Ritual, Religion, and Relationship

Last week I posted a link on Facebook to the article “The Truth About Salvation”.  I excerpted the end:

“Shouldn’t it alarm us that such simplistic pathways to Christianity are nowhere to be found in God’s Word? Shouldn’t we who follow Christ be concerned that the Scriptures contain no references to people asking Jesus into their hearts or reciting a prayer of salvation?...It’s a lie. With good intentions and a sincere desire to reach as many people as possible for Christ, we’ve subtly and deceptively minimized the magnitude of what it means to follow Jesus.” 

I concluded by saying that sounded like Mainline talk (or talk that I’ve heard from Mainliners) from an Evangelical. Someone commented on my post and said, “It's a horrible lie...that one only need to walk an aisle and quietly repeat a prayer. And it is a horrible lie that the rituals of any religion will bring salvation, too. Relationship not ritual!”

I think it would be a horrible lie that the rituals of any religion will bring salvation if I had ever heard someone say that; I just haven’t. Growing up I heard similar things about more liturgical traditions, “They think that if they just go to Mass they’ll get to heaven.” Not quite. It’s a lot more nuanced than that because the approach is different. Rather than being about praying a prayer, there is an understanding that grace is conveyed not through rituals, but through materials. Grace and salvation don’t come from what we do (receiving communion, being baptized), but what God does in the bread and wine, in the washing water, in the healing oil So much are these actions about God and not us, that the Church long ago decided that the state of grace of the person doesn’t matter for them to be efficacious. (For those who say otherwise, see donatism).

I whole-heartedly reject the notion that relationship is not ritual. Ritual is an invitation to or expectation of relationship as the Body of Christ does something as one. Baptism gives people with five senses a way to engage their senses as they make promises to Christ and are brought into a community. When asked, “Will you do these things that we’re all trying to do?” the baptizand replies, “I will, with God’s help.” In that moment we have a relationship with Christ. Like all other relationships it takes work, but we are marked as Christ’s own forever. When we come to the table of grace we are continually joined to Christ as Christ continues to take up residence in us. The practice of it may be different than some others’, but God is active, even if we don’t always understand how.

These moments of relationship bring us to salvation. For a long, long time the Church (for the most part) has believed that grace is conveyed in these acts. The Nicene Creed explicitly says, “We believe in one baptism for the forgiveness of sins.” That statement is inherently relational because it’s what we believe. It was put into the Nicene Creed in A.D. 381. Rather than being “just a symbol,” the Church believes that something happens. Because something happens from God and not from us, we only have to do it once at that.

There are a lot of things that seem like equating relationship and ritual, but those are often from a place of a very narrow definition of what a ritual is. Disciples are also rituals, from keeping a prayer journal to having a daily quiet time. Doing it over and over again is a ritual that is used to build relationship. I have been critical of the “Praying that prayer” model because although there is an expectation of relationship, there isn’t necessary follow-up — and often the statement that it’s okay. You prayed that prayer and that’s all you’ve got to do.

For this very reason I’m critical of drive through baptisms, where the parents have no intention of bringing their child back and are not in relationship with the community. The difference in my mind, though, is that God is active either way. When done well both models have safeguards built in, but the one I prefer is one that is about God’s action and then the community promising to be a part of the ongoing life of the newly baptized. Because it’s the Spirit present in the water, though, it sticks.

“Asking Jesus into one’s heart” is arguable a ritual in and of itself, and that’s not a bad thing. Letting that be the stopping point (which Platt is arguing against in his work) is what bothers me — but that’s not the ideal. What also bothers me, though is an outright rejection of ritual based on one’s preference (which, in my experience, often comes from lack of exposure over time, so hard to understand) rather than wondering how someone else’s practices may be formative for them.

How might we wonder with others about their practices? Through asking questions rather than making assumptions based on our outsiders’ perceptions. Through asking ourselves how our practices are formative for us and inviting others into them with us. How else?

So do you have a job yet?

