Yeah, yeah, I know: it's the central question of humankind's existential search for meaning. And I know the Baltimore Catechism answer (question 6), and embrace it. It packs a lot of truth into a few words - words that are worth taking some time to unpack more fully, actually. Other writers have done so, including Matthew Kelly, who uses it as a launching point in his excellent "essential purpose" discussions. That's not what I had in mind when I started this post, but now that I've started writing, I imagine it's going to turn out to be exactly where God is taking me with it. The title is a reflection on my response to today's Office of Readings. But let's start with a lengthy detour:
The Liturgy of the Hours is a treasure of the Church, opportunities to pray throughout the course of the day that set up a rhythm of prayer for our lives. With that hearty endorsement out of the way, I must confess that the only part of the Hours I have ever managed to pray with any regularity at all is the Office of Readings. I fell in love with this "hour" when I first visited the Abbey of Gethsemani, where they pray it under its ancient name of Vigils at 3:15 a.m. I found it was a treasure worth setting the alarm for, though I never could convince most of my fellow retreatants to join me, either then or on subsequent weekends. When praying it on my own, I just start my day with it rather than getting up in the middle of the night. In fact, the recommendation for the Office of Readings is that it should be prayed whenever the course of one's day allows sufficient time to soak in it, rather than at a specified time each day. But the thing that is most different about this hour compared to the more familiar Morning and Evening Prayer is that in addition to the Psalms, which are a part of each hour, there are two rather lengthy readings. The first is a scriptural reading, and throughout the Advent season it seems that it is mainly taken from the book of the prophet Isaiah. These largely deal with God's promise to care for Israel and to nurture his people and provide a Savior, and the people's longing for that promise to be fulfilled. This is one reason I find this hour so particularly wonderful during Advent, and there tends to be a similarly appropriate thematic focus during Lent, too. This reading is way longer than the short readings used during Morning and Evening Prayer, and is generally longer even than we typically get at Mass, except maybe for the gospels during the last weeks of Lent.
But the part of the Office of Readings that I love the best is the second reading each day. This is an extra-canonical reading of similar length from some source outside of scripture. Frequently it is taken from a sermon or letter by one of the early church fathers, a thematically-related section from an encyclical, or a writing from one of the Doctors of the Church. These readings often give lie to the idea that because we have advanced so greatly in the realms of technology and science we have also grown wiser. Indeed, the least insightful and nourishing of these readings tend to be the ones from the past century, though I find that these also contain great truth, even when they are a reiteration of things I already know. I have a tendency, though, after one of these more modern readings or even one of the older ones that is mostly a series of brief expansions on some of the phrases within a famous scripture passage, to feel a little unfulfilled and even disappointed.
Such was the case this morning (he observes, as he finally starts coming back around to the point!) with a reading from Second Vatican Council documents. Even as I nodded my head in agreement with what it was saying, I felt as if the Church had somehow let me down a little by not giving me better material to reflect on this morning. Fortunately, this self-absorbed initial response soon yielded - by the Holy Spirit, I can only surmise - to a stock-taking of what this daily prayer time is really all about. For the purpose of such prayer time is not primarily to make us feel as if we have been touched by divinely inspired insight, nor to expand our mind with a deeper understanding of God. I mean, in the eternal scheme of things, no matter how much we learn about God in this life, the ratio of what we don't know about God to what we do know doesn't change (the infinite divided by any finite x is still infinite). We should, of course, strive to know God, but that is ultimately not a head knowledge but a relationship knowledge - to know in the truly biblical sense, in the same intimate way (only, obviously, not as completely) as God knows us - and that is why I am here in the morning: to simply spend some time in the presence of the One who loves me perfectly. As a result I become more equipped to recognize him when I encounter him through the course of the day, to bear his love into others' lives.
So I am not here in the light of this wreath to wonder anew at a fresh piece of insight, but to have my whole life illumined by God, to simply begin the day in God's presence, to breathe in the Breath of Heaven, to allow God to draw me more fully into eternal Love, for God is Love. This reality is independent of - and far more important than - whether I feel as if the process has taken place because some inspired piece of brilliance has impressed me.
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