Good afternoon (or evening, depending on your part of the
world)! I’ve found it a little easier to smile today. As the days progress, I have
no doubt every day will get a little easier to find the smile. One thing that
makes it easier is to take the time to really sorrow and grieve about
tragedies. We have such a fashion of holding things in – don’t let others see
you cry! Why is that? What do we lose by showing that our hearts can be
touched, or that we suffer the same as each other? To me, when I’m hurting, the
fact that someone comes to sit beside me with nothing to offer but a shoulder
and some tears is more highly comforting than the stoicism that many continue
to show on the outside. I know that people deal differently with situations,
but the stoicism seems so cold and aloof, like I shouldn’t be showing emotion
either. Until this past year, I was one of those stoic people. I thought it
helped. I thought I was showing calm – which I was. But I also showed a great
disconnect from others in my efforts to remain calm.
So, I wanted to write about rituals today. The weekend is a
good time to write about rituals – most of our weekends involve a ritual of
some sort. Rituals are a direct result of symbolism and archetypes. Today
seemed a good day to discuss the topic before I transition out of the hero and
the hero’s journey into a new archetypal character. I’ve known the word ritual
for a long time, since birth, it seems! When your father is a preacher, there
are many rituals one observes daily and weekly. Your life tends to rotate
around the church calendar, like a retail store owner’s life would revolve
around the retail seasons and holidays. J
I took the time to look up the definition of “ritual” and here’s what I found: a
prescribed or established rite, ceremony, proceeding, or service. Prescribed,
as in prescription, is something that’s planned/written out to be done in a
certain way. Yes, there are religious rituals, but we have personal rituals,
school rituals, military rituals… When you take a step back, our entire lives
revolve around rituals. I get up at 5:45, go to the bathroom, rub my eyes, turn
on the shower, shower, put on makeup, fix hair, fix breakfast, wake up my son,
and we go to work together. Every morning is virtually the same. If something
throws off that routine (ritual), the day doesn’t feel quite right.
There are reasons we develop rituals for ourselves. They are
calming. They create a constancy, a point of reference, for each day or each
event. Symbolically, rituals can reach even deeper for us. There are special
rituals we celebrate: church, weddings, graduations, gift exchanges, parties,
competitions… the list could go on. Why do we have rituals for those? The word
ritual comes from the Latin word ritus (rite). Many of these rituals are “rites
of passage” to something else. You graduate and go into another world. You win
a game and advance in competition. You get married and go on to a new stage of
life. IF you recall, the hero’s journey has two steps where the hero crosses
the threshold. The crossings and
victories in the hero’s journey are rituals. Symbolically, we know that when we
pass that step, we have earned the right to proceed. We also remember the
actions it take to get past that step – what we were wearing, what we did, what
we thought. Those become prescriptions for us the next time we remember the
rite of passage. Hence, they become our
ritual. What I want you to ask yourself
is: what is the importance of a ritual to me?
Many times, we go through the motions of our rituals without
a thought. We’ve lost our perspective about why we have the ritual, and what
the parts of the ritual mean. I’d like to take the time now to tell a story
about a ritual that someone told me. I’m taking the liberty of telling the
story in first person, so it come to you the same way I heard it. The story is
about a ritual called Las Posadas, and it’s acted out just before Christmas.
Las Posadas is the word for “the inns” in Spanish. The processional portrays
the rejection of Mary and Joseph when they sought shelter in Bethlehem. In the
ritual, a church will choose someone to play Joseph, Mary, and someone to carry
a baby representing Jesus. The procession knocks at the doors of nine houses
(nine months of pregnancy), and they are rejected by the people in the house. At
the end of the procession, the crowd that has started following them ends up at
the church to celebrate. The nine houses are prearranged, so they know they
will be saying the lines of rejection when the knock comes. Here is the story
as I heard it:
Our church had arranged La Posadas one year. The nine houses
were arranged, and we were all a little worried about house number five. You
see, the parishoners who lived there had a son with Down’s Syndrome, and we
were concerned our ritual might be interrupted. However, the stops were set,
and the homeowners given the lines to say to “Mary” and “Joseph” when the
knocked. I had been selected to portray Mary this same year, and we set out
from the church, first stopping at one house, then the next, asking” In the
name of Heaven, give some travelers lodging this evening.” Each household
answered, “This is not an inn; go away – you are strangers and we can’t trust
you.” At every stop, more people would join our processional. Finally, we
arrived at the fifth house. “Jospeh” knocked. We waited. We could hear
shuffling behind the door, the door handle rattled, and the door finally opened,
revealing a tall, beautiful young man with a bright smile on his face. He
repeated our request for shelter. His smile changed to a frown as he stuttered,
“Th-th-th- this is not……” The sound of a whisper behind him. “A inn… G-g-g-gooo away strangers!” I turned,
acting rejected, and my “Joseph” heaved a long (but fake) sigh of
disappointment and frustration. The little boy carrying the baby Jesus let
loose an “Awwwwwww!!!!!!” as he had done at every house that evening. Expecting
to hear the door slam as part of the ritual, I tensed my neck for a
second. Nothing. No slam. Shrugging, I
started walking away with my “holy” family, then a shrill “NOOOOOO!!!” pierced
the chilly night air. The entire procession turned toward the door the house
from which we had walked. The young man was crying passionately, “Come
back! Come back! We have room!
