The Rosary
Over the summer, T, S and I went on a family retreat to a Catholic convent in a city about two hours away. Since my mid-20s, I've taken a personal retreat nearly every year, but this experience was different, both because we were all together, and also because we went to a Benedictine convent, with an emphasis on hospitality. In other words, as opposed to the convent where I've often retreated in the Twin Cities, or the Methodist retreat apartment I've sometimes used in the middle of the woods, we weren't left alone. We were invited each day to attend the services, and we had a host who took us to lunch and supper, where we made small talk with the nuns.
I loved the services of the hours. I have always tried to remember to pray at the hours as they are celebrated in the Orthodox Church--7 a.m., noon, 3 p.m., 7 p.m., midnight--but I don't always manage to remember, nor is it always possible for me to pause. But I have for years said the Orthodox morning prayers every morning, a ritual that has sustained me. They are beautiful, and even after all these years I've never ceased to hear something new when I'm actually paying attention. And when I'm not--well, I say them anyway. I don't think it can hurt to keep a ritual, even if you aren't always actually keeping it in the way it's meant to be kept.
I started working on my health about two years ago, and after getting to a healthy weight by changing my diet, I decided last summer to add a work out to my daily routine. Since then, nearly every day, I've gone to the gym to work out for 30-45 minutes, depending on how much time I have. This has become possible because S sleeps in until 8 a.m. now, when her first caretaker arrives, so I can slip out at 6:30 without waking her. I am able to read the day's devotionals and have breakfast by myself, then head to the gym. I now do my morning prayers (silently) while working out.
At the retreat, I was introduced for the first time to the rosary. I had heard of it before, of course, but hadn't really paid attention to what it was. I decided to try it at the retreat during the times S, T, and I had designated as alone time. I had to follow a guide--this is not a ritual in my own religious tradition--but it didn't take long before I had internalized most of the prayers and the order (though I still haven't managed to memorize the closing prayer, nor have I learned the series that are usually said on Sundays, which include the assumption and crowning of Mary, neither of which are stories I learned as a child. I'm not even sure the Orthodox believe in these events; I keep meaning to look into them and learn more, but I've admittedly been lazy about it). I've now added the rosary to my gym prayers, after the Orthodox morning prayers.
The rosary is meaningful to me because it guides me back, again and again, to the same series of seemingly unrelated stories, forcing me to pay attention to how they are connected--as well as to my role in them. For instance, the series said on Thursday (I still don't honestly remember their names) begins with Jesus' baptism, then the miracle of turning the water to wine at the wedding in Cana, then his preaching about the kingdom of God, then the transfiguration, and finally, the Eucharist. My take on these may be a bit different than the traditional Catholic take, but I see these connections as being about our call to act in the world--we're called to be humble as John was, courageous as Jesus was, called to remember our baptism and that we are part of the family of God. We're called to be truly present at the celebratory moments in our lives--and to recognized that God is there with us. Like Jesus' disciples, we're called to act for justice in the world, to bring Jesus' message of love and justice to those we meet. Just as Jesus went up to the mountaintop to reconnect to his calling, we're expected to do the same--to both be in celebratory moments like the wedding in Cana and to take time apart to remember our connection to the long history of God's work in the world. And, finally, we're called to be present at the table with those we love, and to remember how we embody God's love in us.
But it doesn't end there. Each of the series reverberate with each other. For instance, the joyful mysteries, which begin with the Annunciation, then move through Mary's meeting Elizabeth, the birth, the presentation in the temple, and finally, Jesus preaching in the temple for the first time when he was 13--these Monday stories set the stage for the Thursday stories. We're reminded of the joy John felt, even in the womb, when meeting Jesus, of the deep friendship and care between Mary and Elizabeth. Mary's humility and willingness to be a vessel for God's work in the world reverberates with the Eucharist. The presentation of Jesus in the temple--and the joy with which he was received by Anna and Simeon, not to mention his birth, first witnessed by shepherds--reverberates with the joyful revelation to the servants, first, that the water had turned to wine. And on and on.
Saying the rosary is way of becoming a part of the story, of listening to the familiar with new attention, of noticing connections that were never clear before. Of recognizing the themes of deep love and friendship, of the importance of retreat, of the importance of humility--and the special love God has for those who are least powerful, of the importance of acting in justice--the great themes of Jesus' life--again and again.
I don't actually carry my rosary at the gym, but once in awhile I will pull out the blue-beaded rosary I purchased at the end of that family retreat and actually use it, and I love the cool touch of each bead and medal, love the way the chain slips through my fingers, and I think.
It's strange that someone raised Orthodox who now attends a United Church of Christ--who went through periods of calling herself an atheist, an agnostic, a Unitarian--who identifies as a lesbian and feels a deep pain each time the Catholic Church lashes out against GLBT people, or, for that matter, its own abuse victims--should end up on the elliptical at 6:30 a.m. saying the rosary to herself, counting Hail Mary's. It's even stranger that through this ancient prayer from a tradition that has not exactly embraced me, I've discovered a deeper connection to all of those who were most intimate with Jesus, and with Jesus himself--but there you have it.
