Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old. Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. – Isaiah 43:18-19
There is always going to be tension between tradition and
process. Tradition is of great
value. We can live full lives in keeping
with tradition. Those who came out of
Egypt kept the memory of the Passover, of the crossing of the Red Sea, and the
giving of the Law. Joshua had each of
the tribes bring a stone from the bed of the Jordan to commemorate that
miraculous passage. The history of
Israel told of the trials and triumphs of King David and of the wisdom of
Solomon.
Religious tradition anchors us in the same way the past
anchors us. We have to be careful about
the past, though, for while it provides us with a firm foundation, it can also
become a trap for us. We should not
allow it to obsessively control our actions in the present or so tightly
restrict and define us that we cannot adapt to new circumstances. I see that danger in myself as I grow
older. My best days have already been,
as far as this earthly life is concerned.
Yet I have no choice except to look forward.
God did not stop working miracles when the last Apostle
died. He did not stop pouring out His
Spirit after Pentecost. He did not stop
building the kingdom when the Church was born.
History rolls on. Lives are
transformed every day. Every day, we must
rise to face new challenges, and some of us feel compelled to seek out the new
trail God is blazing through the wilderness, to advance the kingdom and claim
new ground. The place where you and I
meet the Lord, where Christ has brought us may not be the land to which our
fathers in the faith lay claim. We are
always pushing the frontier – or we are holding the fort.
I think there are legitimate Christian settlers. There are those who are meant to people the
settled lands, to live more in the security of tradition. I’m not criticizing them. They are, as far as I know, doing their
job. I’ve been attending church with
them the past few weeks. I need them. They may not need me, but that’s all
right. I’ll keep quiet about some
things. You start talking about Unknown
Friends, Raccoons, and Upper Tonga, and people start looking at you funny and
remembering jeeps they have to re-primer.
I am in no way better than these brothers and sisters. I am simply not of that kind, though I thank God for them. They offer us stability in unstable
times. We can go out into the desert
places in search of the new things God is doing because they hold the ground
behind, because they offer a secure retreat when we are exhausted and weakened
by our ventures. We ought to recognize and appreciate them, and if they make us smile from time to time, that is part of their work as well. We are all in this together.
There is one body and one Spirit—just as you were called to the one hope that belongs to your call— one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all. But grace was given to each one of us according to the measure of Christ's gift (Ephesians 4:4-7).
