The Life of Tradition
Written by Jody Benson
On a cool November afternoon, I drove to my friend’s home to see her brand-new “living library.” She asked me to be one of the first patrons to check out books from her sprawling collection. I walked to the porch of her suburban home, gazed up at the towering rafters beneath a pigeon-grey sky, and felt a tinge of skepticism that such a hobbit-like endeavor could be found in suburbia. Too much monotony and email checking had clearly enflamed my jadedness that day. But there was no better antidote than walking into this family’s warm home and letting my eyes scan her books as her daughters danced around me in princess garb, waving their wands as barcode scanners.
Her family had carefully curated books over the years that they now wanted to share with others. The fairy tales were like fine-art masterpieces with illustrations rendered in oil painting. A book on the first paratroopers with yellowed pages wafted with a musty age that reminded me that somehow this book made it through hands and boxes, homes and classrooms. Now these stories would live in the memory of my son and daughter, who nestled up with us at night to read.
Many of the books she collected came from library discard piles. Finding the right books wasn’t about scouring shelves but seeing what the preservation of tradition looks like. My friend had set these books aside with intention for families and for some other purpose than just making us literate and good readers. The library was indeed living and life-giving. Setting aside what is deemed true and beautiful enables our human flourishing but also gestures to our Creator—the Giver from whom all good gifts come.
With Advent just weeks away, all forms and manner of “tradition” would soon break free from their red-and-green Sterilite containers stowed away under basement stairs—the things that can sometimes become a placeholder for the actual acts that good traditions encourage. Tradition is a gentle, living teacher, and books have a unique capacity to discipline our desires and value system. Age-old hardcover books are like the wise grandmother who shows us that the sentimental is just a thin veil for the sacred. The living library also seemed to find me, just as all good traditions begin. When we go out searching for the right traditions in blogs (guilty!), our family’s practice will often come up short of the picture-worthy ideal. Tradition is a gift that can be neither sought nor bought.
In our family, we give books to our children for Christmas Day and Epiphany as we continue to build our home library. The long-vision hope is that these books will stand the test of time and be worthy of being passed down. Perhaps generations from now they will contribute to another living library. The immediate hope is that receiving a small gift may prolong the joy throughout the entirety of the Christmas season. I still recall the sadness that came after a gift-overload as a child. Too much consumerism seemed to snuff the spirit out of the Christmas season before it even began. In a week, I was already disillusioned by the toy I thought I so badly wanted. While this childhood despair is a mercy in some sense, a powerful first realization of my desire for heaven, it often comes at a price—the price of care of creation, stewardship, and a love for simplicity. Stories, on the other hand, give us a narrative to make sense of who we are, where we are going, our human condition. They preserve our peace and hope throughout the season.
The building and preservation of tradition isn’t always smooth sailing on today’s current. Giving books as gifts can seem antiquated at best and Scrooge-like at worst when pitted against the excitement of the next-best thing. But I think of the wise men, and the intentionality of their gifts. Christina Rossetti’s “A Christmas Carol” haunts me this Advent season with the perfect refrain, “What can I give Him, poor as I am?” This is a question of humility: Who am I? Who am I to be the one to offer a gift this season? The true gift is the realization of this poverty and our great need for love.
Christmas is a season of paradox. The swaddling cloth of Jesus anticipates his burial cloth. Joy and sorrow, fasting and feasting intermingle in true joviality. We anticipate, wait, and yearn for our heart’s desire. And in the moment after the final gift is unwrapped, when acedia creeps in to tempt us to despair of all things real and spiritual, all desire for only God, a story might just lift our spirit enough to remind us of our place in the Great Story of a salvation history. As part of a living tradition, the legends, tales, and classic stories promise to still play on in our memory when all else has failed to satisfy.
About Jody Benson
Jody C. Benson is an essayist and editor in Wisconsin. She received her master’s degree in bioethics and humanities from the Medical College of Wisconsin. Her writing has appeared in Comment, Public Discourse, Humanum: Issues in Family, Culture & Science, Verily, and others. She writes a Substack letter called A Holy Wonder, a place to find the good life in the creative life. Learn more at jodycbenson.com.
About Well-Read Mom
In Well-Read Mom, women read more and read well. Our hope is to deepen the awareness of meaning hidden in each woman’s daily life, elevate the cultural conversation, and revitalize reading literature from books. If you would like to have us help you select worthy reading material, we invite you to join and read along with us. We are better together! For information on how to start or join a Well-Read Mom group visit our website wellreadmom.com
