Finding My Religion [jenna]

Recent experiences with things like palm fronds, kneeler-fitted pews, and little leather-bound prayer books made up mostly of psalms have given me clear lessons in a concept much too vaguely taught nowadays: the importance of religious life to Christianity.

Religion has become something of a dirty word in evangelical circles. “Christianity isn’t a religion, it’s a relationship” gets preached from many a pulpit, certainly with a great deal of truth; after all, religious acts not based on love, belief and trust toward Christ will hardly make anyone a Christian. Because of this, and because often the very people preaching the above words practice the outward signs of their faith with a devotion rivaling a Pharisee’s (and without the pride), I see no reason to criticize the root of this idea. The central concept, good in itself, comes with the best of intentions from wise people.

That said, the lengths to which this thought gets carried nowadays does leave me with a couple of concerns, based on a premise which I firmly believe: that religion and relationship are so far from being mutually exclusive that one is actually necessary to the other.

My first problem is with the modern idea of relationship, which doesn’t come remotely close to anything resembling devoted or faithful. While human desires have their importance, the sacrifice of fidelity in their stead has left most of us with little understanding of how to be a parent or a child, a lover or a friend. When relationship comes to us merely as the illegitimate offspring of passion and freedom, it’s difficult to picture an intimacy in which virtue and loyalty might be demanded of us; and I hardly need add that such a shattered idea could never set us up for what it means to follow Christ.

The other concern I have is that religion—specifically ritual—is thoroughly important to any relationship, not to mention life in general. Life and love flourish in order, not chaos. The world regularly hands us chaos, and our little devoted moments of order may be our last hold on sanity at times.

Religion, I believe, does several things for us. And here I refer strictly to traditional Judeo-Christian practices; anything brought in from outside influences will not necessarily have the same effects:

First, religious ritual reminds us that the God we serve is indeed a God—something that is too easy to forget among the “Jesus as my lover” mentality that is rampant today. In a good-hearted effort to win more souls to Christ, we’ve forgotten to balance our “God is love” with “the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.”

Second, physical ritual—even simple things such as kneeling or praying before a cross or crucifix, etc., brings home the incarnation to us—the understanding that God became man in Christ. The sacraments especially, whether you accept two or seven by tradition, are meant to drive this very fact home. The divine took on flesh, and as the Jewish rites pointed forward to that event, the Christian sacraments point back and carry it on.

Thirdly, the directing of our bodies serves as an assistant in directing our hearts. Focus, let alone passion, will not always follow, but the regular submission of our bodies with the intent of submitting heart and soul and mind pays off. We are, after all, human; our hearts, which too easily lose interest even with some tangible reminder, will rarely maintain affection for long without it.

Finally, because participation in ritual is submission to custom and to a higher authority, it has a unifying effect among believers around the world and throughout history. Physical religious act, in my opinion, does not negate the unity of “worship in spirit and in truth”; rather, I feel that where the spirit and truth are in agreement, the physical accentuates and fixes it.

Kneeling at the bedside to pray every night went out with top hats and gramophones; at least, I thought so, till I found myself not only doing it, but enjoying it. The simple little articles of faith—Bible, crucifix, etc.—that I use have become very precious to me in my attempts to turn my mind heavenward. And the old reusable prayers of saints through the ages, which I like to include, have taught me to pray in contemplation of the greatness of God.

Ritual without the love and trust of relationship is ultimately empty; relationship, however, without the tradition and faithful dedication of ritual is unstable at best and imaginary at worst. Together, though, the two add up to glory.