
Veía la Cuaresma de la misma manera que veía las lentejas: una experiencia fría y exótica que daba miedo preparar y era dolorosa de consumir.
Este era mi contexto cuando algunos miembros del personal de nuestra iglesia comenzaron a preguntar si podríamos incorporar algunas de estas prácticas antiguas en nuestra experiencia de adoración en la iglesia. Como se pueden imaginar, dada mi formación eclesiástica, me llevó un tiempo aceptar la idea. Empecé a hacer preguntas, a escuchar y a aprender. Incluso me puse en contacto con un amigo sacerdote anglicano para conocer su opinión sobre el valor de estas tradiciones tan arraigadas. A través de todo esto, Cristo, en su bondad y paciencia, nos ha permitido ahora incorporar muchas de estas prácticas en nuestra experiencia eclesiástica habitual. Me complace informar de que nuestras reuniones tienen ahora una profundidad y un significado maravillosos en nuestras reuniones, ya que hemos adoptado y aplicado algunos de estos elementos del discipulado que han demostrado su eficacia con el paso del tiempo.
Ahora, nuestro tiempo de adoración siempre incluye la lectura pública de un salmo (una práctica que hemos adoptado del Libro de Oración Común) que nos transporta al antiguo himnario de Israel. Tenemos una nueva comprensión de lo que significa renunciar a algo material o para ganar algo espiritual mientras ayunamos durante los cuarenta días de Cuaresma. La época navideña y la ceremonia de encender las velas de Adviento nos ayudan a celebrar la primera Venida de Cristo, y a recordar que debemos esperar su segunda venida. Y el Miércoles de Ceniza, con su signo externo de arrepentimiento y mortalidad, nos invita a humillarnos ante Dios, y a reconocer cuán desesperadamente necesitamos su gracia salvadora. Por último, la celebración de la vida el Domingo de Pascua tiene ahora un significado mucho mayor, ya que va precedida de la sobriedad de la muerte que recordamos el Viernes Santo.
Esto no quiere decir que la incorporación de estos elementos siempre haya sido fácil. Hemos aprendido a introducirlos poco a poco, prestando mucha atención al «porqué» detrás del «qué». A lo largo del camino, hemos tenido nuestras oportunidades de crecimiento y nuestros contratiempos. Un ejemplo ocurrió al principio de nuestro camino, cuando intentamos introducir algunas oraciones antiguas de llamada y respuesta. La práctica llevó a varias personas a preocuparse de que nos hubiéramos convertido en un tipo de iglesia completamente diferente. Todavía no hemos reintroducido esas oraciones en nuestros servicios.
Hemos descubierto que movernos lenta y consistentemente, explicar el significado de las prácticas y reírnos de nosotros mismos a través de nuestros intentos fallidos han sido los ingredientes clave para descubrir el poder de estos antiguos dones.
Otro ejemplo ocurrió durante el servicio del Miércoles de Ceniza del año pasado. En este tipo de servicio, se utiliza ceniza para trazar una cruz en la frente de cada creyente. Esta marca simboliza nuestra propia mortalidad y arrepentimiento, y representa el momento en que tomamos nuestra cruz y nos apartamos de nuestros pecados. Bueno, nuestro querido líder de adoración quiso añadir aroma a las cenizas para crear una experiencia sensorial más completa. Para ello, añadió aceites esenciales, entre ellos canela, a las cenizas. Ninguno de nosotros sabía que el aceite de canela sin diluir quema la piel. Hablando de una experiencia sensorial completa… Todos los que estábamos en el servicio nos sentamos preguntándonos qué revelaba acerca de nuestra condición espiritual el hecho de que la cruz de ceniza de nuestra frente pareciera estar ardiendo. Hubo un gran suspiro de alivio cuando nuestro pastor ejecutivo informó a la gente de lo que había sucedido, y se produjo una carrera loca hacia los baños para lavarse rápidamente la dolorosa marca. Al domingo siguiente me disculpé formalmente por haber convertido su Miércoles de Ceniza en un Miércoles de Erupción.