This morning I celebrated reading a post on Facebook made by an electronic acquaintance who is in seminary at a school other than my alma mater. I am excited that he has been called to serve the Church in a local parish and that he knows so early in the calendar year. From my thoughts of him my mind wandered to wondering how a dear friend of mine’s job hunt is going. I know that she is extremely capable, but I know she is looking for some particular things geographically and in ministry. She and I are in touch somewhat regularly. She has not mentioned her most recent job prospects in a few weeks, though she will make an excellent priest.

I will not be asking her how it’s going.

She is one of my dearest friends, and I at least tell myself that it’s mutual. She will be reading in my wedding, but I remember all too well the anxiety of last February, March, April, May, June, and July as I had not yet been called to serve somewhere. One of the things that made those months so difficult was that not only am I pretty highly-functioning, but others know it. Because of this far too often people asked, “So do you have a job yet?”

Dear reader (all three of you), this was not helpful. While it may have meant to be encouraging it was received with the expectation that I should already have a job, and yet I did not.

Those closest to me knew all the stress I was feeling and facing, the tears being shed, the sleep being interrupted, the flare-ups and outbursts of anger or sadness, and the anxiety every time my bishop called. Those from whom I needed (and wanted) the most support were well-aware of the situation and updated regularly on group emails about my prospects and texts about let downs.

The GOE has been taken. Candidacy papers are starting to be due, I’m sure. Graduation looms in mid-May for not just seminarians but those in many fields. What I enjoyed much more than a regular barrage of “So do you have a job yet?” was when I could announce good news — making a cut on a process, getting an interview — and people celebrating with me. Alternatively, I appreciated those who mourned with me when I made disappointments public.

In the next few months, whether you’re through the a discernment and education process or finishing up one yourself, don’t ask if people have gotten jobs yet. If you have not been getting updates from them regularly, it does not come across as concern (at least didn’t to me) inasmuch as additional pressure. There’s probably a reason you're having to ask.

Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep, and trust people to share their good news for rejoicing and their bad news for weeping on their timeline.

Daily Mass on the Parable of the Sower

My sermon on Mark 4.1-20, at the Grace Cathedral daily Eucharist on 30 Jan 2013.

Since college the parable of the sower has presented a challenge for me. Up until that point the point of the parable of the sower seemed so obvious based on how it had been preached to be: You need to be the good soil that receives the Word and bears fruit, thirty, sixty, or a hundred fold.

I grew up Southern Baptist, and in that tradition there is a strong emphasis on the role of the individual in salvation, so sermons on this focused on you. What do you do? How are you bearing fruit? How are you avoiding being rocky soil, not having root to endure? The emphasis was always on us individually and how we were being good Christians.

Then I got to college and the absurdity of this parable was pointed out to me. Even if you haven’t done much farming, some of the things in this story make sense: seeds can’t grow that well on 101 or in the middle of a desert. Seeds need life and a helpful habitat to grow in short, good soil.

But if you’ve tried to grow things you know that for the most part, seeds need a lot more than good soil actually, and that’s part of where this parable gets absurd — and loses its focus on how we ourselves are soil to fix on our own, what I grew up with: striving to be the good soil. If you’ve tried to grow things you also know that you probably wouldn’t throw seed on California Street or on the Great Steps. No, you’d throw it into soil where it would grow.

This is a shift in looking at this passage: rather than looking at what we’re doing ourselves, we’re looking at the sower who sows the word, God who shares Good News and sends Jesus to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind. In Jesus God has come into the whole world, to the rocky soil, the trampled paths, the scorched earth, and the good soil to share the Good News, over and over again.

This text, while not an invitation to make ourselves better is an invitation to do things better. Rocky soil doesn’t just turn into good soil, and a trampled path won’t automatically be made into something on which seeds can grow. These plots don’t have to be stuck as they are, though. While this passage speaks to God’s generosity — which we experience in grace at the font and the table, in the prayers and the word — this text is also an invitation to us.

Rather than thinking about how we can fix ourselves, I think this text invites us to think about how we can get rid of the rocks in the soil, how to cultivate and form people so that they have a root and endure for longer than awhile. This text invites us to be community to those on a spiritual path and teach them about Jesus. The best way to do that is by loving them and loving those around us. More actively, though we can tell them our stories of Jesus’ change in our lives and invite them to share theirs.