Repetition That Is Not Vain
Vol. 57 No. 45 | Michaelmas Sunday (Trinity 18) | October 4, 2026
Some years ago, I attended Sunday worship with some friends at an Anglican church in the Caribbean. The service was… leisurely. Just when I thought we were almost finished, there was a second collection, or the children in the village school came up to receive individual blessings. They were not in a hurry to finish up. We sent back our driver more than once.
That experience reminded me of something I had only read about in books, how the Industrial Revolution of the 19th century transformed cultural attitudes to time. Long before the factory clock, monasteries organized their days around fixed hours of prayer. But there is a difference between measuring time so that we may regularly give ourselves to God, and measuring it so that we may extract the greatest possible output. In the industrial world, productivity became an overriding concern. Everything and everyone was put on the clock, including God.
The older Anglican pattern of Sunday worship was also leisurely: Morning Prayer, with a lengthy provision of psalms and Scripture readings; the Litany; Holy Communion or Ante-Communion, with a substantial sermon; and Evening Prayer, with catechizing of youth. Worship was woven throughout the Lord’s day rather than confined to one appointment within it.
There is something here worth recovering. In our over-scheduled lives, we try to book “quality time” for our relationships. Yet intimacy often grows through the unhurried accumulation of ordinary time together. We learn a language by immersion; we come to know another person by “hanging out”. Our relationship with God likewise needs time in which to grow. Presence matters more than productivity.
During the nineteenth century, however, pressure grew to reduce the time devoted to public worship. England’s Shortened Services Act of 1872 marked a stage in this development, explicitly permitting Morning Prayer, the Litany, and Holy Communion to be used as separate services. Increasingly, Sunday morning meant Morning Prayer or Holy Communion, rather than the older combination. Fitting worship into an hour became an overriding concern. Within that hour, everything must justify its place. Why say something twice when once will do? Repetition begins to look like wasted time.
Yet repetition is an intentional feature of classical Anglican worship. The lesser doxology—“Glory be to the Father”—follows every psalm and Gospel canticle. The Lord’s Prayer occurs twice in Morning and Evening Prayer, and twice in Holy Communion. Are these the “vain repetitions” condemned by our Lord (Matthew 6:7)? As Christ says, we shall not be heard for our “much speaking.” Words become vain when we treat their accumulation as a means of obtaining God’s favor. It’s true that familiar forms can be recited thoughtlessly. But their familiarity need not make them empty. The purpose of repetition is not to make God more willing to hear us, but to make us more willing to receive what he gives.
Here the analogy with education helps (it is one that I learned from Dr Drew Keane). Good teaching moves forward, but it does so by returning to things already taught, and drawing out of it something new. A rich idea or image cannot simply be consumed and discarded. It needs to be remembered and revisited. Only gradually do we become capable of receiving its fullness. The poem or novel we read at the beginning of our schooling may disclose far more when we return to it years later. The text has not changed, but we have. What first opened the gates of perception now admits us more deeply.
In worship, this growth concerns more than understanding. Repetition also forms memory, affection, and will. We may understand “Thy will be done” long before we are willing to mean it. Returning to those words gives us fresh occasions to recognize our resistance and surrender it to God. Consider the lesser doxology (“Glory be to the Father”). The psalms take us through desolation and joy, confession and thanksgiving, warnings and promises. After each, we return to the praise of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. We learn to receive Israel’s prayers within the revelation of God in Christ, and to offer all that we have heard to his glory. After a joyful psalm, the Gloria is a grateful culmination. After a lament, it becomes an act of faith. The same words acquire a different depth through what precedes them. Doxology is not merely a part of worship: it is the point of worship. And it is the repetition that makes the point.
Likewise, the Lord’s Prayer teaches us what it means to pray in Jesus’ name. It is the mark of his disciples, who approach his Father through him and make his priorities their own: devotion to God’s glory—his name, kingdom, and will—and dependence upon his grace for provision, pardon, and protection. By the Spirit of the Son, we learn to pray as children of the Father. This prayer therefore belongs both at the beginning and at the culmination of our worship. At the outset, it gives our prayers and praises their authority and direction. After hearing God’s Word or receiving his sacrament, we return to it with new understanding and gratitude. The liturgy has moved forward, even though the words have returned.
T. S. Eliot says: “We shall not cease from exploration / And the end of all our exploring / Will be to arrive where we started / And know the place for the first time.” Something like that happens when we return faithfully to the prayers Christ has given us. Their words remain the same; through them, we are being changed. Not all repetition is vain.