En este y en otros momentos, hemos descubierto que avanzar lentamente y con constancia, explicar el significado de las prácticas y reírnos de nosotros mismos ante nuestros intentos fallidos han sido los ingredientes clave para descubrir el poder de estos antiguos legados. Al igual que Isaac reabrió los antiguos pozos de su padre para encontrar agua pura, nosotros también podemos redescubrir el significado de estas antiguas prácticas en nuestras iglesias y volver a experimentar su agua fresca
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Sobre el autor
Aaron Sutherland es el pastor fundador de la iglesia Cove Church en Eugene, Oregón, y director de Multiplicación de la región del Pacífico de la Biblia Abierta. Junto con su esposa, Paula, disfruta ver cómo Dios escribe nuevas historias en la vida de personas de todo el mundo.
I wonder what happened on all the August 5ths throughout my life. I experienced forty-seven of them as an innocuous number on the calendars of my life: unremarkable, ordinary, plain. I breezed past them without a thought and left them behind without a thought, too.
I will never forget my forty-eighth August 5th. For the rest of my (hopefully) long life, every 5th day of August will be marked in red and circled with a thick highlighter of remembrance. That is the date my husband Josh and I received the phone call that every parent dreads – the kind you read about in someone else’s story and pray never crosses into your own.
But on August 5, 2025, it did.
Fear is many things at once: a glacial wash that starts on your head and drains to your immobilized feet, a taste in your mouth and a sound in your ears, and a fist that strangles your throat.
We were on top of a mountain in Idaho during a church staff retreat when the Life360 app on my phone — an app our family uses to share locations and receive crash or emergency notifications — suddenly and jarringly blared a warning, alerting me that our middle daughter, Adelaide, was involved in a critical incident.
I cannot explain the cold fear that washed over me in that moment. That kind of fear is many things at once: a glacial wash that starts on your head and drains to your immobilized feet, a taste in your mouth and a sound in your ears, and a fist that strangles your throat.
Many frantic minutes later, a deputy called us to let us know that our daughter was involved in a serious car accident and was not doing well. We continued to learn, as we scrambled off the mountain, that she was being life-flighted to the hospital…and that was all we knew.
For nearly two hours.
Fear does another thing: it slows time down to a minuscule crawl that leaves you weeping, screaming, and shaking your fist at the world as you drive at “safe” speeds to where your daughter lies in an unknown state without you.
I will spare the reader from those moments of agony: the prayers that dripped onto my lap, the pleading and begging, brokenness too intimate for anyone but my Father to understand.
I put on the full armor of God in a way I never understood before and will never misunderstand again.
One of the sweetest moments of my existence is the moment I first saw my daughter’s beautiful face as she lay on the emergency room’s gurney, smeared in blood but oh-so alive. Her voice asking if anyone else was hurt, her precious feet sticking out from the blanket, and her fingers curled in mine. The fifth of August will always hold that breathtaking image in my heart.
Adelaide sustained many traumatic injuries from her accident. For that entire first night in the ICU, I was bent over her in prayer, overwhelmed with both terror and joy, each one warring against the other and trying to take control. I battled in prayer for my girl that night, refusing to back down and contending with ferocity. I put on the full armor of God in a way I never understood before and will never misunderstand again.
I kept repeating the 8th and 9th verses of Isaiah 58, sometimes whispering them, sometimes sobbing them, but always experiencing them. There are promises in the Word that you no longer just read but experience; there is a knowing that changes your entire world.
Then your light will break forth like the dawn,
and your healing will quickly appear;
then your righteousness will go before you,
and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard.
Then you will call, and the Lord will answer;
you will cry for help, and he will say: ‘Here am I’ (NIV).
I called out to Jesus, and He didn’t have to run to answer because He was already there, holding not just me in His arms, but Addy as well.
As I called out to Him, He kept saying, “Here am I.” He continued repeating those words, never growing weary of saying them to me— it was His liturgy over me.
“Here am I.”
“Here am I.”
“Here am I.”
I could hear His love, see His protection, and feel His Presence.
The healing He provided was as stunning as the first break of dawn, filling my feeble world with light. Adelaide’s lacerated lungs were miraculously sealed the next morning. Doctors came into her ICU room and were stunned to see my sweet girl smiling back at them, her healing defying the accident she endured. Today, she wears her testimony on her leg in the form of a gnarly scar, and it is proof of the Lord’s providence and healing that she loves to share with others. He guarded Adelaide on every side, and His purpose went before her. The glory of the Lord was her rearguard, and for that, this momma will never stop praising Him.
