Ritual and traditionalism

I've been thinking about the place of ritual and traditionalism in finding God.

I don't think that I have really utilised ritual or traditionalism in my search for God. I'm familiar, on a first names kind of basis. It's not really the Kiwi way, to react to pomp and circumstance, we like bringing things, and people, down to size. I am quietly amused at the repetition of liturgy, distasteful of hallowed objects that take precedent over the tenets of faith. I find that I fall into the belief that ritual and traditionalism is the domain of the grey haired.

I wonder though if sometimes God just doesn't show up because I have no idea of what I'm dealing with, no true concept of who he is (or she - might do a post on this). Or he does turn up, but I miss him completely because I'm not looking for the God of the universe, but down, at my small, familiar concept of him.

Ritual, the repetition of time honoured traditions, brings a sense of continuity. You and I are not awash, alone, in our worship. Thousands have gone before us, saints, grandmothers and grandfathers, preachers and cleaning women. Believing, praying over us.

Words repeated over centuries, sacred objects, bread broken, the sacraments shared. These bring the presence of those who have gone before us, those who have endured the same dark nights, have lived and had brokenness mended. This speaks to us of a God who is there throughout. We remember, as the Israelites did, the God of the Old Testament, of fierce loyalties, and miraculous interventions.

Through ritual and traditionalism we take a step back and remember that we are not the center of our own stories. That our faith was designed to revolve around the unknown, the God whose holiness is more than a human can behold and live.

We step back and in humility remember our place, that we do not understand, that we are not in control, but we exist in awe.