Recovering tradition

This is an illuminating exchange you re having, Stephanie and Franklin. I had always thought that one of the unusual things about Christianity was that it was so portable--not tied to any one culture, but capable of moving from place to place and custom to custom, always changing along the way, but never becoming unrecognizable. I can see that other religions, like Islam, or the more outgoing forms of Buddhism, or even Judaism--changing as its people move through other cultures--have this same transformational capability. This puts them in contrast, somewhat, to religious forms that are more firmly tied to one place and people, like Shinto.
And yet, if I look within Christianity, I can see that many of its divisions would be just as hard for a stranger to enter into and feel at home with as Shinto. Missouri Synod Lutheranism, for instance, or the Christian Reformed Church prevalent in Western Michigan in my youth. It s hard to picture, say, an African Christian joining a church of blue-eyed, blonde Hollanders with their insular customs going back to immigrant ancestors, and feeling completely at home. I always imagined that my own Catholic church was the most welcoming to all comers, just because it was so very big, and old, and weird, that it had absorbed just about everything. But I hadn t realized how many ethnic divisions there were even within Catholicism--the Irish parish at odds with the Germans, the Italians versus the Hispanic, and so forth, as it was in many big cities. And I fear that by placing itself in the forefront of politics, as the Church has done in modern times, it has made itself more confrontational and less absorbing. Perhaps we are all wanderers now. Even the traditions of our youth, which we thought we understood, have become strange to us in the course of our journey through a changing world. Perhaps, as T. S. Eliot said, We shall not cease from exploring And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time.

(Harvey, it's called [by some] the artist's moment. Relish it, learn to enjoy it, or be prepared to give up your art... or the idea of selling it, anyway.) You've opened my favorite can of worms: what is it that we are really talking about here? 1) Community, in its basic form, is when the instinct for personal survival at all costs finds an acceptable compromise with the fact that others will survive around me. Thus is born the notion of cooperation. Later, cooperation becomes a recognized value, taught rather than relearned (as with the wheel reinvention). 2) The notion that we can teach our children the necessities of survival, coupled with a history of success, gives us tradition. Also (this being a passion of mine), at some point the idea of tradition and the mechanics of it blend together. It becomes self-perpetuating. My favorite manifestation of that is folk music and dance (the two together). The collection of manifestations, and their longevity and consistency, become the defining components of culture. Rather than put in my two cents about change and such, I offer a quick example of how a culture can manifest survival at the highest level: adaptability. The Celts, from the point that they enter European awareness with the acquisition of their name keltoi from the Greeks, demonstrated a remarkable ability to assimilate ideas, traditions and mundane things from each culture they encountered in their migration west. Even when they finally became settled in Gaul and the isles, they continued to show an ability to take change as constructive. The best (and best documented) example of this is Celtic Christianity. At no point in their history could they be described as losing their basic identity. It truly is an amazing progression through history.