Prayer and the Sanctification of Time

Many years ago, I worked for an Anglican parish in the Caribbean where Matins and Evensong were said daily at the church. Anywhere from a half-dozen to twenty or more people came – taxi drivers, hotel maids and kitchen workers, bartenders, unemployed people, one family with four children, two police officers, office workers, a lawyer. They cared about these services enough to fit them in around their workdays and other duties. A couple of the older folks walked into town for Matins pretty much every day; one of the taxidrivers gave them lifts home or to the markets afterwards for free.

It is for this that I became an Anglican.



One hundred fifty psalms every month; great swaths of Holy Scripture, daily canticles that quickly became best of friends, prayers that expressed what needed to be said to begin and end the day – and all of it in the magnificent language of the old Prayerbook and the Authorized Version of the Bible. . . . There were no sermons (except at choral evensong, which was offered every Sunday), normally no music except for one unaccompanied hymn after the collects; just plain ordinary people, sharing language (Biblical and otherwise) that was thoroughly honest, polished like stones in a creekbed by centuries of use. Mind you – these were not monks and nuns, or particularly “religious.” Most of them had little education and spoke the everyday dialect of the Caribbean – incomparably beautiful, but quite different from the language of the Bible and Prayerbook. Despite what trendy clergypersons and “liturgists” have insisted to me in the decades since, they understood the “thees” and “thous” and all the rest without the slightest difficulty.

This was Thomas Cranmer's dream. As one can read in the preface to the First Book of Common Prayer of 1549 (page 866 in the U.S church's 1979 BCP), the Daily Offices of the medieval monks and nuns were so complex and burdensome that an average layperson could not hope to negotiate his way through them. He disposed of the “Anthems, Responds, Invitatories, and such like things” that created most of the complexity; he directed that the Psalter, and most often the Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments, be read straight through in course rather than scattered around or (largely) ignored; he condensed the seven monastic Offices into two: Matins and Evensong. So far as I know, parish clergy in the Church of England are still under vow to say these offices in the church every day. American clergy are under no such vow.

Cranmer intended for the people of the parish to attend these services, where there “[was] ordained nothing to be read, but the very pure word of God, the holy Scriptures, or that which is evidently grounded upon the same...” with the hope that “the people (by daily hearing of holy Scripture read in the Church) should continually profit more and more in the knowledge of God, and be more inflamed with the love of his true religion.”

In the 450-plus years since, it has not often happened that way. But there are many Anglican laypeople, besides the monastics of the Anglican communion, and (I hope, somewhere) a few clergy who say the offices as they are able, and find them to be of inestimable value. In my current parish, there are a handful of us, mostly from the Brotherhood of St. Andrew and the Daughters of the King, who do what we can. There are fourteen mornings-and-evenings in a week, we have public services at the church for five to seven of them, depending on the week. Attendance normally ranges from one (the norm at Matins) to about a dozen (the monthly Saturday Matins with the Daughters of the King), and somewhat more at the once-a-month Choral Evensong. Most weeks, I make it to four of these services, praying the balance of them at home, or wherever I happen to be.

Matins and Evensong are the cornerstones upon which the day is built. They are, of course, much older than Cranmer. They are rooted in the earliest days of Israel's pilgrimage: in Exodus, God tells Moses and Aaron to offer “sweet incense” (Ex. 30:7-8) and burnt offerings (Ex. 29:38-46) every morning and evening as a “continual offering throughout your generations”. God goes on to say that “there will I meet with the children of Israel,” and “I will dwell among [them], and will be their God.” Placing these statements in the context of the daily offerings implies to me that they are central in the encounter between God and his people. There is more: it is a “lamb of the first year” that is offered as the burnt offering, and the incense is compounded on a base of frankincense (Ex. 30:34). The altars of incense and burnt offerings (as well as Aaron, representing what now, in the time of the “priesthood of all believers,” would be all of us) are sanctified by anointing oil of which “pure myrrh” is a principal ingredient. Thanks to the Magi, frankincense and myrrh are evermore connected with the Lamb of God whose Star they followed. These things teach that all of our prayers are “through Jesus Christ our Lord.” But that is a topic for another time.

