Belonging's Localities

“If you go to Atlanta, the first question people ask you is, "What's your business?" In Macon they ask, "Where do you go to church?" In Augusta they ask your grandmother's maiden name. But in Savannah the first question people ask you is "What would you like to drink?”
― John Berendt, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil

I've always had an interest and respect for "local custom" just like author Berendt shared.  Not only does it provide a shortcut to understanding, with it dangers of stereotyping and prejudice, but it also helps to navigate the world in and between these environs.

In most cases local custom is the property of those "landed" gentlepersons or long-time residents who can answer Augusta's question for instance with Walton or Fannin. But ownership is not so strictly defined such that a little mystery can't also be engaged in the protection and maintenance of those customs.

My respect for local custom has matured while being a priest in the Episcopal Church.  With our Book of Common Prayer much of what I do is "prescribed." But I have yet to serve -- especially in worship leadership -- the same way in two places.

Just like Berendt's cities each parish has its customs and ownership of those customs is just as mysterious.  Advent has it's local customs, too.

For instance, our practice of kneeling for the Collect of the Day at the beginning of Sunday's Eucharists is not one I've seen anywhere else in the church.  The only source I can imagine would have been from those days of re-founding that relied on lay leadership and Morning Prayer according to the 1928 BCP would have had just about all prayers prayed while kneeling.

Somehow that practice has survived into these years of priests present every Sunday, a "new" prayerbook, and several "stints" of service by the same priest inclined toward their own habits and standards.   The cloud of mystery fades and most often I see Graham Ponder in vestments saying "The Lord be with you."

My favorite "local custom" was the one of providing a small glass of vodka on the credence table as an antiseptic aid to cleaning the vessels after communion.  I'm NEVER saying where I encountered that "mystery."

I'm sure there'd be no complaint if one were asked Macon's question in Atlanta or Savannah's in Augusta.  But these customs are local for a reason.  There are stories to be told. There is an aspiration or hope behind them.  There are memories and griefs shared.  At their best they are empowered as much by love as fear, as much to invite as to exclude.

It's not easy but belonging means living through some "bad" answers and waiting for a turn to ask the question back of the "gentry" so they can tell their stories, too.  So when we ask Advent's question -- I don't know what it is -- let's hope for belonging to be answer.