Every August 5th and each day that He gives.
*To read more from Melissa and what God has taught her through this event, read her related article: Five Things I Didn’t Know I Needed to Learn About Prayer.
About the Author
Melissa Stelly serves as the executive pastor at Turning Point Church in Spokane, Washington, alongside her husband, Josh Stelly. She has attended Turning Point for thirty-four years. She is the mother of three daughters, adores camping, hiking, and adventuring, is a voracious reader, and considers Mt. Rainier one of the greatest accomplishments the Lord created. Most days in her free time you will find her curled up with a good book or taking a long walk.
“Babe, I think we need to steal Christmas.” I said this to my wife, Kelley, as we were driving back from a family celebration. Without any further explanation, she knew I meant that the atmosphere of our family gatherings had left a lot to be desired. It wasn’t that they were bad; in fact, they were fun and filled with love, but we both sensed that commercialism had taken over and God wanted more for us; He was highlighting these family gatherings as spaces where He wanted to be on display.
I continued processing with Kelley: “…On second thought, changing Christmas might be too much for our families to handle, but I think we could probably take over next year’s Thanksgiving celebration. If we start planting the seeds now, then in ten years no one will notice that little by little we’ve taken over planning the big gatherings—until Christmas is just handed to us!”
… it was in this moment that Thanksgiving was reborn for our family.
Kelley looked at me skeptically. Okay, so maybe my plan to steal Christmas was a little ambitious and made me sound like a Pixar villain, but it was in this moment that Thanksgiving was reborn for our family. We brainstormed, we got excited, and Kelley helped wrangle us under God’s wisdom. As we prayed, God showed us a whole new way to gather at the table.
First, the table needed to be extended, both literally and metaphorically. We wanted to combine both sides of our family under one roof (can you say high risk?). Everyone was welcome, and we made sure to personally invite those without family or community. Kelley and I are part of a ministry that focuses on underserved neighborhoods in Toledo, Ohio. There is no shortage of people here who need to be connected to God’s love and see His family in action on days that remind them of trauma, hardship, and pain (including holidays).
Second, old traditions had to die for new ones to be born. Bye-bye, TV trays and football games; hello, giant thankfulness tree. Transparently, it was at this point that I was a little concerned; we were taking on generations of tradition, and I still wasn’t sure how to put God on display like He wanted to be. That was when He showed us the big one: The Food. Goodbye, turkey, mashed potatoes, and green bean casserole.
A new tradition was born. Instead of the traditional Thanksgiving meal, we picked a foreign culture and tried our hand at making their traditional dishes, desserts, and drinks. We adopted their games, played their music, and decorated our home with their colors. It was a huge risk, and it was a hit!
As we prayed, God showed us a whole new way to gather at the table.
After several years of these reinvented Thanksgivings, both our family and neighbors are fully on board. Each year, everyone at the table votes on the next cultural cuisine, and now, eight years in, Thanksgiving has become a highlight tradition. People dress up, experiment with exotic dishes, invite friends, and—most importantly—shower one another with love. Some years the gathering has grown so large we’ve even had to find a new venue.
Our “thankfulness tree,” built by Kelley, has become the centerpiece of the gathering. Each person writes down what they’re grateful for, shares it, and adds their leaf. And year after year we’ve saved them, creating a beautiful archive of gratitude. Neighbors without family have joined us too, finding a place to share thanks, receive prayer, and encounter God’s love through new traditions. Along the way, we’ve cooked some unforgettable meals, and one of my favorite moments has been watching people set aside hesitation to try something new when the familiar comforts aren’t on the table. That kind of openness has sparked amazing conversations about God, suffering, love, and family.
God has been on full display, His table extended, His traditions for us established, and His love something I am truly thankful for.
(Oh, and did we just so happen to host Christmas at our house last year? You betcha.)
About the Author
Corey Bern resides in the often overlooked rustbelt city of Toledo, Ohio, where he savors beautiful moments with his daughter, Liberty, and beautiful wife, Kelley. Corey serves as associate pastor of Washington Church as well as director of The Lewis House, an inner-city ministry that partners with Open Bible Churches. When he isn’t walking alongside others on their journey to the Father’s heart, he’s often hidden away in the world’s coolest under-the-stairs office with a good book—or helping Liberty baptize Barbies.
