Tradition
Stories
Lightly Goes the Good News
Scripture Stories For Reflection
Liz and Zech's relatives and friends had gathered in the living room. The occasion was their boy's circumcision. Liz called for everybody's attention. "Please, everybody! I have an announcement. I'd like you should know the name we're giving our son." Everyone quickly quieted down. "We've decided to call him John. We...."
No sooner had she spoken the name than the others gasped, "John?" In rapid succession Liz's relatives expressed dismay and astonishment.
"John? Oy vey! You want he should be called John?" Miriam clasped her hands.
"John? Since when is John his father's name?" Reuben protested. "And I might add, who among your relatives has that name?" he challenged.
"John? It's your boy, of course, but if you don't mind my saying so, isn't this a departure from tradition?" Reena objected.
"Tradition?" Liz's voice betrayed a trace of cynicism. "You're looking at a new momma in an old body and you talk to me of tradition?" She crossed her arms and tapped her right foot in irritation. "I'm waiting for an answer. Tell me how many in the tradition have become mommas at my age? Abraham's Sarah comes to mind. And that's it! So I'm in a company of two." Looking over at Zech sitting on a bench in the corner, Liz asked, "Isn't that right, Zech?"
Zech nodded his head. Out of all the people in that room, Zech knew best how he and Liz had departed from tradition. Not only had Liz conceived at an advanced age, but it took an outsider by the name of Gabe to inform them nine months earlier that they would have a baby. (Gabe had shown up nine months earlier in the Temple while Zech was offering incense during the evening service. "I've got news for you," he had announced and added solemnly as he pointed upwards, "from Mr. G." Zech almost collapsed as Gabe spelled out what Mr. G. had in mind.)
"Liz and me, parents? But we're too old. Besides it's been twenty years since...." Zech interrupted himself. He was going to say twenty years since he and Liz made an effort to have a baby. For the past twenty years it had been their tradition to play cribbage before going to bed, and that was the substance of the evening's entertainment. However, just the night before, they had looked longingly into one another's eyes over the cribbage board. "Shall we?" Zech whispered, to which Liz sighed, "Why not?" and the rest was history.
Zech had come home immediately after finishing up his work at the Temple. The other men interpreted Zech's silence and hasty departure as a sign of his deep humility. Liz wasn't quite so sure. Zech had tried to make her aware of what she could expect by drawing diagrams. Liz knew Zech had always liked to draw but she was shocked and embarrassed to have some very graphic pictures of what it takes to have a baby thrust before her eyes without a word of explanation.
"Have you been into the hootch?" Liz cried in alarm. Zech shook his head. He was beginning to wish he had as Liz wielded a heavy cast-iron frying pan in his face. "Too much incense gone to the brain? Is that it?" Again he shook his head. "You're telling me just because we missed one cribbage game we'll spend our declining years keeping Pampers in business?" Zech neither shook his head up and down nor back and forth. No. He simply shrugged his shoulders. He couldn't deny there were problems ahead. "How do I know you're not playing a game on me?" she asked skeptically. Zech counted out nine on his fingers and then curved both hands in the direction of Liz's stomach. "In nine months I'll know?" she interpreted. Zech beamed because he had finally gotten the message home to Liz.
It hadn't taken nine months, however, for Liz to confirm what was happening. A slender woman, Liz never put on weight, and when she picked up a few pounds Zech excitedly pointed over and over to the little curve on Liz's abdomen. Together they began planning for the baby's arrival. A panda bear, rocker, crib, baby buggy, tricycle, and a varied assortment of baby clothes filled the little room they had long ago set aside for the baby. The room had been sealed off twenty years earlier when their dream of having a baby failed to materialize. They had been sorely disappointed at not being able to follow the time-honored tradition of having children.
"Tradition?" Zech heard Liz challenge her guests who had gathered for the circumcision. "Don't talk to me about following tradition!"
"So you're not in favor of tradition?" Reuben raised an eyebrow.
Liz held the boy high and proclaimed, "This boy didn't come to us because of our tradition. We are not against tradition, mind you, but the tradition never prepared us for this one. Isn't that right, Zech?" Zech offered a thumbs up sign.
"But surely Zech has something to say about what the boy's name will be?" Miriam asked.
"Satisfy yourself. Ask him to tell you what the boy's name should be."
The guests looked anxiously toward the new father. "Well?" And tradition's voice waited for answer. Zech appeared to have been ready for the question. He had a writing tablet resting next to him which he now placed on his lap. Zech scribbled down four large letters. Holding the tablet in front of him where all could see he pointed to each of the letters in turn while all the guests followed in a solemn recitation, "J - O - H - N." No sooner had they said, "John," than Zech sputtered like a faucet turned on after a long period of disuse. "Jh, Jh, Jh, Jh, John. His name will be Jh--keh, Jh-keh, John and he will be Mr. G.'s personal PR Man."
