“We Root Ourselves in Ritual”
Luke 2:21-40, as rendered in the First Nations Version New Testament
If you’re not familiar with this story, rest assured that you are in good company. Given that it is part of Luke’s less dramatic account of the time immediately following Jesus’ birth—no magi traveling from the east, no mad king out to kill all baby boys in Bethlehem, no family flight to Egypt—and that it often falls in the liturgical wilderness between Christmas and Epiphany, we don’t hear it very often.
But I want to suggest that Luke’s account of baby Jesus’ presentation in the temple is worth thinking about, especially in light of the question we pondered all through Advent: How does a weary world rejoice?
And, perhaps even more to the point: How do we rejoice, how do we keep going, how do we keep hoping and trusting, when the world is such a mess?
This week’s answer to those questions has to do with ritual, suggesting that when we root ourselves in ritual we will find joy and hope, meaning and strength—not only for ourselves but for multiple generations and for our communities.
Rituals—whether they’re church sacraments, family traditions, cultural customs, college or sports team ceremonies, or personal habits—can serve as a bridge between one generation and another, between insiders and outsiders, between people of different backgrounds and faiths and politics, between old ways and new ways, between our isolation and the connection of community.
Think about it: Mary and Joseph were following the ancient tradition of taking their first-born son to the temple for so-called presentation and circumcision. This ritual was, technically, about dedicating the child to the service and glory of God. But it was also much more than that.
The presentation ritual also served to connect first-time parents to their community of faith. By showing up at the temple and making their child known, parents also made known to a circle of people outside their immediate family the vulnerable situation they were in. By showing up to do what was required of them by Jewish law, Mary and Joseph allowed a couple of old prophets to realize that Jesus was the answer to their prayers. Mary and Joseph’s faithfulness brought joy, peace, and a sense of completion to people they didn’t even know.
Because Joseph and Mary were faithful to God and true to the tradition of what was, likely for them, an inconvenient and expensive ritual, they brought joy to others, created greater security and support for their newborn child, and grew in awareness that they and their son were part of a much bigger story. A ritual that, much like baptism, was primarily about their child and God, served also to strengthen the bonds of community and to make clear that neither the child nor his parents were alone.
What are the rituals that connect you to family and community, to Spirit and to an awareness of your kinship with all beings? What are the rituals and traditions that ground you in hope and faith when the horrible, heartbreaking news just keeps coming?
Think about the rituals we share—things like weddings and memorial services, graduations, holiday traditions, retirement parties, birthdays. Think about rituals that, historically at least, have been common to most cultures and religions: things like the baptism or dedication of children, coming-of-age traditions such as bar and bat mitzvahs, confirmation, quinceneras and debutante balls.
Are there rituals or traditions we’ve lost that you long to see restored in some way? Are there rituals or traditions that were important to your formation that we don’t practice here at First Church? Are there life passages we should ritualize so that a community might better support someone going through a major transition?
Divorce, comes to mind, as does a shift in gender identity or a chosen name. Anniversaries, retirements, and other transitions, celebrations, and losses also deserve communal recognition.
On this, the seventh day of Christmas and the last day of the year, I want to suggest that rituals can provide us with something reliable and consistent amid so much that is changing and uncertain. We don’t even need to think of them as rituals to experience their benefits, but our awareness can deepen their power. We may even complain about certain rituals or get tired of them, not realizing the extent to which we need a certain amount of predictability.
Consider, for example, our order of worship. You may wish we mixed things up more often, and, indeed, when various ministry teams plan and lead worship, they usually change things up quite a bit. We all enjoy and appreciate the change and, still, according to what I hear from many of you, we don’t want things to be different every week.
The ritual of following the same order of worship most Sundays liberates us and allows us to open ourselves to the movement of the Spirit. Instead of having to figure out what’s happening next, we can instead focus on the meaning of what is happening—whether that’s a particular hymn or prayer, Communion, the Word for All Ages, the choir anthem, or a sermon. Ritual can serve as a container that holds us securely while freeing us and encouraging us to go deeper.
Ritual can also serve as a lens, a way of seeing past the ordinary and routine to what is holy and sacred about our lives and the life of the world. Something as simple as the opportunity to light a candle can help us feel that our grief is important and worthy of attention and expression. Something as simple as singing Christmas carols around a fire in the dark can encourage us to recognize the light we carry within us.
Something as simple as making coffee for our partner each morning can remind us of the preciousness of life. Something as simple as holding hands and saying grace at suppertime can reconnect us to what is most important. Something as simple as sitting in silent prayer can help us see ourselves and others through God’s eyes of love. Something as simple as regular prayer or devotional time can ground us in hope and connection. Something as simple as saying out loud, with others, that we are God’s hands and feet can remind us of our God-given power.
Things as simple as telling the old, old story again, listening for our still-speaking God in the scripture passage we’ve heard a thousand times, and prioritizing time for sharing God’s love with our children make space for God’s grace to reach us and heal us and transform us.
Rituals are, more often than not, experiences or traditions or practices we do with others, usually as a community. Baptism, for example, invites a community to join with a family in raising a child in the ways of love. Communion encourages us to acknowledge that all people are welcome at Christ’s table and in God’s great heart of love. Even the offering, received and blessed in community, helps us to see, on the one hand, that everything is not up to us, and, on the other, that we each have a role to play in sustaining the vitality and relevance of our church.
Our story tells us that after Mary and Joseph and Jesus had gone through the rituals of their faith, after they had dedicated Jesus to God and received the blessing and praise of God’s faithful servants, they went home to Nazareth to raise their son. Because they had taken the time, made the effort, and made the sacrifices to submit to the rituals required of them, they were able to carry on in the strength of the Spirit. Because they had grounded themselves in God and community, they were able to do the hard work of becoming a family, knowing they were not alone.
As we begin a new year, we would do well to root ourselves in life-giving rituals. As we carry the unsettledness and pain of this year into the uncertainty of the next year, we would do well to ground ourselves in rituals that remind us of God’s steadfast, healing love. As we carry the hopes and joys of this year into the potential of a new year, we would do well to root ourselves in rituals that foster gratitude and wonder.
As we go through our daily rounds, whatever the time of year, whatever our circumstances, may we find hope and strength in all things that connect us to the Holy and to one another.
