Blessed is the Kingdom

This has been on my mind lately. I sometimes feel conflicted when I’m observing written prayers over the course of the day or in the liturgy and my mind, heart, thoughts, are anywhere but centered. I imagine that there is something deeply wrong in trying to force out prayer when I am so absent from the process, but I came across this little passage from Madeleine L’Engle the other morning that offered me a different perspective:

“In a small village lived an old clockmaker and repairer. When anything was wrong with any of the clocks or watches in the village, he was able to fix them, to get them working properly again. When he died, leaving no children and no apprentice, there was no one left in the village who could fix clocks. Soon various clocks and watches began to break down. Those which continued to run often lost or gained tim, so they were of little use. A clock might strike midnight at three in the afternoon. So many of the villagers abandoned their time-pieces.
One day a renowned clock-maker and repairer came through the village, and the people crowded around him and begged him to fix their broken clocks and watches. He spent many hours looking at all the faulty time pieces, and at last he announced that he could repair only those whose owners had kept them wound, because they were the only ones which would be able to remember how to keep time.
So we must daily keep things wound: that is, we must pray when prayer seems dry as dust; we must write when we are physically tired, when our hearts our heavy, when our bodies are in pain. We may not always be able to make our ‘clock’ run correctly, but at least we will keep it wound, so that it will not forget.”

I had considered the liturgical following a kind of means to keep myself wound, but I’m not sure I understood what being wound really meant. In theory, perhaps, but not in practice. I am now coming to a place of deep-seated conviction that runs underneath all emotions and absentmindedness, it is that place of needing first and foremost to keep wound and understanding just how important that is.

Thanks for this, it makes a very good reminder.

Yes, yes, yes. This is one of the things that I learned from Kathleen Norris, even though I can’t remember precisely how she explained it.

As one who often feels little control over how I feel it is remarkably freeing to be able to pray in unity with the Church rather than worrying about trying to form “correct” prayer by myself.

Kathleen Norris is one of my favorites!

A wise old monk once referred to The Liturgy of the Hours as a lovers quarrel with God. The more I pray the hours, the more I understand what he meant. Every emotion I’ve ever felt, everything I’ve needed to say to God but couldn’t has been brought forth by praying the hours. In this way, in this prayer, I commune not only with Him whom my hear loves, but with his body the Church.

I might rephrase the maxim as, “Make a schedule of prayer & stick to it.” There are a lot of ways to pray as a Catholic, but making it “routine” is critical. If it’s not, it’ll soon fall away in favor of some more practical activity.

LOH offers a lot, but also demands a lot. It’s like meeting a beloved friend for conversation – you never know how the conversation will go.

I’m excited to see our Vespers services get off the ground, Father. Perhaps we need to start drumming that up a bit?