Ritual

Another year has passed. Another psuedo-Christian holiday has gone by (before you disagree with me, please read here and learn for yourself). When I was a child, Christmas took years and years to come! Santa! Presents! Cold weather! Grandma and Grandpa visiting! Now, as I approach forty years upon this earth, the commercialized season of gift-giving shows up all too quickly, and every year it gets here faster and faster.

I drive a different way to work now since my office was absorbed by a new state agency and we moved to a different building, so I pass by St. John's Episcopal Church each morning. I was raised in the Episcopal church, with all its associated dogma and prayer books and rituals. Because of my childhood Sundays spent in church, kneeling and reciting and accepting Communion, any other type of religious service (with the exception of a Catholic service) seems off-kilter. I won't say wrong, because any kind of religious worship is not wrong; non-Episcopalian services are simply different.

The Thursday before December 25th, I was driving to work, barely awake as I had no caffeine coursing through my veins, and I noticed a sign outside of St. John's advertising the Christmas service times. I felt a sharp yearning, deep within--I suppose a religious person might say the pull was in my soul--for the comfort of a proper Episcopalian Christmas Day service. It surprised me. I haven't felt that type of longing in a while. I wanted to call my dad and talk about it with him. I wanted to call my friend Holley and discuss it with her. I made neither call. I simply filed the emotion away to ruminate upon and write about when I was ready.

As I examine my reaction to thinking about attending a church service, I realize that it's not so much about the religious service itself I'm attracted to, but the ritual of that service. The priest, dressed in vestments that glow with gilt threads against stark white robes; the church alight with candles hanging from iron candlabras; the wood altar lain with clean, starched linens and the chalice veil that matched the priest's vestments; the Common Prayer Book full of formal language and thees and thous.

When I remember the Christmas services I attended with both my parents (unless my mom was working that year) and my brother--there were at least sixteen--the feeling I remember most is a sense of expectant wonder. I always felt like something more should happen at the end of the service, like fireworks or balloons and noisemakers. Instead, the congregation would exchange handshakes and hugs and then walk out into the cool-for-Florida weather, heading home for either sleep (if we'd attended midnight mass) or Christmas dinner.
 
I don't know if I missed the sameness of the church service or if I missed the coming together of people with shared beliefs. I think about the everyday rituals I have now, how comforting they are to me. They include:

• weekday morning: wake up with alarm, take pills with full glass of water, shower, brush teeth, blowdry hair, style hair, apply make-up, get dressed, pack breakfast and/or lunch, drive to work.
• weekday afternoon: let dogs out, visit bathroom, let dogs in, turn on tv/computer/both, think about dinner.
• bedtime: brush teeth, put on pajamas, pet cat until I fall asleep to the sound of her purring.
• weekend morning: wake up when I'm ready, take pills with a full glass of water, turn on tv/computer/both, think about lunch.

My rituals are comforting in their sameness, but I don't stress out if they differ in some ways. For the new year, I think I'd like to work on changing them up a little. Maybe something like this:

• weekday morning: wake up with alarm, kiss husband, grimace from morning breath, take pills with full glass of water, meditate for twenty minutes, shower, brush teeth, blowdry hair, style hair, apply make-up, get dressed, pack breakfast and/or lunch, drive to work.
• weekday afternoon: think about dinner on drive home, let dogs out, visit bathroom, let dogs in, cook dinner, read
• bedtime: brush teeth, put on pajamas, meditate for twenty minutes, pet cat until I fall asleep to the sound of her purring.
• weekend morning: Nahhh, wouldn't change a thing.

I remember my Pagan friends and the rituals we performed at holidays. Our coming together was a celebration of the changing of the seasons. The rituals involved candles, prayers, and a book, too. Not so different from a traditional church service.

I didn't want to make any resolutions this year because--well, because I'm lazy and I don't follow through. But I think I will make one this year: to seek out other people whose beliefs are similar to mine and celebrate our like-mindedness together. This, along with school and the busyness of my job, will make my life richer and more whole.

Happy New Year!