The prayers of the rosary circle around themselves, as the beads encircle the medallion. From the first physical act of crossing oneself to the final physical act of making a little cross at each of the locations we ask for God's guidance (thoughts, utterances, feelings), this is an act of prayer.
Maybe that's why my favorite way to pray the rosary is when I'm walking, hell-for-leather, in God's natural places. There is a rhythm to the words, a rhythm to the prayers themselves, that fits my stride.
Today being Monday, I contemplated the Joyful Mysteries as I walked. No matter how I look at this set of events in Mary's life, I am moved more by compassion and admiration than by joy. I admire Mary's grit, her jutting jaw as she faces the knowing smirks and crass comments aimed at her growing girth. I admire her open heart, allowing her to welcome the angel and accept his announcement. I admire her grace. But I can't help but see that jaw quivering behind the defiance, the tear stealing out unbidden from behind the eyes she refuses to lower.
It is this that draws me back, again and again, to Mary. I know the art works that feature Mary with beatific smile and blue cloak. Yet to me, Mary's unruly teenager hair is not lit up with a halo, it is lit up with the beauty of youth, of hope, of promise. Her face, to my mind's eye, is a little wary; but her sassy attitude, her verve, her vibrant courage--these traits shine through the Joyful Mysteries. The angel comes to her and drops his bombshell; a few months later, Mary visits her much older relative Elizabeth, also mysteriously with child; a few months later, the young bride gives birth in a barn, in a strange town too crowded to offer decent lodging, far from home and the comforts of her mother's experience, with only the husband she barely knows to help her. A few days later, as her religion dictates, she dedicates the baby in the Temple, against rather doomsaying prophecies of further turmoil (joy, too, but also turmoil). Finally, her life settles into normalcy, for a few years anyway. Twelve of them, according to the Scriptures. Now, Jesus blows off the family deadline for loading up after Passover and stays behind--and when Mary goes after him, he smarts off to her, blathering about his father's business. While the elders may have been impressed with the boy's knowledge and maturity, I'm betting his mother was emphatically NOT.
These are the Joyful Mysteries? That poor girl. I always come back to that: the poor girl. And yet, when I consider her gracious, open spirit in the face of the life-changing prophecy and its realization, I am awed. There is joy here, indeed.
Like life: Joy commingled with fear, hurt, loss. But joy, nonetheless.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Monday, July 12, 2010
Joy in the Morning?
[Note: My essay from The Liguorian is now posted to my website (click on "essays"). If you are new to my blog, that essay is a good place to see my perspective. If you are unfamiliar with the rosary or how it is prayed, see prior posts for the prayers, framework, and biblical references.]
Up to now, I have been quite the pedant here, didactically telling you what to do to and how to do it. While that's certainly fun and all, not to mention easier, I now step out uncertainly into the realm of prayer. Away from how toward why and what, from the quantitative to the qualitative, from works to faith.
We think of prayer as a means to communicate with God, but the word communication indicates sharing, listening--dialogue, not monologue. However, if you look up prayer in the Oxford English Dictionary (Queen Mother of all dictionaries), every definition has to do with entreaty, with asking God's help. Take it a step further and you have the one-way conversation we all fear, where you can just see God playing Celestial Solitaire, jamming with the iPod while you blather on. If you Google the word, though, you get the more connotative, intuitive meaning of prayer as communication with God. Which brings us to the central problem of prayer: How can we differentiate God's voice from our own? When I talk about my day with God as though God were a friend, how can I be certain that the responses I think I hear come from God and not from my own ever-present, insistent, strident imagination clamoring for attention?
That is where the rosary helps me to transcend my selfish, mucked-up narrow view. So now, on to the Joyful Mysteries, one at a time (just the first one today, though): The Annunciation, wherein the angel Gabriel announces that Mary has been chosen as Theotokos, God-bearer. Quite an honor, especially for a humble girl living under the hairy thumb of Roman occupation.
We Protestants tend to think about Jesus' birth in December, mostly, when it's easy to see and feel the joy in this scene, the hope. Mama to the Messiah! Does it get any better than that? Within the context and excess of our modern Christmas orgies, this angelic visit glitters with starry-eyed optimism. Until I began to pray the rosary, I never really looked at it from Mary's view, immersed as I always was with the holiday hoopla.
