Rising Early

“Rising early in the morning.” (Mk 1:35)

So Jesus was an early riser. So am I, provided you consider 6 a.m. early. Continuing on, the Gospel of Mark relates that Jesus “went off to a lonely place in the desert; there he was absorbed in prayer.” My imitation of Christ is less literal. I retreat to my living room chair and begin the day, not exactly “absorbed in prayer.” But I try. Once I’m up and the morning grooming done, I light a candle and pour a cup of coffee. 

During part of the year, I rise before the sun. Looking out the window to the north, I notice the city’s lights: porch lights, outdoor lighting, stop lights rotating through their green-yellow-red cadence. Tall buildings in downtown Spokane are in view: the gleaming gold signage of the Wells Fargo building; First Interstate, Spokane’s tallest structure; the elegant Paulsen Building; the Grand Hotel and the much less grand Park Tower are my prayer sentinels. I consider for a moment the people in these buildings or preparing to enter them. In this glancing thought, they are with me, joined by the thread of our basic human connectedness reinforced by prayer.   

Now I open the Liturgy of the Hours. Not exactly. I tap the app on my Fire tablet and up pops the Office for today. Can I even remember how to set up the printed breviary? 

Lord, open my lips.
And my mouth will proclaim your praise.

Come, let us sing to the Lord
and shout with joy to the Rock who saves us.

I continue with the psalms, reading and responsory that constitute morning prayer. Sometimes I read slowly, deliberately, savoring the images and emotions evoked by the Psalter. But not often. Most of the time, I am not “absorbed.” It helps to recall a note from the instruction on the Hours: this is the prayer of the whole Church, and somewhere someone is feeling gratitude, comfort, hope, anxiety, doubt, longing. The thin spiritual wire connects me with them. 

The morning Office concludes with intercessions that typically ask for the grace to live what one has prayed:

“At the beginning of this day fill our hearts with zeal in serving you so that our thoughts and actions may redound to your glory,”

 followed by the Lord’s Prayer. This is a chance to be more personal. Does something weigh upon me? Does someone weigh upon me? When is there ever a day that we don’t feel the weight of the world? “I pray for the President every morning,” commented a woman in my book club. Good idea. I glance at the list of our diocese’s deceased priests and deacons. Is there one today? Now, nearly half the names are of men I have known. What about the Sacred Heart prayer chain? If a request has come recently, I recall it. Otherwise, there may be a request in an email, which I don’t want to open it just yet.  I will remember that intention later.

I move on to the day’s Mass readings. I tap the app, and there they are. When daily Mass and a homily were built into my schedule, I would linger longer here. Not so much now, but the readings keep me in the flow. Maybe I will find the place where I come apart to rest, but that is rare.

Now it is time for a selective glance at email. A prayer chain notice has priority, but these are infrequent. Then I open Bishop Robert Barron’s comment on the day’s Gospel. His reflections have two notable qualities: they are short, and they are free. This is also his platform for advertising offerings from Word on Fire, but I don’t go there. 

Are we done yet? No. But this month’s Last Word has been spoken. I will continue this confession of my morning prayer another time. And, I will pray for you.