There was once a woman who perfectly copied her mother’s treasured pot roast recipe. First, she took the roast and cut off both ends. Then she put it in the pan, measuring water carefully… leveling each teaspoon of seasoning with a knife. She always set a precise timer. One day, while teaching the recipe to her daughter, her daughter asked why they needed to cut off the ends of the meat. So she went back to her mother.
“Oh,” her mother replied. “Because a roast doesn’t fit in my small pan.”
Tradition and Ritual
This story came from a pastor who was a product of the 60s Jesus Revolution. He thought traditions were often pointless.
Being a good-western-orthodox Protestant, I grew up scared of ritual and repetition. I also had a healthy distaste for tradition—being so close on the heels of the Jesus-freak movement. Liturgy was not in my vocabulary until my adult son defined it a few years ago.
But I remember the first time I watched a simulcast teacher and during worship they announced how many thousands of people were singing the same praises at that second. Tears flooded my eyes at the unity, the connection, even across culture.
If you consider the number of people who have said the Apostle’s Creed over the years, you realize it binds us with a linking thread, tethering us through wars and renaissance to a faith much older than our country.
Who doesn’t long for things that bring unity and stand the test of time?
I don’t believe God has ceased doing “new” in us or our world systems. I know he is infinite and we have truths still to discover along our trajectory of sanctification. I think he is still over-correcting some of human’s tangents and continually realigning culturally embedded preconceptions.
But I have found a place for tradition and ritual. And I regret dismissing it for so long.
Repetition
Since OCD was diagnosed in my family, I’ve better understood some of my own repetitive tendencies. I’ve learned why counting crochet stitches distracts a troubled mind… or listening to repetitive breath in lap swimming or meditation can clear it. I’ve discovered why the sound of rhythmic footfalls in walking or running soothes even before the endorphins kick in.
I think religious rituals can satisfy this part of the brain through repetition and redirection. Without being given a purpose, the can mind loop negative thoughts. The fears don’t even have to be real—although I’m sure you have plenty of genuine distress to choose from.
I found myself stuck last fall. So, around December, I decided to focus on what good God had put into my literal hands. I used my hands and the sensation of touch to ground myself. It was also symbolic to pull my attention away from the things I could not control. The things outside of my hands.
The idea might have originated from the verse that God inhabits the praises of his people. I assumed that fear would not fit in the same space as his habitation. Not to say there isn’t room for your pain with him—but thankfulness does a good job of organizing your mind. I have a friend who says that you cannot worry and be thankful at the same time.
Ten Things
Start by drawing the pointer finger of your right hand from the base of your left thumb at the palm. Drag it down the length to the end. Consider the tingling sensation of the touch. This counts as one, and say something you are thankful for. Then, move to the first finger, and so on. Five on one hand, five on the other.
Night after night, sometimes trying to go as fast as I could by memorizing them and sometimes reaching, searching for things to be thankful for. I have a friend who starts with her pillow.
I do it while tucked into bed, instead of praying (listing and counting) out my fears and worries. I decided there was plenty of time during the day to beseech God’s intervention and mercy. Looping all day, I wanted a break at night.
I tried not to think of anything except what I considered a blessing. And I typically picked five things I was thankful for about my husband, then five about my day. I did it because he’s my safest person, and during seasons where I need him most—I focus more intensely on driving him away.
When life is comfortable, and I slip into sleep easier, I tend to forget this rhythmic, tactile bedtime ritual. But a friend of mine suggested you need the routine of something already present in the rhythm of your life to remember to go to it when you are under stress.
Recently, this same friend made Protestant Prayer Beads for our writer’s group board members. It was part of a one day retreat she designed based on the book Sacred Pathways.
I’d never even heard of safe, sanctioned, my orthodoxy, non-catholic prayer beads. But maybe that is because even though prayer beads are ancient, the idea of American evangelicals using them is newer. However, I discovered something beautiful about them, similar to my praise-counting ritual.
You cannot get (as) stuck on any prayer because there is another bead to move onto. You’re forced out of the negative, repetitive loop. It surprised me how I was able, in a tactile way, to leave it in God’s hand by moving mine.
We can fortify entire cities on top of one prayer request, thought, sin, or trial… More than getting stuck, it becomes our identity.
Do you want to be healed?
Isn’t it strange in John 5:6 that Jesus asked the man who had “spent a long time in his condition”, “Do you want to be healed?”
I wonder if waiting at the edge of healing is not the same as pursuing it.
What ten things are you thankful for?
