Keep your mind in the game

-->

One of the side effects of having an aneurysm burst in my occipital lobe was I saw double.   As the blood cleared from my brain, however, this passed.  The occipital lobe serves to interpret the data coming through from the eyes.  Damage to this portion of the brain means that the brain will not decode properly or will not receive the images from the eyes.  No connection to the brain, damaged sight or even blindness.

Sometimes we pray like that.  The voice speaks the words, but the words don’t connect to the brain. We sing; we recite the prayers.  However, no connection is made in the brain, in the soul; we are not listening; we are deaf to the word.

“Let us consider, then, how we ought to sing psalms in such a way that are minds are in harmony with our voices.” (RSB 19)

The discipline of the psalmody is not to be faithful to the routine: to read the right psalm on the right day at the right time.  The discipline is to be present in mind and spirit to each word of the prayer, to be truly “reverent.” 

Lectio Divina: Pray the words

1. Silence:  Recollect,  meditate, breathe
2.  Lectio:  Read the words, Savor the words, Listen to the words
3.  Meditation: Repeat a word or phrase which speaks to you this day, deepen awareness, stir memories
4.  Oratio: Let prayer form from the phrase or words  
5. Contemplation: Listening for God’s response, be still in the presence of God.

Discipline

Almost three years ago, our first group of Benedictines at St. Martin’s met.  Our challenge was to read from the rule and the Psalms daily.  At the beginning, filled with the spirit of a new endeavor, I was enthusiastic and faithful.  I read C.S. Lewis’s understanding of the Psalms; Merton’s; Bonhoeffer’s.  I bought a Psalter.  Every two months I worked through all 150 Psalms.

In the second year, I was not so disciplined.  I made a CD with Psalms 67 and 51 at the beginning; Psalms to start each day as I drove to work; the daily morning prayer Psalms prescribed by Benedict.  Occasionally, I pulled out the Psalter.  However, this misses the spirit of the readings:  we are not to read the psalms we love; we are to read all the psalms.

Recently, as we began to read the chapters about the order of Benedictine worship, I realized that I had abandoned the Psalms altogether.  Benedict’s prescription for worship always seems so hard to follow, until the end of the chapter.  Here, he tells us to be sure to read all of the Psalms each week.  He allows us to change the order if we need to.  But, 150 Psalms?  This is discipline: to read faithfully each of the psalms whether we are in the mood or not, whether the message seems to fit our lives at that moment or not.  This is the discipline and the challenge.

When we began to follow in the footsteps of Benedict, we agreed to follow the format found in the Psalter in the Book of Common Prayer.  In this sequence, all of the psalms are read each month.  We made one amendment. The Psalter assigns readings for each day of the month, prescribing some readings for the morning and some for the evening.  We agreed to read the morning Psalms on the odd months (Jan., Mar, May, July, Sept., Nov.) and the evening Psalms on the even months.

So, as is often true of the Benedictine’s discipline, I begin again.  To misquote the rule:  We read, after all, that our ancestors, energetic as they were, did this all in a single week.  Let us hope that we, lukewarm as we are can achieve this in the course of two months.

The Same Psalms repeat.

 To repeat the words each day at the same time could lead to rote memorization.  How often do we repeat the words of the Lord’s Prayer without hearing them?  How often do we go through the motions of the Mass without our spirit being present? 

However, in times of stress and anxiety, to have the words at hand brings comfort.  When the mind will not think clearly, the memorized prayers give me the words I need.  The rhythm of the days in which we repeat the words of the psalms or of prayers become rhythms with which we float when we need something to keep us above the raging waters of difficult times.

O Lord Make Haste to Help Us

The Benedictine Monks days begin with prayer; they end with prayer.  In the midst of the days – in the midst of work – they are called to prayer; the little hours are times to stop in the midst of the work and pray and to center ourselves in Christ.  These prayers are scheduled every three hours.  Do I schedule, intentionally, moments to stop in the day?  How could I accomplish this?   

In John McQuiston’s little book Always We Begin Again,  he has structured a day with seven stopping points to give thanks, to ground, resist the temptation of despair,  to call upon the Lord.  Here is his schedule:

6:45 – 7:15  Reading and Meditation.  Use a mantra and silence to be present to Christ; give thanks.

Breakfast

Commute:  Praise God; Center the Self in Christ.

