Twelve Minutes
On Morning Prayer in Eastertide
I have been circling the Daily Office for a while now. At first, I would listen to it on the Daily Prayer app during a morning walk. That was easier. Then the book. Picking it up, putting it down. Beginning some weeks, missing others. Knowing there was something there I had not yet opened.
Here is what I have learned so far.
A book. A quiet corner. Twelve minutes, or less on the mornings when the house is already awake. It does not look like a monastery. It does not need to.
What the Office Does
The first thing the office does is interrupt you. You did not plan to pray. You were going to check something, answer something, delay a little longer. The book is already open, though, and you begin anyway. The first sentence is not yours.
“Lord, open our lips.”
You say it without feeling it.
“And our mouth shall proclaim your praise.”
You say that too. Your lips have opened. Words have come out. None of them began with you. Something has already happened before you were ready.
The second thing is harder to name. At some point, it begins to work in you. Not all at once. Not every morning. But over time the psalms stop feeling like something you are choosing and start sounding like something that has found you. A line lands with more weight than you expected. Something in it recognizes something in you. You did not go looking for it. You do not have to feel the psalms for this to happen. You just have to say them.
The third thing is quieter. You are not alone in it. These words have been said before you and will be said after you. On mornings when your attention wanders or your belief feels thin, the office does not adjust itself to you. It continues. You say the words anyway. That turns out to be enough.
A Tuesday in April or May
Here is what a Tuesday morning can look like in Eastertide.
The psalm is long. You read it aloud, or under your breath, or in your head if the house is still quiet. Some lines pass without notice. One does not.
“My soul is athirst for God, athirst for the living God;
when shall I come to appear before the presence of God?”
You had not named that.
The reading is from Acts. A few paragraphs. You read them slowly. There is no hurry here. The story moves at its own pace. People trying to understand what has already happened to them.
Then the canticle. In Eastertide, often Pascha Nostrum.
“Christ our Passover has been sacrificed for us; therefore let us keep the feast.”
You have said it enough now that it no longer surprises you, but it has not worn thin.
“Not with the old leaven, the leaven of malice and evil, but with the bread of sincerity and truth.”
It catches you, every time.
The coffee is cold by now. It does not matter.
You say the Creed. The Lord’s Prayer. A collect for the week. A few names, spoken simply. A voice from the next room asks what you are doing. Praying, you say. Almost done. And then it is over. You make another cup of coffee. The day begins.
If You Want to Begin
The Book of Common Prayer is enough. Morning Prayer begins on page 75. You follow what is given. When it ends, you are done.
If the book feels like too much at first, try the Daily Prayer app. Begin with the morning. One cup of coffee.
You will miss days. You will forget. You will come back. Nothing will have moved. The psalms will still be there. The words will still be there. You step back into them where you left off.
Twelve minutes.