In the Anglican approach, it is in these two offices of Matins and Evensong that large chunks of Psalmody and Scripture are read. It is vital, in my experience, to immerse oneself in the Story. It is impossible to live as a Christian without doing so. Obviously, our prayers are not limited to what is printed in the Prayerbook. But none of us can pray in a vacuum, as if it were just “me and God,” with no context of Scripture or Church. As often happens, Cardinal Ratzinger has appropriate words about this:

[speaking of the “I – Thou” theologies of Martin Buber and others in the 1930's] Partnership between God and man is conceived in I-Thou terms in a way which deprives God of his infinity and excludes each individual “I” from the unity of being. By comparison with God, man's identity is not simply in himself but outside himself . . . The Christian believer discovers his true identity in him who, as the “firstborn of all creation,” holds all things together (Col. 1:15ff), with the result that we can say that our life is hidden with him in God (Col. 3:3). . . . The church as a whole presents the model of this kind of “identity.” . . . In finding my own identity by being identified with Christ, I am made one with him: my true self is restored back to me, I know that I am accepted, and this enables me to give myself back to him. On this basis the theology of the Middle Ages proposed that the aim of prayer . . . was that, through it, man should become an anima ecclesiastica – a personal embodiment of the church. . . . In this process the language of our Mother becomes ours; we learn to speak it along with her, so that, gradually her words on our lips become our words. (from The Feast of Faith, Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger; my emphasis)

This last is the most beautiful statement of why one should pray the Daily Offices (and the other prayers of the Church) that I have ever encountered. It corresponds exactly with my experience of praying the Offices for close to three decades. These prayers, psalms, and Scriptures remain the prayers of Holy Mother Church, but they have become “my” words, my prayers as well. Their language and ideas have spilled over into every corner of my life. If they would have the proper and full effect of turning me into a true anima ecclesiastica, it would be a Good Thing, but there is much still to be done.

I am focusing narrowly on the Anglican traditions here; there are many other paths. About ten years ago, I happened in a thrift store upon a set of the four Roman Catholic books for the Liturgy of the Hours. They had belonged to a Hispanic Jesuit, and there they were on the shelf. I bought them for 80 cents per volume, and spent the next six months or so saying the Offices from them, instead of from the Episcopal book. In (modern) Roman usage, the large chunks of Scripture and Psalmody are in the “Office of Readings,” and there are, as Cranmer noted, a great many “Anthems, Responds, Invitatories, and such like things.” The largest difference for me was the arrangement of the psalmody, following the Benedictine model of placing psalms where they best fit in terms of time of day, and day of the week. There are advantages to this. But the English translations are horribly pedestrian (I suspect the services, psalms, and Scripture lessons would be much better in Latin), and I had already grown too accustomed to the Book of Common Prayer. So, after a half-year, the Roman books went on the shelf, for occasional reference. And, again, there are many other paths to prayer. I encourage you to find, and follow, one that “is suitable to your condition,” as they used to say. Even for those who do not follow the Roman Rite in these particulars, it is worthwhile to read the General Instruction of the Liturgy of the Hours.


A few other details:

One important ingredient to daily prayer is Table Grace. In addition to the obvious use at mealtimes, I often pray such prayers as I cook, wash dishes, and shop for groceries. The whole relationship with food is cause for most grateful thanksgiving.

Then, there are the “Little Hours.” They are just that – little. I have come to them rather late, and am still struggling to make the midday Hour a regular part of my life. But they have helped me. The Book of Common Prayer gives forms for “An Order of Service for Noonday” and “An Order for Compline,” which is at the close of day. I follow these, conforming the language to “Rite One” traditional usage, which I consider more appropriate for prayer. In addition, I say (usually in a whisper, for Mrs. C. is sleeping) a Little Hour upon my first awakening, before I get out of bed. This is of my own devising, but follows the form of the Noonday hour:

Invitatory:

O Lord, open thou our lips:
And our mouth shall shew forth thy praise.

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost:
As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be:
world without end. Amen.

Psalm 100:

O be joyful in the Lord, all ye lands . . . .

Scripture: Hebrews 12:1-3

Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses . . .

Kyrie eleison.
Christe eleison.
Kyrie eleison.

The Lord's Prayer

A Collect for Grace (BCP p. 57)

O Lord, our heavenly Father, almighty and everlasting God, who hast safely brought us to the beginning of this day: Defend us in the same with thy mighty power; and grant that this day we fall into no sin, neither run into any kind of danger; but that we, being ordered by thy governance, may do always what is righteous in thy sight; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Dismissal:

Let us bless the Lord.
Thanks be to God.
(Alleluias added to the above during the Easter Season)

The above has been very helpful toward beginning the day in a proper context, and I commend it to you.

Then, and in some ways the most important, is the ongoing practice of “breath prayer.” The most common way of doing this is the “Jesus Prayer,” from the eastern Orthodox tradition. I tried that for a while, and ended up with my own form: I pray “Deo gratias,” inhaling “Deo” and exhaling “gratias.” It seems to me that this is a way of fulfilling the Apostle's injunction: “Rejoice evermore. Pray without ceasing. In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.” (I Thess. 5:16-18) In addition, since it is the final response of the Offices ("Thanks be to God"), it is a way in which the set times of prayer spill over into the rest of life, echoing throughout the day with every breath.


And there is yet another way to sanctify time: Music. But I have spoken of that elsewhere.

(revised from my LiveJournal: April 16, 2008)