The Importance of Ritual

God, of course, can break into our lives at any moment, overwhelm us with His Presence and Power, and give us direction and peace.  But those moments are rare, and even when they do occur, we tend to wonder afterwards if we imagined the whole thing. 

The Catholic church is often criticized by those who don't experience it as comprised of "empty rituals."  What the critics fail to recognize is the power of ritual as the meeting place of God and man.  C.S. Lewis, in one of his writings (I can't recall which one) once reflected on the fact that when you don't have ritual, you have to pay attention to what's happening to see if you agree with it.  And once you have understood the prayer, you can say "Amen," or you can take issue with it.  However, once you become familiar with the ritual, and you know what's going to be said in it, your mind is free to create its own prayer within the format.  Of course, teenagers who need constant stimulation will grow bored because they have not yet learned to pray.

Now, paying attention, of course, is not a bad thing; television has discovered that you have to change the image every 3 seconds to hold people's attention.  Even Sesame Street has been criticized for developing brains that demand change every 3 seconds, meaning that when children arrive at school, their expectation is constant change, so they have not developed the capacity for focus and concentration. Everything that happens must come from without, leaving little time for the creativity that comes from contemplation within. That process works against the learning process unless computers take over.  And computers have worked miracles for children with autism, breaking through the shells that have held them prisoners in their own heads.  So stimulation for teens and autistic children may be a gift. 

For most of us, however, constant stimulation actually prevents prayer.  Last weekend, while I was traveling, I attended church with my relatives.  The people were lovely and friendly; the young pastor ( a mother of three young children) did a wonderful job, though she was obviously under the strain of being mother and pastor simultaneously.  As an older mother whose "been there" and who knows exactly what she is going through, I wanted to reach out and hug her, and offer her my support.  If I lived there, I would draw close to her and be her friend, not her church-member.  But here is my point:  attendance at that church was a social occasion, lovely as it was.  It did not provide me with a time of prayer, as attendance at a Catholic church does, no matter where in the world I enter it.  I have attended Catholic churches in France, in Germany, in Croatia -- places where I did not understand anything that was being said -- and, because I understood the ritual, I have found a place of prayer, a meeting-place with God.

One might argue that we should pray at home and go to church to meet our fellow-travelers on the road of life.  And I have no problem with that argument, for indeed, it is probable that my home prayer prepares me to pray when I enter a Catholic church.  Years ago, I discovered my 'prayer-chair;' that is, I discovered that because I kept my bible in one place, beside my favorite chair next to a window where I could look out at God's great creation, whenever I got to that chair, I immediately began to enter into a state of prayer.

My body calmed, my soul rejoiced, and prayer came to me spontaneously.  Of course, that did not happen at first; my response built up slowly, during the times when I actually met God during prayer, and He ministered to my fevered heart, soul, and body.  But it did happen, and because the brain makes those wonderful connections of associating certain times and places with certain thoughts and emotions, and strengthens those connections with every repetition, prayer became as natural to me in that chair as breathing.  The same thing happens at Mass. Once we do enter into communion with God at Mass, and repeat our efforts to do so, the process becomes a natural one when we enter the Mass, despite a foreign or careless priest, or a strange place.  The externals no longer matter much, even though we might be momentarily entertained or captivated by a powerful sermon or a charismatic priest. 

My point is that, with ritual (not "empty ritual," but ritual- that -provides- a -meeting- place -with- God), we
are no longer dependent upon the charism of the speaker.  Our prayer is with the Most High, and He can use anything or anyone to touch us.  The externals become less important to us as the internal life becomes richer.

In the 15th chapter of Genesis, Abraham is fretting about having no children to whom he can leave his estate.  He has concluded in the natural order of things that he will have to leave his vast wealth to his trusted servant.  God assures him otherwise, but Abraham needs a sign; he needs assurance that he is not imagining God speaking to him.  God directs Abraham to prepare a sacrifice, an ancient and well-known and frequently-practiced ritual in that time.  In this ritual, both parties bring a sacrificial animal, representing their own lives.  The animals are severed, with the parts separated into two halves.  In a ritual ceremony, both parties walk between the severed animals, signifiying that if either one breaks the covenant, they are calling down on themselves the curse:  what has happened to these animals will happen to them.  This is a blood covenant; the penalty for breaking it is death. 

What happens next is not part of the ancient ritual:  Abraham falls into a deep sleep; a "thick and dreadful darkness" comes over him.  In his sleep, the Lord reveals to him what the future holds for his people, and then "a smoking fire pot with a blazing torch appeared and passed between the pieces."  The Lord made a covenant with Abraham, according to the ritual of the time; biblically, fire represents the appearance of God's presence.  God did not allow Abraham to walk between the pieces, as was the custom.  He did not want Abraham to carry the burden of the curse lest he should break the covenant.  Yahweh took the entire burden upon himself to uphold the covenant.  He took on both parts -- that of God and that of man -- and He did it by subjecting Himself to man's rituals.

So when critics talk about the "empty rituals" of the Catholic church, I beg to differ.  If our rituals are "empty," it is simply that we ourselves have never infused them with prayer and with meaning.  God has come to meet us in our common ritual, but we have not come to meet with Him.  Still, as one mother of seven children puts it, "We have a 14-year-old down to a 2-year-old, so my kids aren't always getting the full benefit of what going to church can be.  But what they do get is that they are memorizing the prayers, hearing the songs, and for a minute, stopping themselves from arguing with a sibling.  Just for an hour, they are in a calm, peaceful place, even if they're day-dreaming or dozing off.  You keep repeating that throughout childhood, and there's only good that comes from it."  For herself, she sees church as the one time in the week that she can decompress: "For me, my house and my life are so chaotic and busy that I need an hour of quiet calm and a peaceful time." 

When I was where she is, the last thing I needed from Sunday worship was another social occasion; I, too, was desperate for decompression and peace.  My sister and I, once attending St. Patrick's in New Orleans after we were grown, reflected on the experience of a Latin high Mass.  "For one hour a week," she said, "no one was expected to talk to you, and you were not expected to talk to anyone else. You were free to sift through all the thoughts roaming around in your head and to discover what it meant to be alone with yourself."  I was surprised to find the memories of an operatic experience, where music, soothing language that you didn't understand or have to pay attention to, incense, and beauty all contributed to lifting the spirit, not through comprehension, but through the senses.  Church was not a place like school, where we had to work, but a place where we could enter into rest of body, mind, and soul.  Even if we fell asleep, it was still a place of rest and peace.  Surely, "God was in this place, and we knew it not," as Jacob said on awaking after his dream of a ladder to heaven. 

"Empty rituals?"  Never!  Only for those who believe that God is not present unless they are being entertained and stimulated with a dynamic performance!  Only for those who cannot be alone with themselves and with God!  Only for those who need constant stimulation and social interaction!  For those who crave prayer and meeting face-to-face with God, who need their spirits lifted when their minds are overwhelmed, ritual provides a format and a place of rest, a place where we can dream and perhaps meet God face-to-face, a place of prayer and inspiration, a place of renewal and peace.  If one goes to church to criticize what her neighbor is wearing, or to pick apart the sermon, or to meet a girlfriend/boyfriend, the ritual is indeed "empty."  But as we mature and seek more of God than we do of the world, we just might find that God is waiting for us, and has been waiting for us, in the ritual.