She's young, we know that, probably no more than 13 or 14. A virgin still, promised in marriage to a man much older. Poor. Jewish. Born into oppression, this girl-child finds herself facing an unplanned pre-marriage pregnancy. Her thoughts, at first anyway, had to be skeptical. We get a glimpse of her spunk when she reminds the angel that she is a virgin, but before Gabriel heads back to heaven, this courageous young woman graces us with that handmaiden of the Lord thing. We see her spirit as well as her spunk.
In a temporal world with limited choices, hemmed in by gender, ethnicity, and poverty, Mary says yes to Gabriel, yes to God. It's not logical. It's not rational. I'm glad she's not my daughter. But I love the girl's sweet, steely defiance.
The Annunciation is pregnant (pardon the pun:) with meaning.
What do you think of when you remember the angel's night-time visit to Mary?
Up to now, I have been quite the pedant here, didactically telling you what to do to and how to do it. While that's certainly fun and all, not to mention easier, I now step out uncertainly into the realm of prayer. Away from how toward why and what, from the quantitative to the qualitative, from works to faith.
We think of prayer as a means to communicate with God, but the word communication indicates sharing, listening--dialogue, not monologue. However, if you look up prayer in the Oxford English Dictionary (Queen Mother of all dictionaries), every definition has to do with entreaty, with asking God's help. Take it a step further and you have the one-way conversation we all fear, where you can just see God playing Celestial Solitaire, jamming with the iPod while you blather on. If you Google the word, though, you get the more connotative, intuitive meaning of prayer as communication with God. Which brings us to the central problem of prayer: How can we differentiate God's voice from our own? When I talk about my day with God as though God were a friend, how can I be certain that the responses I think I hear come from God and not from my own ever-present, insistent, strident imagination clamoring for attention?
That is where the rosary helps me to transcend my selfish, mucked-up narrow view. So now, on to the Joyful Mysteries, one at a time (just the first one today, though): The Annunciation, wherein the angel Gabriel announces that Mary has been chosen as Theotokos, God-bearer. Quite an honor, especially for a humble girl living under the hairy thumb of Roman occupation.
We Protestants tend to think about Jesus' birth in December, mostly, when it's easy to see and feel the joy in this scene, the hope. Mama to the Messiah! Does it get any better than that? Within the context and excess of our modern Christmas orgies, this angelic visit glitters with starry-eyed optimism. Until I began to pray the rosary, I never really looked at it from Mary's view, immersed as I always was with the holiday hoopla.
She's young, we know that, probably no more than 13 or 14. A virgin still, promised in marriage to a man much older. Poor. Jewish. Born into oppression, this girl-child finds herself facing an unplanned pre-marriage pregnancy. Her thoughts, at first anyway, had to be skeptical. We get a glimpse of her spunk when she reminds the angel that she is a virgin, but before Gabriel heads back to heaven, this courageous young woman graces us with that handmaiden of the Lord thing. We see her spirit as well as her spunk.
In a temporal world with limited choices, hemmed in by gender, ethnicity, and poverty, Mary says yes to Gabriel, yes to God. It's not logical. It's not rational. I'm glad she's not my daughter. But I love the girl's sweet, steely defiance.
The Annunciation is pregnant (pardon the pun:) with meaning.
What do you think of when you remember the angel's night-time visit to Mary?
Friday, June 18, 2010
Traditionally, each set of Mysteries is assigned to a specific day of the week, and everybody pretty much agrees on Monday through Friday as I've outlined below. Weekends are less structured, and appear to depend on the liturgical season, an "Aha!" element I use to remember those ritualistic, slightly arbitrary divisions of the Christian year according to Christ's life. While I don't always adhere to the schedule--sometimes I want to pray about sorrow on a Monday, or joy on a Wednesday--I love the spontaneous connections that occur when I do pray according to the day.
Monday: Joyful Mysteries
Tuesday: Sorrowful Mysteries
Wednesday: Glorious Mysteries
Thursday: Luminous Mysteries
Friday: Sorrowful Mysteries
Monday isn't generally my most joyful day, and Friday's fun can't come soon enough. Considering joy on a Monday is a little out of the ordinary, a little uncomfortable. And therefore memorable. Thinking of Jesus' Passion every Friday is a lovely tribute to his sacrifice, but other than Good Friday, without the rosary, I seriously doubt I'd remember that very often. Praying by intent rather than by emotion is at the heart of how the rosary works for me. Praying becomes more like spiritual discipline, less like conversation.
