There is no fear in love

At some point while exploring Flagstaff in the fall semester of 1993, I discovered a Christian bookstore. Naturally, I spent a fair amount of time there… and money. Before entering full communion, I bought an NRSV Bible which contained translations of all books canonical in the Protestant, Catholic, Orthodox, or Oriental Orthodox churches. Never mind 1st and 2nd Maccabees: ever read 4th Maccabees? or the 151st Psalm?

After entering full communion, I came across a small, inexpensive Book of Catholic Prayer that I no longer find available. It included a cycle of Psalm-based prayers to offer at morning and evening. I remember in particular the use of Psalm 63 on Sunday and Psalm 51 on Friday. Despite my Protestant upbringing and my previous efforts to read the Bible, I had never learned much about the Psalms. Even though I was frequenting daily Mass, which always features a Psalm as prayer, the very idea of using Scripture as prayer, rather than as a kind of legal/historical/scientific encyclopedia, was entirely novel to me,

And I loved it! The wife of the parish deacon (yep, that guy), herself a Secular Discalced Carmelite, saw me carrying this book when I was at their house, and suggested that I consider the Liturgy of the Hours, the “official” prayer of the Church.✠ I put “official” in quotes because while it is in fact official, the second Vatican Council strongly urged the faithful to participate in it and the clergy to restore it as a regular parish service, none of that has in fact happened. In my experience, parish clergy routinely decline parishioner requests to make space for the Hours during or around other parish devotions. Without questioning their pastoral wisdom, I would point out that we have a long way to go before Vatican II is fully implemented… and by now it may be safe to say that this part just won’t happen. At first I demurred, as the extremely large volume looked intimidating — and it was only one of four!

At some point, for some reason, I changed my mind. I believe she let me borrow an extra copy of the “third” volume, and it soon became clear that the weekly cycle I had found in that lovely Book of Catholic Prayer was a highly abridged version of the Hours: essentially, praying from the Scriptures. Despite a great deal of initial confusion and frustration, my enthusiasm for the former soon transferred to the latter, and I was soon praying the Hours — all seven of them, believe it or not, at roughly appropriate times. It was great! I was absolutely taken by the Hours, and took great delight in pausing several times a day to pray a Psalm or three, followed by a Scripture reading, concluding with prayer. It both brought life to Scripture and made God present in a way I had never imagined.

Three decades later, I still pray the Hours, though I am not usually able to maintain seven separate pauses of the day. It varies according to life’s circumstances. At present I manage Morning and Evening Prayer at roughly appropriate times, and a pause at midday for the Office of Readings. They help structure the day, making space to hear God’s “still, small voice” so that, like the drip, drip, drip of water on stone, the Psalms, words that God Himself has given us, help erode the stones in my heart that set themselves as obstacles on the way of perfection, making space for the beloved both to speak and listen to the Lover, turning the soul into soil for God’s work. The Psalms form my religious thought, inform my other prayers, remind of thanksgiving, petitions, and praises, both those I want or those I promised to offer. They give words to pray when I don’t necessarily have the words. Before entering full communion, I remember asking a Catholic friend questions like, “Do you have to pray the Rosary?” or “Do you have to wear that?”✝The “that” in question was a scapular of Our Lady of Mt. Carmel. And the answer to both questions is “no”. As I recall, her answer to both questions was, “I should,” which perplexed me, in part because it seemed to be a way of answering “Yes” while admitting that she didn’t actually do that; that is, she was shirking her obligations. In part, I was trying to figure out if she thought she had to do those things in order to be saved. I was asking a yes-or-no question, and she was answering at a higher level.

An analogous event took place some years later, when a Protestant saw me open my breviary to spend time on the Office of Readings, and asked, “You know you don’t have to do that, right?” I still marvel that he didn’t ask what I was doing, let alone why; he just assumed I was doing something because I felt “obligated”. not because I had to, but because I wanted to, but many conversations make me wonder whether most Protestants — or Catholics, for that matter — understand, let alone believe, that there’s a lot more to life in Christ than “getting saved.”

Why do I do this? I’ve already given some hint, but consider also St. Catherine of Siena’s magnificent prayer, which begins and ends,

What happens in human love — which both Old and New Testament use repeatedly as an analogy for our relationship to God? Lover and beloved constantly seek each other out, constantly offer each other gifts. A healthy marriage doesn’t end the conversation, nor the gift-giving; if anything, it offers more opportunity to express one’s love, including the greatest gift: bringing forth new life. In what kind of marriage does one party say to the other, “Well, that’s it! Legally you’re stuck with me, no matter what I do!” then derided, belittled, or considered less-than-fully-(fe)male any married lover continued to make an effort to express love to the beloved?✞Sure, it’s all-too-common in marriages, but maybe — just maybe — that’s part of the problem?

In the spiritual life, God is the Lover; the soul, the Beloved. I, the Beloved, offer these prayers out of love, and they give me joy, because God, the Lover, first offered them to me. I return the gift He Himself has given, and He causes me to grow through them.

Thinking back to my friend who had to endure such questions, I like to think the same was true of her. I was only beginning to perceive that then. “I should,” she said, as in, “I should do it, because I love Him, and I desired to offer Him something, and this is something He has offered me to offer Him in return.”