Worship is encounter with the divine. The experience of worship ought to touch and engage all of the dimensions of one’s personhood (body and soul) and engage all of the senses. It must instruct and convey rational truth for Scripture, by virtue of being communicated in written form, is rational. But worship ought to also be awe inspiring, evocative, and mystical. Many of the Christian engagements I have seen and read about the shift away from Modernism have tended to centre on whether the Postmodernist worldview is friend or foe from the standpoint of orthodox truth claims (i.e. Carson’s "The Gagging of God"). As valuable as this is, and as worthy as the literature and many seminars on "reaching postmoderns" are, not much has been said or written about the possibilities and implications the break down of modernity has for Christian worship.  The answer, I believe, is much in both respects, especially for those of us who stand in a mainstream tradition (the perspective from which I write). 1). Celtic Origins A quick glance around the new age or spirituality section of any bookshop ought to be enough to convince one that postmoderns are fascinated with mythology and with Celtic mythology and spirituality in particular. Not all or even much of this is "Christian" but that should not deter us from engaging with it (our world is, after all, secular not Christian). In this the Anglican / Episcopalian tradition is uniquely placed in that the Celtic tradition forms a large and important part of our own history and heritage. Places such as Iona and Holy Island (Lindasfarne); men and women like Patrick, Hilda, Columba, and Aidan, the Arthurian legends, and many others, all speak with Christian voices that would be well heard and respected by many today. What have we made of this heritage? And how can we reclaim it? Perhaps we could start by actually observing - and publicising our observance - of the feast days of Saints like Columba (June 9th) and Hilda (November 17th) in a way that acknowledges our participation in their heritage and our sharing in the Celtic heritage and tradition.      2). A space to worship in    In modernity the emphasis was on rational truth claims - if we could prove the existence of God or at least convince people of the strength of our case they would be persuaded. The litmus test of orthodoxy (contra. liberalism) was adherence to certain doctrinal propositions. A big part of the shift away modernism is the rejection of, or at least a recognition of the limitations of, rational modes of knowing. Part of this involves a move toward experiential and sensory models of being and knowing, and a renewal of interest in the practice and wisdom of the pre-modern ancients . Leonard Sweet (in "Soul Salsa", Zondervan, 2000) picks up on this in several places. He speaks of "believing by candlelight" (p.107) and draws attention to the numinous quality candlelight brings to an ordinary room. In Sweet’s view "the postmodern world is coming alive with smells" (p.34) not only in fads like aromatherapy, but even in the business world where smells such as that of freshly baked bread are being used to help sell new houses. He also rightly emphasises a resurgence in the role and importance of symbolism and exhorts postmodern believers to "sacramentalise" their universe (recalling St. Augustine). One symbol Sweet draws particular attention to is that of the ancient tradition of making the sign of the cross - a tradition which he suggests has spiritual advantages in the postmodern world (p.27). All of this strongly indicates that the place in which we worship will be of great significance if we are going to engage the senses and evoke a transcendent experience outside of the rational. A bare sanctuary furnished with pot plants, musical instruments, and a large perspex lectern (emphasising the centrality of the spoken word) has far less a sense of the numinous and engagement with the senses than a sanctuary that dances with candlelight, that is alive with the smell of incense, and aglow with color. A plain building that might have been an auditorium anywhere is far less interesting than a church who’s stained glass windows tell the ancient stories of the heroes of the faith who have gone before us. Stacked together plastic chairs fail to evoke the sense of history and tradition that pews with cushioned kneelers do. A priest vested in the liturgical color of the season stands apart from, and evokes a sense of tradition and of the divine, in a way that a preacher wearing the same suit as everyone else in the congregation does not. Gary Burge (from the evangelical Wheaton seminary) makes a perceptive admission driven by the steady flow of his students out of evangelical churches and towards Episcopalian and even Eastern Orthodox experiences of worship - "My evangelical roots have reminded me in no uncertain terms that the pastor is one with the people... and so our demeanor, our dress, our participatory leadership style have evolved to communicate that there is no hierarchy in our congregations... I now disagree with this model. I am not suggesting that pastors have privileges in the grace of God or the economy of the church unavailable to others. But I am suggesting that in worship, the pastor must become priest." (in "Christianity Today," October 6th, 1997, p.24). What we do and say / sing in worship is also of course important. Sweet reminds his readers that "Christian faith is sign language" (p.17) recalling that people remember far more of what they see than what they hear - something that was true even before our culture was a visual (TV orientated, entertainment driven) one. Few will recall even just one point from a sermon preached only a few hours ago, let alone the previous week or longer! The great advantage of symbol and liturgy is that the familiar actions and familiar words, said and done week after week, not only stick in our memory but enmesh themselves into our being becoming part of us and part of who we are. Ancient practices and formulas (creeds, prayers, the words of institution etc.) evoke a sense of history and tradition that connects us with the ancient ancestors of the faith and which merges our identity and our story with theirs. 3). The centrality of the Eucharist The model of the preacher who imparts rational truth by instructing and informing the congregation of what they need to, must, or ought to know / believe would seem to be the least attractive to the postmodern milieu. In the postmodern world it is encounter with the divine (spirituality) that is primary. Postmoderns are broadly interested in ancient forms and practices, in experiences that engage the senses and evoke a sense of the numinous, transcendent, and other-wordly. In short, they are interested in mysticism rather than doctrine, in spirituality rather than religion. As Gary Burge, again, observes - "my friends bravely announce the certainty of evangelical orthodoxy, but somewhere the mystery of God has been lost" (p.22).  A sense of mysterium and tremendum is maintained in worship where the Eucharist is central. The hearing of the familiar words of institution ("on the night he was betrayed..." ); the symbolism of a vested priest breaking bread in our presence, holding it aloft for us to see and be reminded of the sacrifice that makes this point of encounter possible; the touch of the elements in our hands; the unmistakable taste of the bread and then the wine, hot on our tongues and thick in our nostrils.... Here the numinous qualities of symbol, word, and action all combine in the context of an ancient rite stemming from an ordinary, earthly meal - in the midst of which God is present in a mysterious and unexplained way. We, the worshipper, appropriate the encounter and make it our own. It will be different for each one for it is, at the same time, both a corporate and an individual encounter. I do not suggest that this is the only way forward - the postmodern milieu is an eclectic one - ancient and traditional forms are not, and will not be, the product everyone in the spiritual shopping mall is looking for. Clearly "the Church" in the broadest / ecumenical sense of the word will need to do many and varied things to fulfil the terms of our divinely given mission in such an eclectic world. But there are possibilities - lots of them - for those of us who live and work and worship in old church buildings, in highly liturgical and ceremonial traditions, and who continue the ancient practices and traditions of the faith. A decade or two ago our stained glass windows, our vestments and candles, etc. even our words and actions, looked like historical anachronism. Today they look a lot like the type of spiritual experiences many in the postmodern world say they are looking for but can’t, or haven’t yet, found.