TRADITION!!!

I would guess that these last two months of the year are the two most filled with tradition: national traditions, local traditions, family traditions. But I have to wonder whether some traditions have not become routines.

I come from a family that values traditions. We've invented so many since I was little that I doubt I could count them. Traditions do not have to be ancient. This has really hit me since now a decent portion of our family is scattered across the country and since I now either don't take much part in the traditions, or I take part in them over the phone. More often than not, it's the former. It's a slightly weird feeling to be missing those traditions, like eating ice cream outside in the winter. That's just not really supposed to happen.

One thing that was stressed at the beginning of the sacraments and liturgy class is the human need for ritual; the need for something by which to order one's life; there are a multitude of examples of this in the natural world: the seasons, night and day, the cycles of the moon, and the orbits of the planets to name a few. This urge goes beyond the individual and flows into the societal. Societies also need something by which to order their lives; the ancient Egyptians ordered societal life by the flooding of the Nile. Traditions and rituals are not routines and shouldn't become so. Rituals and traditions are of a sacred character. Routines are for everyday life. The Nile was not just a river.


"There are a lot of bad isms in the world and commercialism is the worst!" While I don't think I necessarily agree with that statement (I'm inclined to think that maybe things like communism and socialism are a little worse), I can definitely see its validity. Communism and socialism wouldn't be so bad if not for commercialism. Commercialism certainly plays a part in communism and socialism.

Problems result when you allow your life to be commercialized. If you only take part in traditions because it’s what you’ve always done, or worse, it’s what everyone else does, then why do it? If traditions abound during this time of the year, then so does the secularization and routinization (so it’s not a word, yet) of traditions. Christmas carols, for example. Long ago, when Catholics ruled the world, there were rules for when what could be sung because of the special character of the liturgical year. (There still are, people are just ignorant and don’t care.) Puer Natus in Bethlehem (A child is born in Bethlehem) was not sung until Christmas. Not only that, but Christmas music was not about chestnuts roasting on an open fire. Now, however, when you walk into any shopping center after November first or so, you will hear Christmas music being blasted over the sound system in an effort to “get you into the holiday spirit,” i.e., buy stuff. The carelessness with which such traditions are flung about gives them an ordinary, humdrum type of feeling. In fact, they can get old and annoying. A person can only take Jingle Bell Rock so many times a year. And if that person happens to be Lauren, well…

Five Novembers ago, it had not been a good year for my family. Within a month, my mother’s mother died, my father lost his job due to out-sourcing, and the Quince stuff was told. While my grandmother had been sick for a couple of years, her death was unexpected. She died peacefully in her sleep, with her caretakers there. She was only 61. There are not a lot of jobs here; it took a few months for my dad to find one. He finally did find one at a chicken processing plant keeping the freezers running. The Quince stuff led to a bunch of things with my father's mother that were just plain unpleasant, to put it lightly. In the time between, Dominic was born! Yay for babies! Especially brother babies! At the chicken plant, they sold chicken to the employees for next to nothing. So we had plenty of chicken. Freezers full, actually. That year, by the time Thanksgiving came around, we were sick of poultry. None of us wanted to eat turkey. We wanted steak. So, we made a fire pit, and cooked steak and sausage (brat-like sausage, not breakfast sausage) for Thanksgiving. We had whatever sides we wanted. And tons of desserts- everyone's favorite and possibly even everyone's second and third favorites. Any outsider would have looked at that mis-matched meal (because we had little boys, I'm sure half of the sides were random and didn't really match with anything) and laughed. Maybe pittied. We had no one over except my mother's brother. But it was the most memorable Thanksgiving I've ever had. It was simple, but it was everything we needed. We had each other and we had the material things for which we were most able to be thankful at that time. The little ones gave us laughter and my parents gave me anyway one of my most pleasant and treasured memories. I'm sure that when we are all grown up and gathered somewhere, this will be one of the "do you remember whens?" most fondly remembered.

That Thanksgiving was the first Thanksgiving that I ever really was more than usually unusually grateful. By that I mean, of course I had always been extra thankful on Thanksgiving, but it was more out of habit or training than by sheer gratitude. That Thanksgiving, as I ate some of favorite things on the planet and as I sat around the table just talking with my family, I was grateful. I didn't know it was possible to be so grateful. Before that Thanksgiving, I think that we all would have thought it absurd not to have the traditional turkey and sweet potatoes and whatever else it is that is proper to eat on Thanksgiving. But that Thanksgiving we realized, the turkey isn't the tradition.

And so, because of that Thanksgiving, while I am not diametrically oppossed to eating turkey on Thanksgiving (in fact, we are eating turkey this year), I have become more conscious of the difference between Thanksgiving traditions and Thanksgiving routines. As I am here at home, finally reunited with my little boyos (who really aren't that little anymore), getting them what they need, rocking them, reading to them, being read to by them, playing with them, cooking for and with them, cleaning with them, and being fought over by them, I've been reflecting on these things. Routines are not always fun, they most certainly are not freedom. They are the measuring stick or the straight edge which makes sure that nothing is out of place, that the world keeps running as planned without interruption.

The world is not run by a routine. Take a look at the sunset one day and look again at it the next. It is not the same. It's a different sunset everyday. The colors change, the shape of the clouds change, everything changes. Yes, it is ordered awesomeness, but it is awesomeness, nonetheless. Our lives should not become bleak routines. We should value the sacred, wonder at the little, everyday things, and never be bored by the repition which sometimes seems to be the norm. For repition and norm it is not. Look closely, you will find something you've never found before. When scrubbing the kitchen for aaalll those guests, perhaps the shiney-ness of the sink, which depiste your routine you seem to have neglected, will make you smile. Perhaps some small child will show you something you've seen before at least a million times, but this child will show you something you have missed, something that only a child's joy can explain. If traditions become routines, the only thing left for routines to become is a slave master. God did not intend for us to be slaves. Besides, we can't have more than one master. If we let the sacredness and the specialness of traditions slip away and become routines, we are in danger of letting the routine become our god.

So in the midst of the bustle and hustle that usually accompanies this time of the year, take time to remember why you are doing what you will inevitably find yourself doing out of habit, whether it be eating turkey or watching football or shopping on Friday. Find the reason for these things and then you will find that scrubbing the kitchen isn't so bad after all.