Crossing Boundaries — Tradition

I have learned that even people who say they don’t believe in tradition have traditions.

I discovered this in some rather unexpected ways.

When I took Homiletics in Bible College, we were taught how a preacher should conduct himself while sitting on the platform. He should sit up straight and never cross his legs. He should wear a suit and tie. While sitting, he could unbutton his coat, but when he stood to walk to the pulpit, he should button at least one button.

That was simply the way a preacher was supposed to behave.

Years later, I encountered another tradition while taking Homiletics in Seminary. Each of us had to plan and conduct a worship service, including Communion, the Lord’s Supper, or the Eucharist.

As part of the service, I lifted the bread and the cup before the congregation. Afterward, my professor criticized me for lifting the cup too high.

Why?

Because, I was told, that was the way Catholics did it—and I wasn’t Catholic.

Two schools. Two lessons. Two very different traditions.

I was raised in a church that was suspicious of tradition, especially liturgy, ministers wearing robes, and other practices that seemed to set clergy apart from ordinary people. Yet as I grew older, I began to understand something:

We had traditions, too.

We simply didn’t always call them traditions.

Every church has traditions. Families have traditions. Communities and nations have traditions. We inherit ways of worshiping, celebrating, behaving, believing, and understanding the world from people who came before us.

And that is not necessarily a bad thing.

I need the wisdom of the past.

Much of what I know came from my parents, family, teachers, pastors, churches, and others who learned from generations before them. I don’t want to throw that inheritance away simply because it is old.

Tradition can preserve what is true.

But tradition can also hinder growth.

Sometimes the answer to the question Why do we do this? becomes simply, Because we have always done it this way.

That is when the Curious Pilgrim begins asking questions.

Why?

What was this tradition meant to accomplish?

Is it still accomplishing that?

Is what I was taught true?

Is there a better way?

What might I learn from people whose traditions are different from mine?

Jesus encountered questions about tradition. He was criticized for what he and his disciples did on the Sabbath. His response went beneath the practice to its purpose:

“The sabbath was made for humankind, and not humankind for the sabbath.”

The tradition had a purpose. The purpose was not to imprison people but to serve them.

That is why I call this category Crossing Boundaries.

Crossing a boundary does not mean abandoning everything on the side from which I came. It means being willing to step beyond what is familiar long enough to listen, learn, and understand.

When I encounter Christians from another tradition—or people from cultures and backgrounds different from my own—I don’t have to begin by deciding that they are infidels, heretics, or simply wrong. I can ask why they believe as they do. I can listen to their stories. I can learn how their traditions shaped them.

I may still disagree.

But understanding another person’s tradition can help me appreciate that person rather than condemn them.

At the same time, crossing boundaries does not mean changing direction every time the wind blows. If I discard everything I inherited simply because something newer comes along, I become rootless.

Tradition gives us roots.

But roots are meant to nourish growth, not become a fence that prevents us from exploring.

That is where discernment becomes essential.

My mother-in-law, Eileen, once asked me, “Why are you always wanting to change things?”

I have never forgotten that question.

She had a valid point.

If I am going to examine a tradition, I also need to be willing to examine myself. It is not enough to ask, Does this need to change? I also need to ask, Why do I want it to change? What is my motivation?

Am I responding to something I have learned?

Has new understanding shown me a better way?

Am I concerned that an old practice is hurting people or no longer accomplishing what it was intended to accomplish?

Or am I simply impatient?

Do I want something different merely because it is new?

Could pride be convincing me that my way must be better than the wisdom of those who came before me?

Discernment works in both directions.

I also need to ask why I want to keep something the same. Is it because I have examined it and discovered wisdom worth preserving? Or am I holding onto it simply because it is familiar, comfortable, and safe?

Neither tradition nor change should get a free pass.

Scripture gives us a helpful principle:

“Test everything; hold fast to what is good.” — 1 Thessalonians 5:21

That is how I want to approach tradition.

Receive it.

Learn from it.

Examine it.

Test it.

And examine myself while I am doing it.

Hold on to what is true.

Be willing to change what needs changing.

Sometimes questioning a tradition will lead me to leave something behind. Sometimes it will lead me across a boundary where I discover wisdom I had never encountered before. And sometimes, after questioning and examining an old tradition, I may discover why those who traveled before me considered it worth preserving.

Crossing boundaries is part of the pilgrimage because transformation requires the renewing of our minds.

I am grateful for the traditions that formed me. They are part of who I am. But the journey isn’t finished.

So I will keep crossing boundaries.

I will keep listening.

I will keep asking questions.

I will keep examining my own motivations.

And I will keep discerning what is worth carrying with me as I continue down the road.

The Curious Pilgrim