"Tradition(s)!"

Photo taken by me, in Bethphage

I've already posted twice about Palm Sunday.

The first post was (I thought) really good. But it did not go viral. Not even close. It was about not separating out the "palms" and the Passion." But it may be a losing battle and it's quite possible I'm right but in a minority. Or maybe my timing was just off and it's not that important this year. So be it; it can be found here if you missed it.

The second post was intended to be a good news poignant story to remind myself (and anyone else listening in) that there are still moments of grace in the midst of trying times and we ought to do our best to look for those. One colleague told me that she might be using this story in her Palm Sunday sermon. It seemed to resonate much better than the first post, based on number of hits. It can be found here if you missed it.

This is not a third Palm Sunday post. Not really. And it's definitely not an un-preached sermon. Rather, it's sort of an observation and a theological reflection. I think as we hit this week the loss is great for many of the "traditions" of how we have "always" done Holy Week. This loss is exponentially greater, I think, for clergy - even though I have been part of conversations for many years about how exhausting Holy Week can be. (I just accidentally typed "clergy week" which may be a very telling faux pas!)

One example may suffice: especially in diocesan ministry, I've been a part of so many conversations over the years about how every parish doesn't need a Maundy Thursday or Good Friday service, or an Easter Vigil. That these represent wonderful opportunities to work together. Yet these opportunities were missed year after year. It's hard, we'd hear, for people to travel to other buildings; they like their own church. I have often suspected, however, that it's even harder for the clergy to travel to other buildings (and lose control of the liturgy.) But I'm sure the truth is complex. Change is always hard.

In any case, I naively hoped that this year, since worship is just a click away, that we might again find ways to share worship. That we might offer one or two or three diocesan options and everyone could come together. There has been some of that, to be sure. But as I've participated in clergy listening events over the past three weeks I've watched the "normal" patterns emerge as people are finding ways to do what is familiar. They are finding ways to all do their own thing!

I get that. I really do. While no longer a parish priest I know that I am the biggest creature of habit on the planet. But I worry that as Christian leaders, especially Episcopalians (gosh we sure do love our worship!) that we are missing some opportunities.

I think what also gets in the way is what we think of as "tradition" which I've said many times is really not the tradition at all but "the way we did things in my church when I was growing up." And since so many of our members are older Boomers, this means American Church in the 1950s. But that is NOT the tradition. That's one tiny little part of the tradition. And it's often distorted in our memories by nostalgia.

I had an epiphany (yes, in Lent) when one of our priests said she was prerecording some things for Palm Sunday and she couldn't bring herself to sing "All Glory, Laud, and Honor." What? I mean that's what they sang in Jerusalem when Jesus came in on the donkey, right?  She said she noted that The Prayerbook offers both a rubric in the liturgy and a setting in the Hymnal (157) to sing a portion of Psalm 118 instead. What? This got me thinking...

This post is not about the decision this priest made about what to chant in her video-liturgy, a decision I respect totally. I admire her for doing exactly what I'm suggesting here. And her willingness to do it is what got me thinking, or maybe rambling... It's her willingness to "mine the tradition" and be open to new ways to appropriate it that I call attention to. That, for me, was the good news parable here. Similarly, I've been impressed with the adaptation for people to find their own palm branches and put them in a window or on their door - outward and visible signs that it is still Palm Sunday and you don't need to be in a church building for that to be true.

The temptation to keep replicating as much as possible what we "know" and what is familiar is not all bad, but it is limiting. I think we do it not only because we lack imagination but out of some (distorted?) sense of pastoral care: the people need what they want? But true pastoral care in a pandemic is not about holding onto what is familiar. It's Rabbi Ed Friedman work: it's recognizing the anxiety of the system and being present to that in a non-anxious way. There is an opportunity right now to discover not only new things that God is doing but old things we'd forgotten, that are also rooted in a tradition (actually in traditions) that are deeper and wider than we usually acknowledge. But we'll miss them if we are too knee-jerk.

I got to thinking that in a "normal" Holy Week, what might happen to a priest who suggested ditching "All Glory, Laud, and Honor" and using Psalm 118 instead? I suspect all hell might break loose! We might experience some of the real chaos of Palm Sunday! It would not be a lovely trip down memory lane, an experience of "royalty." And here's the thing: if a young priest asked me for advice in a "normal" year - Rich, do you think I should skip "All Glory, Laud, and Honor" and use Psalm 118 instead I'd say, "are you out of your mind?" Do you like your job?

But here's the thing: the dislocation and dis-ease of the very real wilderness experience of this Lent might take us closer to the real meaning of these forty days than ever before. Jesus was tempted for forty days and forty nights by the devil. Giving up chocolate doesn't come close to that. Giving up church doesn't really, either. But it comes closer if church is really important to you and a touchstone filled with meaning.

The photo above was taken in Bethphage, where I've had the good fortune to travel multiple times now. One of the great gifts of such pilgrimages is that they open up the tradition(s) of the Church in new ways. Seeing and discovering the tradition(s) in new ways is an opportunity. It's true that learning new social media platforms is good and I've heard some great stories about people who haven't been "to church" for years joining in on Facebook Live. But I'm talking about something more than that. I'm talking about remaining open enough to see and to hear in new ways. I'm talking about being open to the living God and the risen Christ and the ongoing work of the Holy Spirit.