Prepare God's Way To You

A church not too different from St. John’s here in Decatur had some great acolytes not too different from our own. They were attentive during worship, deliberate with their actions during processions, and happy to share in fellowship with the rest of the congregation. While most—if not all—of what they did during the service followed the rubrics of our Book of Common Prayer–those rules that help to guide worship—there was one unique custom that stood out when visitors came to church for the first time.

As the acolytes began from the western part of the church —some would say the front of the church, while others call that the back—the crucifer after about ten steps would dip the cross low. Visitors and newcomers would look puzzled as the processional cross stooped down in procession. By the time these new folks became members though, the practice had become normal to them, until one day a newcomer wondered, “What in the world is the crucifer doing?”

This new member first asked the head of the acolyte guild why the crucifer did this. The acolyte master gave a puzzled look and replied, “Well, that’s how we have always done it—at least as long as I’ve been here.” Not satisfied with the answer the new member approached several other members of the church and asked the same question and got the same reply.

Finally, the newcomer asked the rector. The rector after hearing the question got red in the face. “You know,” the priest replied, “before the most recent renovations decades ago there was a light that the crucifer had to duck the cross under during the procession. And… I haven’t had the heart to tell the acolytes that they don’t have to swoop the cross now that the light is gone.” To quote the opening number from Fiddler on the Roof, “Tradition!!! Tradition!!!” (Good luck getting that song out of your head now.)

Like many things in the Episcopal Church after we do it once it becomes a long standing tradition, but I wonder about this. I love traditions so much—I grew up at a summer camp with many of them, I chose a college with peculiar practices, and I have been nourished in a church with them. However, like the crucifers who dipped the cross under a light that was no longer there, sometimes these traditions serve no purpose but to say that this is the way we have done it in the past. How often do we wonder if a certain tradition or practice brings us closer to God? Do we reflect on whether a tradition creates health? Have we stopped to think about those things that we tell ourselves we have to do because we have always done them?

I have been struck by an analogy as of late. Do you remember that wonderful—or terrible depending on who you ask—section of the SAT designated for analogies? Well, here’s one to bring up bad or good memories: traditions : groups :: ________ : individuals. Perhaps there are multiple ways to answer this, but I am tempted to respond with the word habit. Our communal habits are traditions.

Many experts will tell you that to form a new habit you have to do something for twenty-one days in a row. Whether it’s a good habit—like exercising, eating well, writing in a journal, saying your prayers—or a bad habit—like biting your fingernails, slouching, smoking cigarettes, compulsively shopping—one only needs a few weeks of doing something to have a lasting impact on one’s life. But, if habits are to individuals as traditions are to groups, then I wonder, do we ever think that just like there are healthy and unhealthy habits for individuals there might also be healthy and unhealthy habits—or traditions—for communities?

You have probably heard it said that Jesus did not come to found a religion, instead he came to start a movement. Sometimes I forget this about Jesus, but I almost always remember it when I hear about John the Baptizer. The religion of those in Judea and Jerusalem revolved around a priestly class obsessed with tradition—religious elites whom people gave the best seats at synagogue, greetings in the marketplaces, and special garments at all times. John the Baptist’s ministry flew directly in the face of all of this: no Temple or synagogue—just a river, no meandering through a marketplace—just the wilderness, and no fancy clothes—just camel’s hair. John was not trying to start a religion. John knew his place was as the forerunner, the middle-inning reliever, the one who was setting the table for the closer. He knew that he was starting a movement of repentance, which called into question all the traditions that were the givens of the day.

After Jesus ascended the movement he started only took a couple of centuries before it had forgotten that Jesus did not come to found a religion with special seats, special privileges, and special clothes for the clergy. We do something once in church and we think that it has been a tradition since Jesus himself walked the earth, but John continues to call us into some serious soul searching. Just because we have a tradition that does not have to be the way we always do things.

In the book we are using for our Wednesday night series Praying in Color by Sybil MacBeth, the author describes many barriers to doing something new and different, like praying in a different way. She writes, “Adopting a new way of praying may require a suspension of rigid belief. Most of us have a tendency to enshrine our narrow beliefs and spiritual practices. We assume that the way we learned to pray as a child, at one of our many conversions, or during a major epiphany about life is the only way there is.” But, this is not true. In fact, when we worship tradition instead of God we are committing a form of idolatry as put a tradition or practice in the place of God. This is always dangerous, but especially when our traditions do not embolden us to care for those on the margins, the vulnerable among us, or worse yet set up opportunities to prey upon the weak.

So what do we do? Traditions, just like habits are in and of themselves neutral, neither healthy nor unhealthy, but they can just as easily be the vehicle for exclusion as they are for inclusion. So again, what do we do? There are no easy solutions in discernment—especially in thinking of those things that we love and have done for a long time. However, when listening to which traditions and habits are healthy and which ones are unhealthy, we would do well not to just see John the Baptist as the plush and funny mascot for Advent.

What John came to illuminate was not that all things religious are bad, rather he came to call us into the wilderness to wonder how might I prepare the way for God, how might I make God’s way to me direct? God calls us out into the wilderness to see not from the perspective of the powerful, but from the position of the outsider, the newcomer, and those on the fringe. This is where John announced that Jesus was coming. Jesus is coming with a baptism of fire and the Holy Spirit, will we be ready to greet him? Or, will we miss him because we are too busied by making sure we are doing what we have always done. Even as we hold onto the wonderful practices of the past may we be emboldened by John to go into the wild to prepare the way of God who is coming to us!