Real Families: Reflections on family life

I like rituals. Not a very Mennonite thing to say, perhaps, given how much the Anabaptist movement in its early years decried the exaggerated ritualism of its day. But it was the ritual of baptism, stunningly reclaimed, that opened vistas for the Spirit to transform ordinary people into fearless witnesses.

In recent weeks, we have traversed once again through the stories of Holy Week and then move with Jesus onto Ascension Day and Pentecost. Many of us reenacted Jesus’ last supper with his disciples, sharing bread and cup, washing each other’s feet or hands.

Our family and church community have often celebrated Passover—with adaptations of the Jewish Seder, hoping to more fully understand Jesus’ liberating word: “This cup is the new covenant.” I love the children’s questions inviting parents to retell their story of liberation: Why is this night different from all other nights? Why do we eat only unleavened bread tonight? Why do we mix the bitter herbs with the sweet haroset? Together parents and children of all ages ‘lift up the cup of salvation and call on the name of the Lord.”

Ritual, when done well, is the Word of God writ large in 3-D. It’s a minidrama where mere humans enter into God’s salvation story, for real. It’s not simply going through the motions, limited in time and space by a stuck materialism that pontificates, It’s only a memorial, a sign. Ritual can help create a “thin place” where we are transported into God’s time; when time as we know it sits still at the feet of Jesus.

Our family had an abbreviated Passover meal this year, mostly because Mom was in too big of a hurry with other things. As Wordsworth said so eloquently: ‘The world is too much with us; late and soon. Getting and spending we lay waste our powers.” But there were moments that transported us into God’s time. Gerald read the Passover story from The Five Books of Moses, a new translation by Everett Fox. Then we prayed, clasping hands as is our custom—and Gerald gave thanks for the ways God continues to liberate. I broke the beautifully braided, warm challah bread our daughter baked for the occasion (not generally used for Passover when unleavened bread is featured, but we’re not purists). We shared ceremonial cups and feasted on roast lamb.

When the children lived at home, we celebrated a Sabbath meal, thanking the “master of the universe” for the gifts of bread and grape juice and for the gift of a day of rest—a magnificent gift for an enslaved people—whether in Egypt or in frenetic North America.

For a family calendar my sister is making, I reviewed Wenger Shenk family dates. I noted the birthdays of each of our three children and their baptism dates. Scenes flitted in full color through my mind: mentor Jerry Holsopple’s original songs with one son on the piano and another singing tenor, words of blessing from grandparents, embraces by pastor Basil Marin, “wade in the water’ with full immersion for one, the joy beaming from faces, and the clear word from each: “I have decided to follow Jesus.”

In a recent colloquium at Eastern Mennonite University, sociologist Nathan Wright from Bryn Mawr College provided an analysis of how Mormons have managed to persist in their core identity while adapting to changing circumstances over the generations. He spoke of “dynamic endurance” and demonstrated how ritual has played a decisive role in holding this community together despite significant conflict as they adapt to the mainstream yet manage to persist in their core sense of identity.

In my experience, Mennonites (not unlike others) are conflicted about the function of ritual. We’re aware that ritualism can be abused and so give ritual minimal attention. We tend to underestimate ritual’s power to unify or divide (e.g., recent furor over the role of the national anthem). We become captive to the notion that there is a right formula to do a ritual and are hyper vigilant—anxiously sticking with the rote performance of words on page rather than entering full-bodied into God’s time, where the Spirit (so full of surprises) actually shows up.

When Jesus knew he was about to be torn away from his friends, he said: “This is my body,” “This is my blood.” He gave his disciples a tangible way to hold onto him. What more could we ask for—in worship—than the ritual opportunity over and over again to hold on to Jesus for real?

As families and faith communities, we’ve unnecessarily starved ourselves. The full-bodied gifts of God are for the people of God. Thanks be to God.