On the weekend days, I remember the seasons of the church, an exercise in spiritual nostalgia that places me squarely in the Rosiclare United Methodist Church, a small congregation with a big heart, where the altar vestments change with the liturgical season: gold for Epiphany, the three kings, one of whom brought gold; red for Pentecost, tongues of fire; white for Christmas and Easter, holy and pure; purple for Lent and Advent, juxtaposing pain with royalty; a nice functional green for the boring time from Pentecost to Advent, known as Kingdomtide.
I learned to read both music and poetry through escaping to the hymnal during boring sermons, and I am still pretty amazing when it comes to making words out of the letters in the sermon title. My world is richer for the grand old hymns, spirituals, ethnically diverse worship choruses, staples like "Showers of Blessing" and "Just As I Am"; and the responsive readings and sacramental forms gave a sense of connection to other Christians, a feeling I find in the rosary as well.
The altar vestments are part of that rich heritage, like the familiar smells of the sanctuary. Old wood, old books, old ladies' perfume and hairspray. The love of that community envelops me when I pray the rosary within the context of the seasons, while the remembered colors and connotations connect me back to the important aspects of Jesus' time and teaching--the Mysteries.
Praying the rosary connects me to my Source.
Monday: Joyful Mysteries
Tuesday: Sorrowful Mysteries
Wednesday: Glorious Mysteries
Thursday: Luminous Mysteries
Friday: Sorrowful Mysteries
Monday isn't generally my most joyful day, and Friday's fun can't come soon enough. Considering joy on a Monday is a little out of the ordinary, a little uncomfortable. And therefore memorable. Thinking of Jesus' Passion every Friday is a lovely tribute to his sacrifice, but other than Good Friday, without the rosary, I seriously doubt I'd remember that very often. Praying by intent rather than by emotion is at the heart of how the rosary works for me. Praying becomes more like spiritual discipline, less like conversation.
On the weekend days, I remember the seasons of the church, an exercise in spiritual nostalgia that places me squarely in the Rosiclare United Methodist Church, a small congregation with a big heart, where the altar vestments change with the liturgical season: gold for Epiphany, the three kings, one of whom brought gold; red for Pentecost, tongues of fire; white for Christmas and Easter, holy and pure; purple for Lent and Advent, juxtaposing pain with royalty; a nice functional green for the boring time from Pentecost to Advent, known as Kingdomtide.
I learned to read both music and poetry through escaping to the hymnal during boring sermons, and I am still pretty amazing when it comes to making words out of the letters in the sermon title. My world is richer for the grand old hymns, spirituals, ethnically diverse worship choruses, staples like "Showers of Blessing" and "Just As I Am"; and the responsive readings and sacramental forms gave a sense of connection to other Christians, a feeling I find in the rosary as well.
The altar vestments are part of that rich heritage, like the familiar smells of the sanctuary. Old wood, old books, old ladies' perfume and hairspray. The love of that community envelops me when I pray the rosary within the context of the seasons, while the remembered colors and connotations connect me back to the important aspects of Jesus' time and teaching--the Mysteries.
Praying the rosary connects me to my Source.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Mysteries: Introduction
[First, please accept my apologies to anyone who actually has looked for me to be timely and regular. I'm, um, not good at either of those.]
If the repeated prayers are the skeleton of the rosary, the Mysteries are the muscle. These contemplative building blocks underpin the repetition, giving the mind a foundation for the words. Without your having to think about it, your mind settles in, focuses, centers on Jesus. Your mouth is off doing its thing, repeating familiar words; your conscious mind is keeping an eye out for cars, or the baby, or whatever is going on around you; but your spirit is immersed in the Christ. That, to me, is sufficient reason to capitalize the common noun, giving the Mysteries the reverence they deserve.
In terms of method, basically all you need to do is think about each Mystery as you are saying the Lord's Prayer and ten Hail Marys for it. If you are using beads, their job is to help you keep track of the repetitions.
So let's get started. If you have beads, hold them in your left hand, cross yourself with your right. (See earlier post--touch forehead and say, "In the name of the Father"; touch heart and continue, "And of the Son"; touch left shoulder first, then right, while finishing, "And of the Holy Ghost."