You can sleep in my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch!” Silence… the young
man’s mother pulled him away from the door, smiling, and closed it firmly.
Those of us outside stood for a moment, the moon’s dim light floating down to
us. We exchanged glances wordlessly. At that moment, our hearts were broken
open. A young man with Down’s Syndrome, whom we had been expecting to ruin our
ritual, had just taught us the very point of the performance in the first
place. In his innocence, he understood that the holy family shouldn’t be
rejected, that we re-enact the procession to experience the slamming of the
door in our faces, which happens so often to us, and it happened to Jesus’s family
too. We looked up, looked at each other, looked at our feet. Then “Joseph”
walked straight back to the young man’s door, and knocked again. We stood a
moment, unsure how the inhabitants would respond. Slowly, the mother eased open
the door, and her eyes widened. She opened her mouth to speak, but could only
drawn in a breath. She reached a shaking hand toward her lips as if to close
the oval “o” she had created, then she closed her eyes for a long second.
Inhaling, she looked back over her shoulder and called to her son, “Jason, you
have visitors!” That beautiful young man, the one who had just taught us the
lesson we had intended to bring to the community, rushed into the room, and
incredulous look of joy on his face.
“Come in! Come in! he waved us with both hands. The fellowship and
sharing was short – he gave us glasses of water, and we talked for a few
minutes about what presents he anticipated getting for Christmas, and how many
of his relatives he would visit during the holiday. At the end, Jason reached
down to the little boy holding the baby “Jesus” and asked, “Can I hold him for
a minute?” The little boy looked up at Jason unsurely, then shrugged, “Ok.” He
handed the baby doll carefully into Jason’s huge hands. Jason slid one hand
under the baby’s neck and head, and the other hand under the baby’s bottom. He
held baby Jesus cradled against his chest, rocking him back and forth so slowly
and gently, cooing something unknown. Then, he raised the baby to his mouth and
kissed its forehead. “Thank you Jesus.” Our group left and finished the
remaining portion of the processional that night., but we walked as if
hypnotized, stunned at the beauty we had just witnessed. The body of an adult
but the mind of a child, and through the young man, WE had experienced love in
its truest form – unconditional, innocent, and unmotivated by anything other
than a caring heart. Every year after that, our church remembered Las Posadas,
and our procession went a little slower, lingering at each doorstep, the house
owners sometimes crying because they had to reject the holy family.
The rituals we use every day need a new perspective. We need
to actively remember WHY we do what we do. A change in perspective may be all
we need to shake us out of our automated routine into remembering the solemnity
and protection that our rituals offer us. The repeated motions, the memorized
lines, and the rush to get it over with – those have no part in the symbolism
of the rituals we keep. As we face a suffering world, as we face those who are
cruel and indifferent to us, and as we attempt to carry a heart full of love to
a world that so desperately needs it, our rituals serve as a reference point, a
shield, and armor for the soft hearts we have to keep. Our rituals purify us,
and bring us to the state of innocence from which we must operate while we
interact with others. The armor keeps us protected from too much damage, and
the motions cleanse us each time. When we lose the magic of our rituals, that
armor becomes and albatross around our hearts, dragging them into the pits
where it may be safe, but where no love grows. Our cleansing becomes a since
with stagnant, putrid water that only feeds our bitterness instead of
strengthening us for the love battle we wage.
Reflect on your rituals today. Remember their origins.
Remember why you do them. Honor what they represent. Use their power to help
you change your perspective.
Pay
something forward today. Bless each other, and love each other.
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