I loved the services of the hours. I have always tried to remember to pray at the hours as they are celebrated in the Orthodox Church--7 a.m., noon, 3 p.m., 7 p.m., midnight--but I don't always manage to remember, nor is it always possible for me to pause. But I have for years said the Orthodox morning prayers every morning, a ritual that has sustained me. They are beautiful, and even after all these years I've never ceased to hear something new when I'm actually paying attention. And when I'm not--well, I say them anyway. I don't think it can hurt to keep a ritual, even if you aren't always actually keeping it in the way it's meant to be kept.
I started working on my health about two years ago, and after getting to a healthy weight by changing my diet, I decided last summer to add a work out to my daily routine. Since then, nearly every day, I've gone to the gym to work out for 30-45 minutes, depending on how much time I have. This has become possible because S sleeps in until 8 a.m. now, when her first caretaker arrives, so I can slip out at 6:30 without waking her. I am able to read the day's devotionals and have breakfast by myself, then head to the gym. I now do my morning prayers (silently) while working out.
At the retreat, I was introduced for the first time to the rosary. I had heard of it before, of course, but hadn't really paid attention to what it was. I decided to try it at the retreat during the times S, T, and I had designated as alone time. I had to follow a guide--this is not a ritual in my own religious tradition--but it didn't take long before I had internalized most of the prayers and the order (though I still haven't managed to memorize the closing prayer, nor have I learned the series that are usually said on Sundays, which include the assumption and crowning of Mary, neither of which are stories I learned as a child. I'm not even sure the Orthodox believe in these events; I keep meaning to look into them and learn more, but I've admittedly been lazy about it). I've now added the rosary to my gym prayers, after the Orthodox morning prayers.
The rosary is meaningful to me because it guides me back, again and again, to the same series of seemingly unrelated stories, forcing me to pay attention to how they are connected--as well as to my role in them. For instance, the series said on Thursday (I still don't honestly remember their names) begins with Jesus' baptism, then the miracle of turning the water to wine at the wedding in Cana, then his preaching about the kingdom of God, then the transfiguration, and finally, the Eucharist. My take on these may be a bit different than the traditional Catholic take, but I see these connections as being about our call to act in the world--we're called to be humble as John was, courageous as Jesus was, called to remember our baptism and that we are part of the family of God. We're called to be truly present at the celebratory moments in our lives--and to recognized that God is there with us. Like Jesus' disciples, we're called to act for justice in the world, to bring Jesus' message of love and justice to those we meet. Just as Jesus went up to the mountaintop to reconnect to his calling, we're expected to do the same--to both be in celebratory moments like the wedding in Cana and to take time apart to remember our connection to the long history of God's work in the world. And, finally, we're called to be present at the table with those we love, and to remember how we embody God's love in us.
But it doesn't end there. Each of the series reverberate with each other. For instance, the joyful mysteries, which begin with the Annunciation, then move through Mary's meeting Elizabeth, the birth, the presentation in the temple, and finally, Jesus preaching in the temple for the first time when he was 13--these Monday stories set the stage for the Thursday stories. We're reminded of the joy John felt, even in the womb, when meeting Jesus, of the deep friendship and care between Mary and Elizabeth. Mary's humility and willingness to be a vessel for God's work in the world reverberates with the Eucharist. The presentation of Jesus in the temple--and the joy with which he was received by Anna and Simeon, not to mention his birth, first witnessed by shepherds--reverberates with the joyful revelation to the servants, first, that the water had turned to wine. And on and on.
Saying the rosary is way of becoming a part of the story, of listening to the familiar with new attention, of noticing connections that were never clear before. Of recognizing the themes of deep love and friendship, of the importance of retreat, of the importance of humility--and the special love God has for those who are least powerful, of the importance of acting in justice--the great themes of Jesus' life--again and again.
I don't actually carry my rosary at the gym, but once in awhile I will pull out the blue-beaded rosary I purchased at the end of that family retreat and actually use it, and I love the cool touch of each bead and medal, love the way the chain slips through my fingers, and I think.
It's strange that someone raised Orthodox who now attends a United Church of Christ--who went through periods of calling herself an atheist, an agnostic, a Unitarian--who identifies as a lesbian and feels a deep pain each time the Catholic Church lashes out against GLBT people, or, for that matter, its own abuse victims--should end up on the elliptical at 6:30 a.m. saying the rosary to herself, counting Hail Mary's. It's even stranger that through this ancient prayer from a tradition that has not exactly embraced me, I've discovered a deeper connection to all of those who were most intimate with Jesus, and with Jesus himself--but there you have it.
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