Mummery. Noun. “A ridiculous ceremonial, especially of a religious nature.”
I first encountered the word mummery in a favorite book of mine several years ago. Since then it has been ever-present. The term applies to the many Lutheran church service ceremonials I have witnessed in my lifetime:
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The special hats, robes, and colored cloths the pastor wears to distinguish himself or herself as a holy person
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The raising of the bread and wine overhead as if to lift it to God (who lives up above on a cloud, of course)
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The obscure, venerated symbols and art, often in impenetrable Latin and Greek
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The highly ordered and specific processions, taking of communion, kyrie, words of our lord, agnus dei, hymns, benediction, etc.
It also applies to the “bells and smells” of the Catholic Church.
When I grew up with this nonsense it seemed like background normalcy as I colored in my coloring books and read my dinosaur books. Only as an adult did I perceive the proceedings as cult-like and deranged.
Despite realizing how stupid it all looked, I went along with the ceremony on Christmas and Easter, because that’s where the family went on those days. What else was I supposed to do – stay at home in an empty house and wait for everyone to return?
With this in mind, I am proud to say that at the age of 31, I proactively announced to the fam that I would not be participating in this year’s Chrimbus Eve worship. I stated my intention diplomatically and resisted the temptation to be snarky, sardonic or biting. I told them I would be visiting Grandma and invited them to let me know of anything I should bring to her or say to her.
The thing that motivated me now, and not 14 years ago, was the fact that my grandma cannot participate in Chrimbus this year. For the first time ever, at the age of 98, she is too frail to join the fam on Chrimbus Eve. My family has always done its major celebration on Chrimbus Eve. We dine, attend church, and then open gifts. Chrimbus Day in our fam includes a later start, with a few small stocking stuffers, another midday family meal, and then games and possibly football and a walk.
So during the time between dinner and gifts on this special night, I will be visiting the one family member who is excluded because of her age and frailty. I won’t be chanting hymns and closing my lids and raising my head to the sky. When the candles are lit I won’t be “opening my nostrils and inhaling with a mystic sensuousness.” I would have stood out obtrusively among the congregants because even when present at those services I decline to join the bread-breaking ceremonies, especially the ones where you kneel and eat directly from the pastor’s hand.
Instead I’ll be spending time with a sweet old lady who would otherwise be left out. Instead of being in the presence of mystical figures who are only conjured by candles and hymns, I will be in the genuine physical presence of someone who I care about. She has shown me so much real care over the years. It seems so obvious that we should be caring for her, and not engaging in mummery in candlelit darkness in an unfamiliar church so many miles away.
pseudoisaac 