Now, hold the crucifix on your beads with thumb and forefinger and say the Lord's Prayer. Moving along, there are three beads; one for each of three Hail Marys.
You're centered on Jesus, ready to begin the Mysteries. Think or say the first Mystery for the day; then hold the bead that comes next on your chain as you say the Lord's Prayer. Next are the ten slightly separate beads for the ten Hail Marys. When you finish each "decade" of Hail Marys, say the Gloria Patri and O My Jesus prayer, then move on to the next Mystery, following its beads as you did the first.
If you're using the smaller Irish bracelet-sized rosary beads, or no beads, simply adapt to your needs. When I'm walking or running and praying the rosary, the whole thing takes only about 15 minutes; this is not some huge time commitment.
See earlier post for listing of the Mysteries and days traditionally assigned to each set.
Finally! We're ready to ponder the profound implications of these simple ideas.
If the repeated prayers are the skeleton of the rosary, the Mysteries are the muscle. These contemplative building blocks underpin the repetition, giving the mind a foundation for the words. Without your having to think about it, your mind settles in, focuses, centers on Jesus. Your mouth is off doing its thing, repeating familiar words; your conscious mind is keeping an eye out for cars, or the baby, or whatever is going on around you; but your spirit is immersed in the Christ. That, to me, is sufficient reason to capitalize the common noun, giving the Mysteries the reverence they deserve.
In terms of method, basically all you need to do is think about each Mystery as you are saying the Lord's Prayer and ten Hail Marys for it. If you are using beads, their job is to help you keep track of the repetitions.
So let's get started. If you have beads, hold them in your left hand, cross yourself with your right. (See earlier post--touch forehead and say, "In the name of the Father"; touch heart and continue, "And of the Son"; touch left shoulder first, then right, while finishing, "And of the Holy Ghost."
Now, hold the crucifix on your beads with thumb and forefinger and say the Lord's Prayer. Moving along, there are three beads; one for each of three Hail Marys.
You're centered on Jesus, ready to begin the Mysteries. Think or say the first Mystery for the day; then hold the bead that comes next on your chain as you say the Lord's Prayer. Next are the ten slightly separate beads for the ten Hail Marys. When you finish each "decade" of Hail Marys, say the Gloria Patri and O My Jesus prayer, then move on to the next Mystery, following its beads as you did the first.
If you're using the smaller Irish bracelet-sized rosary beads, or no beads, simply adapt to your needs. When I'm walking or running and praying the rosary, the whole thing takes only about 15 minutes; this is not some huge time commitment.
See earlier post for listing of the Mysteries and days traditionally assigned to each set.
Finally! We're ready to ponder the profound implications of these simple ideas.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
a bit of background
My love affair with the rosary resulted from the unfathomable loss of my 20 year old son. It wasn't an intellectual pursuit, or a new spiritual direction, or a positive effort on my part to pray meaningfully. Rather, it was the action of a desperate mother grasping at straws to keep from falling into the abyss of cynicism, lost faith, negativity. The details, background, and choices associated with learning the rosary provide the backbone for an essay published in the Liguorian (May/June, 2010, currently available http://www.liguorian.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=273:beads-of-comfort-finding-god-in-the-spaces-between&catid=20:spirituality&Itemid=27). Soon, I will post the essay to my website. I hope you will read the essay that spawned this blog.
Next, I promise, we'll look at the Mysteries individually.
Next, I promise, we'll look at the Mysteries individually.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Mysteries
Up to now, I have focused on the words of the rosary prayers and on my belief that the words cross artificial boundaries, drawing us to each other and to God. But praying the rosary involves more than merely reciting the powerful words of ancient prayers. The Mysteries--distinct, important events from Jesus' life, death, and resurrection--form the core of this ritual prayer.
There are four sets of Mysteries:
- Joyful Mysteries (Monday, Saturday)
- Sorrowful Mysteries (Tuesday, Friday)
- Glorious Mysteries (Wednesday)
- Luminous Mysteries (Thursday)
Each set contains five discrete experiences pertaining to Jesus' life, death, and resurrection. In praying the rosary, you enfold those events in the rhythm of the Lord's Prayer, Hail Mary, Gloria Patri, and Fatima Prayer (see structure in earlier post).
