Editor's Postlude: Bereft of Ritual
Confronted by tragedy, grief, and loss, we are too often bereft of ritual in White North American culture. What do we do when the fickleness and frailty of life has devastated us?
The call came on a Friday afternoon. The caller was crying uncontrollably, but then we understood. An 18-year-old in our congregation had just been killed in a vehicle collision. He was a week away from graduation. He had been accepted into college. All the rich possibility that lay before him had been wiped away. What do you do when there are no words and not enough tears?
Just a year before, this young man, raised by his White grandmother, had proudly shown us his recently obtained Métis status card. We reached out to a Métis colleague, asking what rituals would be appropriate for this funeral. We also connected with a Métis friend of the family, a wise woman who came to journey alongside us and the grandmother in this unthinkable moment.
Together, we decided upon the Métis rituals to weave into the service: A brief smudging at the beginning. A Métis flag draped over the table. A photo of recent northern lights (the dancing ancestors) projected. And a tobacco ceremony.
At the conclusion of the service, the grandmother and extended family joined in placing a pinch of tobacco into a red cloth that would become a sacred bundle to accompany the urn. We then processed the urn, the tobacco, and the soon-to-be bundle out into the foyer. Everyone attending was invited to add a pinch of tobacco to the bundle.
I stood with the Métis Elder and we held the space as most of the more than 400 people present came to add tobacco to the bundle. We witnessed the tears, the final words, the anger, the love, the letting go. As the last person left, I turned to the Elder and said, “We all needed this ritual. Thank you for making it possible. We have lost our rituals in White culture.” And she nodded.
Indeed, White North America has lost its rituals. With the loss of ritual, we have forgottenwho we are and what we need, especially when confronted by tragedy and grief.
I remember another funeral. The elderly mother had spent time with me planning her funeral service, a final gift to her family. But after her death, one of the daughters felt she knew better. And so, instead, I found myself standing in a circle around the grave, holding hands with the family, engaged in giving three cheers: for the mother, for each of her children, for me (the minister), and for the funeral director (who was cringing along with me). Tears were not allowed. Gratitude for the mother’s life was cheapened. The need to let go was not named.
The rituals of our faith and society have been all but abandoned, as people have felt restricted by ritual. Indeed, ritual is not meant to bind us and should not be forced upon us. Rituals are not magical requirements that must be done, “or else.” Rituals should free us to grieve, celebrate, live, and grow. Rituals should help us know what to do when, confronted by an unthinkable tragedy, there are no words and not enough tears. Rituals should enhance and guide our celebrations of life transitions. We should be able to lean into rituals to find comfort and wisdom. Rituals should help us lean into God’s care. Rituals need to have both roots in tradition and wings of choice.
I’m not sure how we recover rituals that are rooted in generations of faith and culture, rituals that ground us and help us through life. While the tobacco ceremony was such a precious gift for a grieving community, it was only possible because the Métis Elder shared it with us. It is not to be appropriated. Made-up rituals, such as giving three cheers for the deceased, are u-grounded, empty of meaning, and devoid of the depth needed.
As the hundreds of young people filed into the church for the young man’s funeral, I noticed that almost everyone was wearing sombre tones. Perhaps our spirits naturally lean into the rituals of our culture when we need them the most, if we don’t let “three cheers for grandma” get in the way!
Susan Lukey, Editor