Work:  Slow down; don’t rush.  [“For what does it profit them if they gain the whole world and forfeit their lives.” Matt 15: 22-25]

10:30:   A minute of Silent thanksgiving and praise.

Work:  Stop for deep breathing when tense to center the self.

Noon:  A minute of silent thanksgiving

Lunch:  Eat in community if possible.

Work:  Remember to slow down; remember to be genuine.

2:30: A minute of silent thanksgiving.

Work

Commute:  Praise God; Give thanks for the Day.

5:30 – 6:00 Exercise

Supper with the family; Reading and Family Time.

10:00  Meditation and Thanksgiving

Sleep

Mr. McQuiston schedule echoes the Benedictines, who pray every three hours.  He adapts the requirements of modern life, but this adaptation to the rhythms of the world seems very Benedictine in and of itself.

What is your schedule?  How can we place moments intentionally in our day?  When I was teaching, these moments were integral to my day.   On medical leave, I must manage my own time and be more intentional in the midst of a day without a structure.  I will be thinking on how to do this.  Add a comment and share your thoughts on this.

Alleluia

Remembering the Saints

Benedict accommodates worship to remember the saints; Sr. Chittister speaks of the saints as our community’s heroes.  What is the communion of saints?  Those believers who light the way before use; the valiant who defend the cross; the extraordinarily faithful who obey the rule without question; those who hear the voice of God?

When I was in the hospital, I received a card with Numbers 6: 24 -26 on its face:

The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious to you; the Lord lift up his countenance upon you, and give you peace.

I have meditated on these words using Lectio Divina for weeks, and today the Oratio, the part in which the words of the meditation becomes a prayer, these words become a prayer that I too will more fully walk with communion of saints:

May I be a blessing for those I encounter today; may I be the face of the Lord shining for someone who needs light; may I be filled with kindness and graciousness with each person I encounter this day;  May I be the voice and hand of comfort and solace, walking beside someone today who needs a hand to hold;  May these acts bring peace and fill our hearts.  Amen.

So many folks have been Christ to me these past weeks; I have learned so much about being present in these acts of mercy and compassion.  I hope and pray that I may become this, following in the footsteps of the saints. 

How do we begin our day?

As we have read in the rule these past few days about Lauds – the morning prayer – this is the question that echoes.  This question is also pressing for me because two months ago, a brain aneurysm burst in the occipital lobe of my brain, and the routines which shaped my life ceased.  The rituals and daily procedures have given way to days filled with a focus on healing.  And these days have shifted and changed as the course of my healing progresses. 

In the hospital, my morning began with waiting:  for nurses to give medicines, for my husband to arrive with tea.  This waiting was often characterized by closing my eyes against the headaches and breathing through the pain; I would breath through the muscle aches and cramps of forced bed rest.  I listened to Peter Gabriel’s song “Washing of the Water” in which we pray “teach me how to float” and to “wash this pain away.” I have been blessed; I was only in the hospital three weeks. I am grateful for the goodness around me. I rejoice in the love of my family, the kindness of my visitors, the prayers freely given, the abundance which poured forth from the communities at work and church.  Praise God! Let your ways be known on earth! (67:2)

When I first arrived home, the morning formed a ritual: medication and a bath.  In the hospital, I was given sponge baths, and when I first came home, the stitches in my head prevented me from showering; I gloried in bathing.  This water washed the pain away; it was meditative and healing.  In Psalm 51, each day we ask God to heal: to wash us through and through.  In those days, my prayer focused on physical brokenness.  I prayed these mornings for strength, both physical and spiritual.  During these days friends visited, letting me find strength in their presence.  I was given CDs to listen too, since I was still seeing double.  My husband called home each day to check on my well-being.  Create in me a new heart; renew a right spirit within me. (51:11)

As my eyesight and mobility have improved, I have begun to feel anxious about getting things done, getting moving.  Some days I must force myself to be still in the morning; some days I get bogged down in the stillness.  And even as I try to be still, I find myself surrounded by distractions: a computer, a tablet with solitaire and crossword puzzles to play, two books, and a TV.  So, while I am physically still, I am quite restless.   I have lessons to learn from these days of brokenness.

How should I begin my day?  How do you begin each day?  How do we set our mind in the way that we should go each day?