"Mr. G.'s personal PR Man! Ohhhh! Really?" The guests fell silent.
"Yes, our son is going to be the advance man, traveling around the countryside, setting out Mr. G.'s plans for his people." The proud poppa flung back his shoulders and stood erect. Then, just as suddenly he plopped to his knees on the floor to play peek-a-boo with the baby. "Johnny, Johnny, cootchy-cootchy coo; cootchy-cootchy coo."
"But since he still isn't even able to stand," Liz interjected, "we have to feed John so he will grow up to be big and strong enough to tackle this job Mr. G. has in mind. And in a couple of minutes I will let you know whether his momma will break another tradition at feeding time. Zech, get up and serve the guests some tea. I'll be back shortly with our miracle baby."
And a minute later, Liz cried out joyfully from the other room, "So much for that tradition!"
Reflection
The past lives in us and we all live out of the past; but we are not the past. There are many persons, however, whose lives have been reduced to their pasts. "I am who I was" is a way of describing depressed people for whom there appears to be no hope because there is no future. It also aptly describes people who long for the good old days and consider the present a threat. They regard the present as a fall from better days when people presumably lived cleaner lives, worked harder, and went to church more often. "I am who I was" signals the individual's inability to be open to what is novel and surprising. But it isn't only the individual who can become a victim of the past.
Religious and political institutions fall prey to becoming identified with the past. Tradition can become a trap and a prison if it isn't open to what is different. What is tragic about the collective "I am who I was" of religious tradition is that the Unpredictable, the Mystery, the Holy cannot make an appearance unless it fits that tradition's understanding of how it should appear. In Tradition "John" doesn't fit the relatives' expectations of what the boy's name should be. They are appalled that the tradition of naming the boy after his father isn't being upheld. And in John's Gospel we read of Jesus: "He was in the world, and through him the world was made, yet the world did not know who he was" (John 1:10). John speaks of the Holy coming in a novel way; but it didn't "fit" and therefore passed unacknowledged. So today it is difficult for many persons to relate to God as Mother because, as everybody knows, God is Father!
"I am who I was" is also the fearful cry of one who is afraid of the future because it is unknown, uncertain, and uncontrollable. Liz and Zech know only too well the limitations tradition has in helping them comprehend what has happened to them. Letting go of the past and entering the future involves dying to the way things were and rising to new possibilities embodied in new vision. Flight into the past and identification with it inevitably condemn a person to be among the living dead.
No sooner had she spoken the name than the others gasped, "John?" In rapid succession Liz's relatives expressed dismay and astonishment.
"John? Oy vey! You want he should be called John?" Miriam clasped her hands.
"John? Since when is John his father's name?" Reuben protested. "And I might add, who among your relatives has that name?" he challenged.
"John? It's your boy, of course, but if you don't mind my saying so, isn't this a departure from tradition?" Reena objected.
"Tradition?" Liz's voice betrayed a trace of cynicism. "You're looking at a new momma in an old body and you talk to me of tradition?" She crossed her arms and tapped her right foot in irritation. "I'm waiting for an answer. Tell me how many in the tradition have become mommas at my age? Abraham's Sarah comes to mind. And that's it! So I'm in a company of two." Looking over at Zech sitting on a bench in the corner, Liz asked, "Isn't that right, Zech?"
Zech nodded his head. Out of all the people in that room, Zech knew best how he and Liz had departed from tradition. Not only had Liz conceived at an advanced age, but it took an outsider by the name of Gabe to inform them nine months earlier that they would have a baby. (Gabe had shown up nine months earlier in the Temple while Zech was offering incense during the evening service. "I've got news for you," he had announced and added solemnly as he pointed upwards, "from Mr. G." Zech almost collapsed as Gabe spelled out what Mr. G. had in mind.)
"Liz and me, parents? But we're too old. Besides it's been twenty years since...." Zech interrupted himself. He was going to say twenty years since he and Liz made an effort to have a baby. For the past twenty years it had been their tradition to play cribbage before going to bed, and that was the substance of the evening's entertainment. However, just the night before, they had looked longingly into one another's eyes over the cribbage board. "Shall we?" Zech whispered, to which Liz sighed, "Why not?" and the rest was history.
Zech had come home immediately after finishing up his work at the Temple. The other men interpreted Zech's silence and hasty departure as a sign of his deep humility. Liz wasn't quite so sure. Zech had tried to make her aware of what she could expect by drawing diagrams. Liz knew Zech had always liked to draw but she was shocked and embarrassed to have some very graphic pictures of what it takes to have a baby thrust before her eyes without a word of explanation.
