Faith as a Parade

By Joseph Hickey Tiernan, Rector

St. Barnabas Episcopal Church

February, 2004

I grew up going to parades.   Living in Philadelphia in the 1950s, I was exposed to dozens of them, small and large.   The New Year’s Day Mummers Parade, in which neighborhoods competed for the most imaginative and spectacular costumes,   was my favorite.   The holiday buying season began with the Gimble’s Thanksgiving Parade, with the first appearance of Santa Claus for the year, surrounded by floats and horse brigades and high school bands.   In the Veterans’ Day Parade, led by young soldiers and sailors and marines, there marched the few remaining veterans of the Civil War and the Spanish-American War.   My imagination soared and I could see them all on the battlefield together again.

I suspect what drew me to these outpourings of humanity was the excitement of so many people, united in one gigantic experience, but with each team happily engaged in a special tradition with a characteristic uniform or activity.   Eventually, I couldn’t stand there on the sidewalk any longer.   I remember the day my school was invited to hold the guide ropes which kept the floats from sailing away in the wind.   I was in the parade.

Although churches, synagogues, mosques and other faith gatherings are often confused with the buildings which bear their names, belonging to a Faith Tradition is truly becoming part of the parade.   What recruits us for this parade is a common sense of   the goodness of life, the sacred quality hidden in ordinary days and nights, and the hope that human beings can still turn out as intended by their Creator.

Each of our faith communities is woven out of stories.   Our Sacred Story, the tale of humankind’s relationship with the Holy, blends with the many stories of people, great and small, who live out the teachings of the larger story in their marvelous lives.   When we come together, whether in large groups or in intimate encounters, the faces around us glow with the same beauty and determination that lit the faces of ancient prophets and sages, martyrs and saints.   Much to our surprise, the very ordinariness of these new companions adds to the credibility of their traditions.   Authentic people make a movement live.   Love and Peace and Truth and Character acquire faces and habits and humor when found in a community of faithful people.

Let me tell you a story.   One night in a very poor section of Baltimore, I was in a Bible study.   The people around me formed a kaleidoscope of facial features and a symphony of accents.    The doorbell rang, and in from the rain walked a woman wrapped in scarves and a long brown coat.   She carried a white cane, and introduced herself as Helen, a social worker just assigned to a program around the corner.   Once she had settled into a chair, the reading continued with these words, “You are the light of the world.”   One of the college students in the group shifted in her seat and looked into Helen’s unseeing eyes.   “Helen,” she asked, “do those words mean anything to you?”   We all froze in embarrassed silence.   Helen laughed heartily.   “Not a thing,” she announced.   “I was born without the ability to see light at all.”   A grin continued to spread across her face.   “In fact, I’m just like you. I have to translate every spiritual idea into something that makes sense to me.”

The puzzled young woman at her side fumbled with her book, but Helen went on, “Try this: you are the warmth of the world!”   A surge of excitement ran around the circle.   A parade had broken out.   We were all joined in a common goal, but each of us was hearing and making sense of the traditional words in our own way.

I have been in many gatherings of people of faith since that night, and all of them lifted my spirits when good people spoke and listened and sang and lived out their traditions, in ways that made sense to them.   It is even better than a parade.