Or maybe just Paul's statement to the Corinthians that "all things" are ours in Christ.

At any rate, Christians have been mashing up stuff that didn't originally go together for a long time, ever since Paul started quoting poems to Zeus and Greek philosophers in a sermon about the Hebrew God and a resurrected Jewish king. Or since early Christians decided to borrow the pagan midwinter bacchanal and turn it into one of the holiest of their holy days. So I guess I see no reason not to continue the practice.

"Halter, Smay, and McLaren are all pragmatic people and (to borrow a fancy but useful word from the anthropologist Claude Levi-Strauss) bricoleurs. A bricoleur is someone who takes up whatever tools are at hand to get a job done. He doesn’t worry about consistency or perfect fit but about making progress toward a goal. So McLaren gathers some Anglican liturgy here, some Orthodox ascetic spirituality there, and adds to them a few tricks picked up from Western monastic traditions. Do they all fit together seamlessly? Probably not, but there’s something here for everyone, surely. McLaren’s model of spirituality seems to be predicated on that most American of phrases: “You’ve got to find what works for you.”"

http://www.firstthings.com/article.php3?id_article=6443

For example, as we said on the website of our (now defunct) church plant:

Our style is eclectic and experimental – we don't really much care what decade or century (or millennium) a particular worship practice comes from. On a typical Sunday you might experience a 19th century hymn, followed by a rockin' praise chorus, followed by a prayer from the 3rd century. If it's good and worthwhile, we'll try it.

and

We try to appreciate and incorporate good elements from the whole buffet of spiritual practices that have been handed down through the centuries of the Christian faith. Whether it’s ancient or postmodern, contemplative or charismatic, hymns or praise songs – we will embrace whatever is helpful for drawing us closer to God and each other.

I know that might not be for everyone, and that's fine, but that's what I had in mind by "creativity" and "diversity".

Maybe we always include the kyrie in our worship, and the words are always "Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy. Lord, have mercy." But maybe we sing it some times, or speak it other times, or pray it meditatively as we approach a cross in the front of the sanctuary. Maybe we sing it to hymn tune. Maybe we sing it to an African chant, or an Indonesian melody. Maybe someone sings it to us. Maybe we say it over and over again as we light candles…

Even within a structure of permanence and uniformity we can experience creativity and diversity. I think that our worship suffers when we believe that it's an either/or proposition.

As usual, I think C.S. Lewis has some interesting thoughts on liturgy, and I think buried in there is a similar appreciation for a shared experience that one can enter into almost unconsciously:

"Novelty, simply as such, can have only an entertainment value. And they don't go to be entertained. They go to use the service, or if you prefer, to enact it."

"Every service is a structure of acts and words through which we receive a sacrament, or repent, or supplicate, or adore. And it enables us to do these things best…when, through familiarity, we don't have to think about it. As long as you notice, and have to count, the steps, you are not yet dancing but only learning to dance. A good shoe is a shoe you don't notice. Good reading becomes possible when you need not consciously think about eyes, or light, or print, or spelling. The perfect church service would be one we were almost unaware of; our attention would have been on God."

"But every novelty prevents this. It fixes our attention on the service itself; and thinking about worship is a different thing from worshipping."

"Novelty may fix our attention not even on the service but on the celebrant. You know what I mean. Try as one may to exclude the question, 'What on earth is he up to now?' will intrude. It lays one's devotion waste. There is really some excuse for the man who said, 'I wish they'd remember that the charge to Peter was Feed my sheep; not Try experiments on my rats, or even, Teach my performing dogs new tricks."

"Thus my whole liturgiological position really boils down to an entreaty for permanence and uniformity. I can make do with almost any kind of service whatever, if only it will stay put. But if each form is snatched away just when I am beginning to feel at home in it, then I can never make any progress in the art of worship. You give me no chance to acquire the trained habit…"