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.
Showing posts with label Mary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mary. Show all posts
Monday, September 26, 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?
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.
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