An empty ritual?

We are so accustomed to rituals offering us something, filling us with connection, and it is why we object to the emptiness when it all becomes rote, writes Anthony Castle.

BY ANTHONY CASTLE*

There was a familiar ritual to Sundays when I was young. There was the morning routine; kids pushed through the shower, creaking into the family sedan, the hum of church as we walked into the hall. The service itself followed a familiar runsheet; stand and sing, sit and listen, several songs and a sermon. Church itself was a ritual, mostly unchanged, each week.

Of all the formal rituals from those Sundays, the one that struck me the most was the recitation of the Lord’s Prayer aloud. There was the invitation, and a hush fell over the congregation before hundreds began whispering the same words, in one shared rhythm. I can still hear where the pauses fell, the murmuring of the old men, the clash of countless lips tripping over the word ‘trespasses’. It filled the room.

I remembered this recently while listening to an interview with American State Representative James Talarico. Talarico is a politician and a seminarian who has emerged as an important faith leader in difficult times. Talarico was asked about his prayer life, describing it as mostly silence and gratitude, but he also recites The Lord’s Prayer, aloud:

It’s much more of a ritual, but rituals are also a gift, because it’s almost like a rhythm that you’re getting back in touch with, a prayer that’s been said for 2000 years.

My own practice of the Lord’s Prayer was once ritualistic as well. In younger years, in simpler times, I stepped through the prayer each morning and reflected on the ideas within it. It became a way to acknowledge the divine, to reflect on its role in the world and how we respond to others.

Over time, the practice seemed harder, repetitive. Rituals are rhythmic by nature. Whether a prayer or a song, rituals are structured actions, performed regularly. Rituals are repeated in the same way, and as time passes, so does the novelty. One day, I found the practice felt empty. So I stopped.

It isn’t uncommon to find rituals losing their meaning over time. Many speak of finding rituals growing unfamiliar as they age. For some, circumstance changes the impact of the action, when things aren’t so simple. Life doesn’t remain unchanged, or flow from a runsheet, and these old rituals can start to seem hollow.

By their nature, rituals come to us as fixed experiences. A ritual is regular, repeated, rarely altered. If the significance of a ritual was its novelty, then it is flawed by design. Rituals must remain somewhat unchanged to be rituals. That we find them empty one day is perhaps inevitable.

Sometimes it may be useful to rest a ritual. There are always opportunities to reform rituals as well.

Rituals can be left to the side for a time or can allow countless forms of expression within their existing structure. There’s no reason the Lord’s Prayer can’t be practised via music, craft, or sock puppets (other than the obvious reason – that it all sounds kind of excruciating).

Sometimes the ritual needs a rest, sometimes it needs reform, but I wonder if there’s something to facing its emptiness too. In speaking further about the Lord’s Prayer, Talarico explained:

Sometimes a ritual, you’re not ready to feel it, but part of the ritual … is to get into that mode, even when you’re not feeling it.

Our lives can be filled with ritual, from the familiar routines of the week to prayers on Sunday. We are so accustomed to rituals offering us something, filling us with connection. It is why we object to the emptiness when it all becomes rote. For ritual to last, though, to be bigger than circumstance and difficult times, to span history, it needs more. Ritual needs our participation.

Just as the Lord’s Prayer has filled rooms for thousands of years, these rituals can fill us, connect us to the divine and to others. At other times, they can seem meaningless, but that emptiness also provides a depth. An empty ritual is an invitation. Sometimes the rituals fill us. Sometimes it is us who fills the ritual.

*Anthony Castle was previously a journalist with The Salvation Army's Publications Team, and is now a TSA Disability Inclusion Mission Specialist.