"Have you been into the hootch?" Liz cried in alarm. Zech shook his head. He was beginning to wish he had as Liz wielded a heavy cast-iron frying pan in his face. "Too much incense gone to the brain? Is that it?" Again he shook his head. "You're telling me just because we missed one cribbage game we'll spend our declining years keeping Pampers in business?" Zech neither shook his head up and down nor back and forth. No. He simply shrugged his shoulders. He couldn't deny there were problems ahead. "How do I know you're not playing a game on me?" she asked skeptically. Zech counted out nine on his fingers and then curved both hands in the direction of Liz's stomach. "In nine months I'll know?" she interpreted. Zech beamed because he had finally gotten the message home to Liz.
It hadn't taken nine months, however, for Liz to confirm what was happening. A slender woman, Liz never put on weight, and when she picked up a few pounds Zech excitedly pointed over and over to the little curve on Liz's abdomen. Together they began planning for the baby's arrival. A panda bear, rocker, crib, baby buggy, tricycle, and a varied assortment of baby clothes filled the little room they had long ago set aside for the baby. The room had been sealed off twenty years earlier when their dream of having a baby failed to materialize. They had been sorely disappointed at not being able to follow the time-honored tradition of having children.
"Tradition?" Zech heard Liz challenge her guests who had gathered for the circumcision. "Don't talk to me about following tradition!"
"So you're not in favor of tradition?" Reuben raised an eyebrow.
Liz held the boy high and proclaimed, "This boy didn't come to us because of our tradition. We are not against tradition, mind you, but the tradition never prepared us for this one. Isn't that right, Zech?" Zech offered a thumbs up sign.
"But surely Zech has something to say about what the boy's name will be?" Miriam asked.
"Satisfy yourself. Ask him to tell you what the boy's name should be."
The guests looked anxiously toward the new father. "Well?" And tradition's voice waited for answer. Zech appeared to have been ready for the question. He had a writing tablet resting next to him which he now placed on his lap. Zech scribbled down four large letters. Holding the tablet in front of him where all could see he pointed to each of the letters in turn while all the guests followed in a solemn recitation, "J - O - H - N." No sooner had they said, "John," than Zech sputtered like a faucet turned on after a long period of disuse. "Jh, Jh, Jh, Jh, John. His name will be Jh--keh, Jh-keh, John and he will be Mr. G.'s personal PR Man."
"Mr. G.'s personal PR Man! Ohhhh! Really?" The guests fell silent.
"Yes, our son is going to be the advance man, traveling around the countryside, setting out Mr. G.'s plans for his people." The proud poppa flung back his shoulders and stood erect. Then, just as suddenly he plopped to his knees on the floor to play peek-a-boo with the baby. "Johnny, Johnny, cootchy-cootchy coo; cootchy-cootchy coo."
"But since he still isn't even able to stand," Liz interjected, "we have to feed John so he will grow up to be big and strong enough to tackle this job Mr. G. has in mind. And in a couple of minutes I will let you know whether his momma will break another tradition at feeding time. Zech, get up and serve the guests some tea. I'll be back shortly with our miracle baby."
And a minute later, Liz cried out joyfully from the other room, "So much for that tradition!"
Reflection
The past lives in us and we all live out of the past; but we are not the past. There are many persons, however, whose lives have been reduced to their pasts. "I am who I was" is a way of describing depressed people for whom there appears to be no hope because there is no future. It also aptly describes people who long for the good old days and consider the present a threat. They regard the present as a fall from better days when people presumably lived cleaner lives, worked harder, and went to church more often. "I am who I was" signals the individual's inability to be open to what is novel and surprising. But it isn't only the individual who can become a victim of the past.
Religious and political institutions fall prey to becoming identified with the past. Tradition can become a trap and a prison if it isn't open to what is different. What is tragic about the collective "I am who I was" of religious tradition is that the Unpredictable, the Mystery, the Holy cannot make an appearance unless it fits that tradition's understanding of how it should appear. In Tradition "John" doesn't fit the relatives' expectations of what the boy's name should be. They are appalled that the tradition of naming the boy after his father isn't being upheld. And in John's Gospel we read of Jesus: "He was in the world, and through him the world was made, yet the world did not know who he was" (John 1:10). John speaks of the Holy coming in a novel way; but it didn't "fit" and therefore passed unacknowledged. So today it is difficult for many persons to relate to God as Mother because, as everybody knows, God is Father!
"I am who I was" is also the fearful cry of one who is afraid of the future because it is unknown, uncertain, and uncontrollable. Liz and Zech know only too well the limitations tradition has in helping them comprehend what has happened to them. Letting go of the past and entering the future involves dying to the way things were and rising to new possibilities embodied in new vision. Flight into the past and identification with it inevitably condemn a person to be among the living dead.
