Saturday 29 January 2011

How to get it rite...

I went to see an incredible film last night called Of Gods and Men. It is a French film, based on a true story about a group of trappist monks who must decide whether to stay or leave their monastery when their Algerian community comes under threat from fundamentalist terrorists. You can see a clip here: http://www.imdb.com/video/imdb/vi3877411353/ It is a film about faith and ritual, brotherhood and community, love and fear. It is both gentle in it's appreciation of the simple, quiet life of a monastery, and powerful when depicting what is happening outside, and later inside, its walls. And, when the film finished, I couldn't move out of my seat.
This film has appeared at a pertinent time for me, as I've been thinking a lot about ritual. I was brought up as a Catholic. As a child I went to mass on Sundays and relevant Holy Days, and I went to Catholic Schools. It wasn't being forced on me in any way. It was what we knew as a family, and it was something we did together as a family, as did most of my relatives and friends. Once I was old enough to make my own mind up, and decided there were aspects of Catholicism that I felt weren't in keeping with the idea of accepting people for who they are, I drifted away from religion. But I have very happy memories of going to church and have no regrets about it being a part of my life.
I realise now what I loved most was the sense of ritual and the comfort it gave me – the lighting of candles, the chanting of prayers, the singing, the joining of hands and voices, the heightened relevance to certain times of year and, of course, that sense of faith. I don't mean to sound all deep and theological. For me, this isn't about God. It's about wanting to recapture that sense of ritual –  having little observances in my day, week, month and year, that go beyond the every-day rituals of getting out of bed, into the shower, eating breakfast, etc. There are, as I've mentioned in previous posts, things in my life that bring a sense of comfort and contemplation, like walking in the woods, baking cakes, listening to music. And certainly leading funeral services stokes the gentle fire that is keeping my sense of ritual alive and warm.
But I still feel I'd like to do something else. Meditation is certainly on the list, but there is also nothing stopping me from joining my hands together in my own version of prayer, singing out loud, lighting a candle in my own little 'shrine'. Nothing stopping me...  except, perhaps, my own sense of feeling this might be an odd thing to do, maybe? Well, I think I need to get over that. I left 'organised' religion because it was too rigid in its thinking (and the small matter of not being sure there was a God). So if I want to create some rituals that are more Comfort than Catholic, I think I'll just quietly get on with it...

3 comments:

  1. What an utterly delightful post.

    We surely need ritual, enacted symbol, at a deep level. For non-believers or just "don't know"s, where is that to be found? Our culture's public rituals, outside of churches, mosques, synagogues and temples, serve some purpose (remembering the dead of war-time, graduations, that sort of thing) though our political views can affect our view of them (i.e. is the Cenotaph on Remembrance Sunday etc. an outmoded relic from an imperial past, or is it just right?)
    Sometimes an act can take on a ritual power, even though it doesn't have a ritual shape. I once visited a memorial to the murdered Jews of wartime Prague. All the names were inscribed on walls, and simply walking slowly past them seemed to have a ritual power. It sure choked me up, anyway. Er, still can...where was I? Ah yes - ditto the silent people who queue up and then shuffle round Anne Frank's house, in near-silence. All day long.

    But what about the rituals of joy and thanksgiving? And what to do about the personal rituals we lack?

    We sometimes borrow. The Long-Suffering One and I visited a beautiful cathedral, and the L-SO lit a candle to a parent from the same area who had recently died, stood quietly for a bit and walked slowly off. Seemed to help. Neither of us could accurately be described as Christians, but I was very grateful to the C of E that day, for all its ritual possibilities and resonances. And for a bunch of medieval architects and masons of astonishing skill.

    Maybe we do need to invent. See Charles' post on Gail Rubin's book about funerals, and the point about little domestic shrines of remembrance and gratitude.

    You mention meditation, CB. The mindfulness methodology teaches a mildly ritualised approach to meditation; my tutor used to ring a little Chinese-type bell thingy before we started and when we finished. At first I thought it a bit of a 1968 leftover, then I got to appreciate its effect. And John Kabat-Zin advocates quite a ritualised sort of setting yourself before you start, in some of huis exercises. All seems to help.

    Good luck in your search for shape and symbol to help you live. And thanks for getting me to think some more about all this.

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  2. This was one of those posts where, after writing, you click on 'publish' and wonder if you would have been better to have kept your thoughts to yourself! But, after reading your response GM, I'm so very glad I shared them. You have summed it up so eloquently as a 'search for shape and symbol to help you live'. I will certainly be following up your comments regarding the mindfulness meditation and John Kabat-Zin. I agree that cathedrals are places of both architectural majesty and opportunities for quiet acts of mindfulness. Six months after my grandfather died I was visiting Paris and lit a candle for him in Notre Dame. I'll never forget it...
    Thank you GM.

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  3. And the excellent discussion following Charles' post on Gail Rubin's book, to which you contribute, CB, deepens our thinking about what a shrine is, what it's for, what it can do for us. This is all such rewarding stuff.

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