Of the Hours

At Gethsemani, the monks follow the Liturgy of the Hours, as do most Christian monastic orders. This is the official set of daily prayers and consists of singing the Psalms, hymns, and readings. As I wandered the grounds, journaling, napping, taking photos, or simply being in awe of my surroundings, the church bell continually brought my attention back toward a central point, my faith. The bells, distinct beautiful sounds that they are, ring on the hour, quarter hour and half hour, and have particular purpose notifying the community that a liturgy is due to begin. The monks begin their prayer at 3:15am and meet nine times for prayer throughout the day. I found the continual coming together: the bell tolling, people gathering one by one, the simple singing and prayer to be a dynamic routine. Eventually I looked forward to the bell and the repetition of sounds I would find in the choir.

The Liturgy of the Hours, in their full yearly cycle, is based on the Psalms, which happen to be the poetic verse of the Old Testament. These verses are much lauded in Judeo-Christian culture and it’s easy to see why; the power and aliveness that exudes from them endures. Still I find their language daunting and archaic, so that when I follow the words precisely I get caught up in analyzing and disliking them. They are not the words I want to pray, even as I recognize their significance in relaying the human condition of suffering and despair:

I am like water poured out;

all my bones are racked.

My heart has become like wax

melting away with my bosom.

My throat is dried up like baked clay,

my tongue cleaves to my jaws;

The metaphors are rich, virile, and sometimes difficult to penetrate:

You have exalted my horn like the wild bulls

you have anointed me with rich oil.

And my eye has looked down upon my foes,

and my ears have heard of the fall

of my wicked adversaries.

But when I let their song wash over me and stop thinking so much, but just exist in the words, I experience a tender surrender. This kept me coming back to every liturgy when I was present on the grounds, and kept me late (7:30pm) on a windy, cold day for the final liturgy, Compline.

Compline is the end of the day, the night prayer. The closing hymns and prayers are particularly sweet to the ear and heart. The monks sing on into the growing darkness,

May the all-powerful Lord grant us a restful night and a peaceful death.