i've begun a new tradition. anybody who knows me knows i'm a sucker for ritual. i find repetition very sacred. for many, routine can breed a sense of disconnect and boredom, especially in their relationship with Jesus. i know plenty of people who attest to variety being the spice of their spiritual life, and that's perfectly fine. but, in a society that is crazed with a constant, unsatiable desire for stimulation, i can't help but wonder if we're always approaching God with a sense of of hyper-expectation. it seems as though we, as a collective, are always waiting for Him to blow us away with undeniable, cosmic signs and wonders. we're waiting for Him to part the red sea. to show up as a pillar of fire. we want manna from heaven. although, to be quite honest, we'd probably prefer if it was something a little more up to date, like eggplant parmigiana or california rolls.
now, i'm not saying that God couldn't drop us some sushi from on high, but when i think about the circumstances surrounding the whole manna situation, (while wandering alone in the desert, waiting on a promise that seemed completely improbable, the isrealites find themselves embroiled in a rivalry with some crazy guys who seem to be the biblical equivalent of the wildboyz) i see how appropriately God intervened. His actions fit the situation. the situation was big and uncomfortable, and He acted in a big, uncomfortable way. i mean, it's pretty clear that the whole manna situation was not something joe isrealite was particularly pumped about. i think God provided in this way so that His people would learn to rely on Him, rather than His actions or His gifts. and in the middle of all the madness, God was being a stickler for tradition. the tabernacle was no small thing. so much of the establishement of God's relationship with His people was rooted in routine and procedure. God knew that everything going on outside of the tabernacle was a threat to His interaction with His people. they got caught up--we get caught up--with all the semantics, worries, and pitiful drama that define being human. it's like God knew we wouldn't give Him the time of day unless He explicitly commanded it. but, as usual, i've (sort of) meandered away from my point, so i digress...
back to my new tradition.
like all the ascetics i count among my heroes, i've decided to commit to my own sort of daily church service. i've found a secret spot where i can watch the sun sink behind the mountains. i've developed my own sort of liturgy, with readings from some of my favorite authors including merton, st. teresa of avila, and st. francis. i'm going to do the same thing every day. i'm going to say the same prayers in the same spot at the same time every day and i'm going to see what God will do when He's given a definite, unhurried chunk of alone time. i expect to be bored, frustrated, surprised, and encountered. here's my favorite prayer from the bunch. it's called phos hilaron, and according to wikipedia, (super academic, i know) it's the earliest known hymn recorded outside of the bible that is still around today.
song of the light
joyous light of glory,
of the immortal Father,
heavenly, holy, blessed Jesus Christ:
we have come to the setting of the sun,
and we look to the evening light.
we sing to God, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.
You are worthy of being praised with pure voices forever.
O son of God, O giver of Light,
the universe proclaims Your glory.
phos hilaron is sometimes translated as--'gladdening light.' gorgeous.
