New Trad Diary Post

New Trad Diary post, here.

Liturgy of the Hours

Edgartown's town clock, two blocks from my home, visible from every east-facing window; an anchor of sorts.



On December 6, 2014 I wrote in my journal, "Okay, I've decided to start with the Daily Office 2X/day...We'll see where this leads.

I was skeptical at first, wondering if I'd have the discipline to stick to it, and I'll admit that in the beginning I found having my mornings and nights (I opted for 9am and 9pm) interrupted to be a little annoying and tried to get through each session as quickly as possible.

But almost three months later, I have to say: I have come to look forward to these scheduled appointments with God. In fact, as part of this year's Lenten practice, I have added 12:00 to my schedule.

The thing that's helped the most is my phone. My phone happens to have a great alarm app. I can set it up to ring at the same time every day (I've set it up to alert me ten minutes before prayer time; I hit snooze so I can come to a stopping point in whatever project I might be involved in), I can label the alarm (Morning Prayer, for example), and can choose the ring tone (I chose a gentle bell sound, such as one would hear in a monastery, perhaps). I've also got a Daily Office app on my phone (Laudate, which also has a lot other cool stuff). It's all very handy.

There are many reasons why I love praying the Daily Office.

For someone who would love to be at Daily Mass but does not have that option at the moment, it keeps me connected with the Church. At first I was lackadaisical about adhering to the exact times - the alarm would ring and I'd turn it off, finish whatever I was doing, and maybe a half hour - or more- later, would tend to the prayers. At some point I realized that if I prayed at the prescribed times, I was joining my prayers with every other clergy, religious, and lay person who happened to be praying at that time - world wide - so now I am much more strict about staying on schedule. And though I do occasionally miss a prayer, I have missed surprisingly few.

For a person who works mostly from home, whose day is largely unstructured, I find that being accountable to something 3x/day offers much needed structure and discipline in my life. Something to show up for. I work much better with deadlines and structure, I find. It's amazing, for example, how much I am able to accomplish in those ten minutes between the warning bell and prayer time.

The big thing, of course, is these prayer times - which consist of a hymn (for which I enjoy making up tunes) a few psalms, seasonal responses, and a short reading - are encounters, in poetic form, with our own humanity: our ups and downs, pleadings, lamentations, and celebrations; ultimately, these prayer times are actual, personal encounters with Christ. Not only do the psalms happen to be the prayers and songs he chanted in the temple when he walked the earth, but he is also the author of them. When I pray or sing the psalms, I am literally praying and singing his thoughts. And instead of rushing through, I have come to savor each session, often even thinking, "Oh, it's over already? That was fast."

I can actually feel the Daily Office transforming me. Instead of God's being an abstract thought in the back of my mind, God is concrete, in the forefront of my thinking; the words of the psalms and the discipline of showing up for the prayers slowly taking root and growing into better actions and better thinking and creating an armor against what often seems like an insane world. Interestingly, especially now that I'm praying 3x/day - analagous to three meals a day - praying the Daily Office is reminiscent of keeping kosher; the discipline and the way that following the dietary laws always made me feel connected to God in a tangible way.

This is just what the doctor ordered.

That Lonesome Valley

During last week's blizzard, fellow photographer/daughter and I ventured out for a walk, cell phone cameras in hand (foregoing the risk of taking the good gear out into the teeth of the booming snow gale), hoping to document the storm. We didn't get too far down Main Street due to the conditions being quite frankly treacherous and unsafe, but here's a photo that she managed to glean -  and post on her own blog, plus it made the local newspaper; a photo not unlike photos I've taken in the past, or even one I took that day of her from the opposite direction. I love this photo. I love the stark beauty: the snow cloud that envelopes the figure; the way the scarf wrapped around the subject's neck makes the hood of her coat look like a Russian hat, lending an overall old world quality to the image; the way the bottom of the long coat is swirling in the wind; the way she has framed the figure between the two poles and the overhead wires. I love the way the subtle dark path behind the subject (who, oh yeah, happens to be me), suggests the passage of time and distance traveled.

(Photo courtesy of Maria Writing with Light)

Once the initial artistic appreciation for the photo had faded, however, I saw a sadness in the photo. I became aware that I was actually seeing a photograph of my own journey - literally and figuratively, in this case (and how many photos have I taken of roads, pathways, walkways? this blog is even named Food for the Journey). I saw in this photo a small and fragile woman. I saw a reflection of the way I've been feeling lately: an increasing awareness - as I watch the years of my life fading in the rear view mirror - of my own irrelevance. I saw myself walking towards the great abyss, towards the grave. I saw my own mortality.

This is a perfect photo for Ash Wednesday, on so many levels (not the least being that I am directly in front of St. Elizabeth's, my church home from which I am presently separated, sadly; my penance, I suppose we could call it).

Ash Wednesday is the first day of our symbolic forty-day journey into the desert; a colorless world devoid of extraneous pleasure and joy; a mini-death as we align ourselves with Jesus' journey towards the cross. As I set off on this year's Lenten journey, let me embrace this desert place, this lonesome valley, this encounter with death, and let me remember that this leg of the journey is temporary and there is nothing to fear and everything to gain. Let me remember that the photo above is not the whole story. Just as Jesus' forty days in the desert culminated with Easter, so will mine.

Heaven

Thanks to a few February snow days, I've been able to catch up on sorting and editing a backlog of photos as well as update my blogs. These photos are from October 22, 2014, which just happens to have been my birthday. Noon hour Mass at St. Mary's in Brookline and the Wednesday night session at Malachy's in Quincy: my idea of a perfect day.

If Today You Hear His Voice, Harden Not Your Heart

Yesterday, Sunday, my early morning anxiety around preparing to take my music ministry on the road - to Windemere in the morning and Long Hill in the afternoon - was manifesting itself as negative thinking: Who do you think you are? You're nothing. You stink. You're not prepared. You're a lousy musician. Look at you, packing up all this gear, all these hymnals, spending hours pouring over Bible readings and songs; you're not worthy to do this job. Nobody cares. Really - who do you think you are?

As I wandered from room to room, gathering my guitar, music stand, box of hymnals, and sound system, all while the negative, self-deprecatory thinking continued, I passed through the dining room and my eyes fell on the digital read-out of my humidifier: 23 (23%relative humidity - an important number for the room in which I store my guitars and fiddle). In the semi-dark of my dining room, the luminous number jumped out at me, like a neon light, and immediately, the words of Psalm 23 - The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want; he leads me beside the still waters;...yea though I walk through the valley...I shall fear no evil - replaced the negativity.

My preparations for this ministry, the launch pad I use for choosing music for the week is the psalm of the day. This week's psalm refrain was from Psalm 95: "If today you hear his voice,harden not your hearts," and the question on my mind and the question I was planning to ask my "congregations" was, "Where do we hear God's voice?"

I believe that God's voice is quite distinguishable. It's the voice that guides us to right action, to reconciliation, to healing, to affirming and ministering to the weak; the voice of positivity; light in the midst of darkness. Sometimes God's voice is subtle, barely audible. Yesterday, God spoke to me clearly and distinctly. Through the digital readout on my humidifier. And yes, the day's music went very well.