So just what are these capital-M-Mysteries?
Joyful Mysteries:
Sorrowful Mysteries:
Joy, sorrow, glory, light. Traditionally, Friday commemorates the sorrow of Jesus' death on that day, and Sunday emphasizes the liturgical season (i.e., Joyful during Advent, Sorrowful during Lent). I tend to ignore the Joyful-for-Monday tradition, and instead simply meditate on whichever set appeals to me on any given day. If I need light, it makes sense to contemplate the Luminous Mysteries. If I feel dejected, I find solace in considering Jesus' hellish last days. Sometimes I want to affirm the glory of the risen Savior, or the joy surrounding his unusual birth. And sometimes I want to ponder the church year, choosing the set of Mysteries that best fits the liturgical season.
Praying the rosary improves with practice, but even when muddling through in the right order took most of my available brain space, this process brought me peace. The rosary continues to soothe my troubled soul.
Next we'll tackle the Mysteries one set at a time.
There are four sets of Mysteries:
- Joyful Mysteries (Monday, Saturday)
- Sorrowful Mysteries (Tuesday, Friday)
- Glorious Mysteries (Wednesday)
- Luminous Mysteries (Thursday)
Each set contains five discrete experiences pertaining to Jesus' life, death, and resurrection. In praying the rosary, you enfold those events in the rhythm of the Lord's Prayer, Hail Mary, Gloria Patri, and Fatima Prayer (see structure in earlier post).
So just what are these capital-M-Mysteries?
Joyful Mysteries:
- Angel's announcement to Mary that she would bear a son (Luke 1:26-38)
- Mary's visit to Elizabeth (Luke 1:39-56)
- Jesus' birth (Luke 2:1-20)
- Dedication of Jesus (Luke 2:21-40)
- Finding 12 year old Jesus in temple (Luke 2:41-51)
Sorrowful Mysteries:
- Lonely night at Gethsemane (Matthew 26:36-56; Mark 14:32-50; Luke 22:39-53; John 18:1-14)
- Flogging (Matthew 27: 15-26; Mark 15:6-15; Luke 23:13-25; John 18:38-19:1)
- Public humiliation (Matthew 27:27-31; Mark 15:16-20; John 19:2-7)
- Walk to Golgotha (Matthew 27:32-44; Mark 15:21-32; Luke 23:26-43; John 19:16-27)
- Jesus' death (Matthew 27:45-55; Mark 15:33-41; Luke 23:44-49; John 19:28-37)
- Resurrection (Matthew 28:1-10; Mark 16:1-8; Luke 24:1-12; John 20:1-18)
- Jesus' ascension to Heaven (Mark 16:19-20; Luke 24:50-53)
- Pentecost (Acts 2:1-13)
- Mary's trip to Heaven (no biblical reference)
- Mary's coronation as queen of heaven (Revelation 12:1-6?)
- Jesus' baptism by John (Matthew 3:13-17; Mark 1:9-11; Luke 3:21-22; John 1:29-34)
- Wedding at Cana (John 2:1-11)
- Jesus' teaching (any and all of it seems fair game to me)
- Transfiguration (Matthew 17:1-13; Mark 9:2-13; Luke 9:28-36)
- Eucharist (Matthew 26:26-29; Mark 14:22-25; Luke 22:14-20; John 13:12-38) [John actually begins with Jesus washing his disciples' feet (13:1) and continues through the end of chapter 17. In John's version, Jesus seems to have a lot to talk about during dinner.]
Joy, sorrow, glory, light. Traditionally, Friday commemorates the sorrow of Jesus' death on that day, and Sunday emphasizes the liturgical season (i.e., Joyful during Advent, Sorrowful during Lent). I tend to ignore the Joyful-for-Monday tradition, and instead simply meditate on whichever set appeals to me on any given day. If I need light, it makes sense to contemplate the Luminous Mysteries. If I feel dejected, I find solace in considering Jesus' hellish last days. Sometimes I want to affirm the glory of the risen Savior, or the joy surrounding his unusual birth. And sometimes I want to ponder the church year, choosing the set of Mysteries that best fits the liturgical season.
Praying the rosary improves with practice, but even when muddling through in the right order took most of my available brain space, this process brought me peace. The rosary continues to soothe my troubled soul.
Next we'll tackle the Mysteries one set at a time.
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