As part of my effort to pray more intentionally (instead of just more frequently), I’ve committed to use The Little Book of Hours, which provides morning, midday, evening, and nighttime prayers for thirty days. I bought it almost two years ago and started with it several times, but I never lasted more than a few days. I started with it (again) last Sunday, and it took me until Wednesday to manage all four prayer times. Now that I’m in this mode, I’m very much enjoying it.
This prayer book is produced by the Community of Jesus, “an ecumenical Christian community in the Benedictine monastic tradition.” Because it is ecumenical, the explicitly Roman Catholic aspects are gone, but the tradition of prayers, psalms, gospel readings, and meditation remains.
The Lord’s Prayer is a consistent feature of all the prayer times, and to be honest, I found it rather annoying the first time I used The Little Book of Hours. I don’t think I ever said the Lord’s Prayer in church until I attended a Catholic service as an adult; it’s simply not a part of public worship in the Churches of Christ, nor was I ever encouraged to use it privately. More recently, I’ve heard teaching on how to use the Lord’s Prayer as a model (which, in Luke, is why Jesus gave it to the disciples; they wanted to know how to pray); in this approach, one prays the Lord’s prayer using each phrase as a starting point for further praise, petition, confession, and so forth.
This time around, I came to this portion of each prayer time a little differently. During my retreat, I read some of the Rule of St. Benedict, the instructions by which Benedictine monks live. It’s an amazing work for many reasons; last weekend, this part caught my eye:
Assuredly, the celebration of Lauds and Vespers [prayer times] must never pass by without the superior’s reciting the entire Lord’s Prayer at the end for all to hear, because thorns of contention are likely to spring up. Thus warned by the pledge they make to one another in the very words of this prayer: Forgive us as we forgive, they may cleanse themselves of this kind of vice.
I love the phrase “thorns of contention”; in a family of five, there are thorns aplenty–between me and Teddie, between us and the children, between the children themselves. Benedict had the wisdom to recognize that people being together gives occasion for the need to forgive, and the Lord’s Prayer serves as a reminder that Christians must forgive.
So far, I’ve said the Lord’s Prayer 18 times in the past week (about 17 more than the past 42 years!), and instead of it going stale, it’s growing richer. For one, Benedict’s admonition is in the back of my mind each time I say “forgive me my trespasses as I forgive those who trespass against me.” I can’t breeze through that; I must stop and consider, if even for a moment, what I’ve done in the past few hours and who needs forgiveness from me. It’s also enriched by being part of a larger context of prayers and psalms that focus largely on praise and adoration.
Each hour begins with a short opening prayer; many, like these three, are lyrical:
O Christ, dispel sleep, break the chains of night, release long-standing sin, and pour in new light. Amen.
O God, Maker of all mankind, give the rewards of joy, grant the gifts of graces, dissolve the chains of quarreling, and bind fast the agreements of peace. Amen.
Come Holy Spirit, kindle light for our senses, pour out love in our hearts, and undergird with perpetual strength the weaknesses of our body. Amen.
You’ll note that in these prayers, from different days, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are included. Not a prayer time goes by without acknowledging and addressing all three; I like that.
I’ll close by mentioning that another benefit of the prayers is increased peace. I’ve been working this week to put my fall semester course materials online, and I’ve had a lot of technical problems. Stopping to praise God and ask for His help puts life in focus, and I return to my keyboard calm. That’s a good thing!
Note: for more information, read a brief background on the Book of Hours or see images of medieval manuscript versions.
Charis means grace, and that’s what this blog is about: grace, in all its—sometimes messy, always magnificent—manifestations. I’m Dan Butcher, and I invite you to join me in learning to lead a Christ-centered, grace-filled life.