Resisting Ceremony

 

There is something in the conceit of youthfulness

that resists ceremony. Maybe I am a middle-aged

woman who still dresses up for church, remembers

the Pilgrims on Thanksgiving Day, recites the pledge

of allegiance to my country with joy and pride

and thinks that formal observance transcends post-modern

culture. I am a one who believes that the death of formal

ritual in our culture has led us into narcissism, and I don’t

know the end destination of it.

 

Its continued adherence won’t save us; it will make us

see that we need saving, that we are limping, that we need

the banks of the river to hold back the flood of chaos.

 

I do remember a once-glorious angel falling from

heaven when his narcissistic lapse manifested. He said,

I will rise to be like Him. And there was silence in the

angelic ranks of the realms above.

 

I imagine heaven to be filled with ceremony–all the

pomp and circumstance due a King. And the largest part of

that ritual will be when we cast our crowns before Him,

remembering His blood that soaked the ground for our narcissism.

And we will rehearse the old story, making it new with every

pre-written word.

 

©Bonnie Saul Wilks

May 24, 2014