Tags
prayer, reflection, ritual of prayer, Sister Joan Chittister, The Sophia Center for Spirituality, Wisdom Distilled from the Daily
This morning I have a sense of recognition and remembrance that feels a bit like Sundays of long ago. It’s very quiet in our house. There was the “coffee chat” – the first sighting of our housemates in the kitchen – but the stillness that feels related somehow to the cold outside has now returned and we are left by ourselves to reflect on this weekly “holy day.” Before work schedules in the world were “24/7” we Catholics had a rule that said “No unnecessary servile work on Sundays.” Happily, that meant no serious cleaning, no heavy lifting…I couldn’t even iron my father’s handkerchiefs – a privilege I dearly loved.
What was the point of all that? Why was Sunday special for us as Saturday for the Jewish people in the next town? In describing the Sunday rituals of prayer in her monastery, Sister Joan Chittister offers the following thoughts.
Prayer is the filter through which we view our worlds. Prayer provokes us to see the life around us in new ways…Prayer is meant to call us back to a consciousness of God here and now, not to make God some kind of private getaway from life…prayer puts us in contact with past and future at once so that the present becomes clearer and the future possible. (Wisdom Distilled from the Daily, pp. 28-9)
While we still honor a day of the week with ritual, as do others in keeping with their religious traditions, it is helpful sometimes to step out of our routines and set aside a whole day for reflection on just what Sister Joan is talking about. I ask myself when was the last time I did this? What about you?
I just read a paragraph for this date in Alan Cohen’s book A Deep Breath of Life. It was altogether astounding to me considering the people he was talking about. But, of course, that was his point. If you’re feeling inept or less than creative today (or any day) you might want to have these words on a small paper folded in your wallet that you can pull out and read to give you confidence in yourself.
On this dreary Saturday morning it is clear that the earth has shifted into the season of Autumn. As the rain taps out a wake-up call on the roof, I wonder if we will see the usual splendor that accompanies October. Some say because of the hot, wet summer we had, the trees will not provide us with that gift this year. I always hold out hope though, and it will last in me for a few more days. For now, I am relaxed into morning by a prayer of John Philip Newell that expands the rhythms of time and the seasons into a God-like view.
It is said that “old habits die hard.” I was aware of that in a small way during the days of retreat from which I returned yesterday. Each morning when I awoke to the sounds of silence one of my first thoughts was of my daily writing task. Since I had announced the 5-day hiatus, I was able with just a grateful breath to simply turn toward the silence and enter the day where the only speaking was in sessions of prayer & reflection on the mystical practices of Sufism. What became the most obvious truth for me swirled around and into every hour of the day in the words of the chant: Wherever I turn, there is the face of God.
When I was in elementary school at Our Lady Help of Christians parish, it was the custom on our tests (and probably other written work) to place a small cross at the top of the page and underneath to print JMJ (Jesus, Mary, Joseph). I don’t remember being instructed each time to do what was most likely supposed to become a habit of dedicating our work to the Holy Family but I suspect for many of us it was either a desperate prayer for help or a desire to be seen as pious. Later on, as we grew into the upper grades and got more sophisticated, the letters changed to AMDG (Ad majorem Dei gloriam = for the greater glory of God). Knowing the meaning in English was easier than remembering the Latin words, at least until we got to high school. It wasn’t until much later that I learned how famous that phrase was.
Late yesterday just after I had arrived at the party marking the 85th birthday of my friend, Florence, the skies opened and gave a torrential drink of water to the parched earth. Just before I left an hour later to return to the retreat I was hosting at home, the rain stopped. Sometimes things just happen that way. Had I been home without a group of people wrapping up an afternoon of deep reflection, I would have loved to go outside and let myself be washed by the cooling water falling from the sky, as I symbolically felt the sensation of having all things being made new. I opted instead for the reasonable option of staying dry.
Here’s a little quote from Thomas Merton’s New Seeds of Contemplation that needs to be breathed out one clause at a time to give us a whole day of reflection. See where it takes you.