Recently, a friend of mine was talking about church and musing out loud about the contrast between the simplicity of early Christianity and the pomp of modern church rituals, saying something like “if you compare what the first Christians did to what churches do now, you have to wonder about the difference.”

Coincidentally, I was in the middle of reading Elaine Pagels book Beyond Belief at the time. I am a fan of Pagels’ work — this is the third book of hers I have read, and her most recent book, Reading Judas is waiting for me on my coffee table right now.

Although Pagels’ work is scholarly, not religious, it has been a significant influence on my own religious ideas and struggles. Beyond Belief is about how and why orthodox Christians defined gnostic Christians as heretics, and it draws heavily on Gospels of John (orthodox) and Thomas (gnostic). She also discusses the diagnosis of her infant son with a fatal heart condition, his death a few years later, and her personal struggle with religion during that sad time. One passage in particular reminded me of my friend’s comment above. Pagels’ describes a Christmas eve service she attended with her daughter Sarah, saying:

I felt the celebration take us in and break over us like the sea. When it receded, it left me no longer clinging to particular moments in the past but borne upon waves of love and gratitude that moved me toward Sarah, toward the whole community gathered there, at home or everywhere, the dead and the living. For a moment I was shocked by the thought: We could have made all this up out of what had happened in our own lives; but, of course, we did not have to do that, for, as I realized at once, countless other people have already done that, and have woven the stories of innumerable lives into the stories and music, the meanings and visions of Jesus’ birth. Thus such celebrations are borne along through all the generations that have shaped and reshaped them, and those that continue to do so, just as encountering the tradition may shape and reshape us.

Pagels’ point in this passage — and in the whole book, really — is that one way to access god is through imagination and interpretation. This is the way the gnostics followed, and it was what ultimately got them defined as heretics. However, as Pagels’ points out in the passage above, the so-called orthodox Christians imagined, invented and interpreted too, and the rituals of modern church life are built on those imaginings. I’m uncomfortable with many of the standard teachings of Christianity, which is why I don’t anticipate becoming a member of a church again any time soon, but attending church and engaging with a religious community is extremely important to me. And while I have to think about it further, the idea of imagination as a route to god is compelling.

Personally, the only church ritual* that matters to me is communion. Jesus commanded his followers to partake of communion when they gathered, and to do so in remembrance of him. While Christians tend to approach communion with solemnity, I prefer to imagine Jesus partying with his friends to celebrate passover, and saying something like “Dudes, when I’m gone, you’ve got to keep doing this. When you pass the cup, remember me.”

Communion is the main reason I go to church — I cannot celebrate communion alone, and I find it a bit silly to call myself Christian without being in communion with fellow Christians. I think other church rituals are lovely and they define and mark congregations in the way rituals define and mark any social group, but they are not essential. Would I mind if my (high liturgy Episcopal) congregation suddenly stopped bowing to the gospel? Not at all. Would I miss it? Definitely.**

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Notes:
* I use the word ritual very carefully here — I’m not speaking of the sacraments.
** I can’t say the same thing about the incense though. That stuff reeks, and I could happily live without it, especially since I’m often near the front of the choir procession and get drenched in it.