[Note: Though some details may have been lost over time since this was first told to me, what follows is a true story and the broad strokes of it are accurate, to the best of my memory.]
Nearly two decades ago a professor at a Midwestern Bible College told me a story that illustrated the dangers of taking any tradition too seriously. This professor was frequently called upon to consult for congregations going through internal conflict. He facilitated conversations and mediated disputes, attempting to maintain unity while upholding a Bible-centered approach to Christianity. So, it wasn’t unusual that he was asked to help Southern Illinois a church in crisis one weekend. From the sound of it, the situation was critical and assistance was urgently needed to keep the congregation together.
He arrived to find the church hall packed and people embroiled in fierce arguments. Angry glares and red faces on either side of the aisle, with one side representing those wanting change, and the other that wanted things to stay the same. The issue, as it was then presented to this professor, was as follows.
During the church service every Sunday there was communion. This is a traditional ceremony wherein plates with pieces of bread and others with little cups of grape juice are passed around after a Bible reading referencing the death of Jesus, perhaps with comments and most certainly with prayer. While this is a normal event in most Protestant churches, in most denominations this “Lord’s Supper” is celebrated once a month or else once per quarter. In this fellowship of churches this is a weekly practice.
A unique aspect of this congregation’s take on the ritual was that a white cloth was placed over the elements on the communion table, and after the reading and prayer by one of the Elders, a couple of Deacons would go up and remove it. It was somewhat like the ceremony around taking down a flag, with a Deacon on either end of the cloth, and they would fold to the center. Only after this was complete would the trays with bread and juice be picked up and passed around those gathered.
This odd little ritual, unseen in any other known congregation, added a couple of minutes to the time it took to have the Lord’s Supper. A group in the church was campaigning remove the cloth from the ceremony, while others fought to maintain the tradition. One side saw it as a waste of time, and the other as an act of reverence.
Hearing both sides out, the professor thought it over, then asked who among those gathered had been a member of that congregation the longest. All heads turned to an elderly woman in her 80s, a senior citizen who had grown up in the church. He asked if she knew anything about how this tradition had started, and why.
“Well, I always thought it was strange that we still used that cloth. When I was a little girl we met at a different location, in a rural area. In the summer it was terribly hot, and since we didn’t have air conditioning, we opened the windows. Flies from the hog farm across the road were attracted to the bread and juice, and so one of the families donated a cloth to cover them and keep the flies off. After the church moved to this new building with central heat and air conditioning, we just kept using a cloth to cover the bread and juice, even though we didn’t need to any more. I never understood why.”
Silence fell over the congregation. Then a few nervous chuckles.
What had been seen as a non-negotiable aspect of worship by some was revealed as a necessity that had become an ingrained and unnecessary tradition.
Earlier in my life I did some church planting mission work in Brazil. One thing I often reminded my team members of was that whatever we did, be it order of service, holidays celebrated or ministries started, would likely become traditions. It was unavoidable. The regular practices of any group become a part of its history and culture. While we could make openness to change a theme, with distinct communities of people this only goes so far. It wasn’t possible to avoid tradition-making, so I asked everyone to think carefully about what kinds of traditions we wanted to pass down.
Our best efforts in that direction could, I’m afraid, be entirely undone by something as simple as a cloth on a communion table a generation or two later.
Stay flexible, people.
