Four months of the Divine Office

 The other day marked the fourth month that I've been praying (some of) the Hours of the Divine Office with (some) regularity. I will be forthcoming with my admission that it is still not as habitual as I would like, but, then again, the spiritual life is not meant to be a cake walk. "Take up your cross and follow Me" doesn't necessarily get visions of sugar plums a-dancin' in my head.

That broad caveat understood, I would like to give an update. I have found the experience of praying in this manner very beneficial, on several levels. Firstly, as I am an absolutely horrific creature of habit, I appreciate the ordered, rhythmic nature of structure of the Divine Office in general. There is enough variety day-by-day and hour-by-hour to keep my wandering mind focused, yet, the constant underlying structure and logic means that it's easy to jump right back in if I've missed a day or two (or, five... like I said, it's a work in progress). At this point, I have enough familiarity with the Psalms and Readings contained within that the subtle moods of each Hour have become more apparent as well.

Speaking of the Psalms - how ignorant I have been of them for too long! Granted, at least one is sung or chanted at every Mass and much of our better hymnody is inspired by them, but the Psalms have largely escaped my consciousness for much of my consciously Catholic life. In grade school, our Biblical studies generally revolved around either the liturgical season or a theological lesson (i.e. Creation, Covenant, Morality of this or that), and while the Psalms embody many of these themes in a more poetic way, they are often not the clearest expositors that grade school teachers have at their disposal. High school was similar in many ways. I had one class on the Old Testament, which, while rewarding in many ways, also overlooked the Psalms and much of the Wisdom literature in favor of the some of the more over-arching themes.

All this is to say that I enjoy getting to know the various Psalms at what amounts to a more personal level. Most Hours contain just three Psalms apiece, so the effort of mentally digesting them is not Herculean by any stretch. The Hours that contain more than three Pslams (Sunday Lauds and Vespers, for instance) tend to have a more obvious thematic correlation, so they are more easily read as a group. In any event, the Psalms are the heart of the Divine Office, and it is both a challenge and a joy to pray them with the mind of the Church, considering how each might give voice to a petition, a sorrow, or a joy much wider than my own existence.

One last note is on the edition I have been using. It is a side-by-side Latin/English edition. Every couple of days, especially on Hours that have become more familiar, I attempt to pray only using the Latin. It has been a marvelous learning experience to commit a Psalm almost to memory in English and then consider the Latin version. Luckily, the English translation, from what I can tell, is quite literal. So, if I get stuck on a word, it is fairly easy for me to find my place. Not only is this helping my rudimentary Latin skills, it is also opening up a somewhat different mode of prayer than what I'm used to. Since I have what the Zen masters would call a "Beginner's Mind" about Latin, I am much more focused on considering the various words and phrases. This slows me down a bit and gets me to consider an inflected meaning that could be gleaned from the Latin version but not from the English.

If you may permit me a brief example (not that I can hear your protesting in vain!). The first antiphon for Monday Compline (Night Prayer):

English: Rescue me, Lord, because of Thy kindness
Latin: Salvum me fac, Domine, propter misericordiam tuam.

While the English conveys quite a beautiful sentiment, a deeper dimension is added when the Latin is considered. Rescue me conveys a sense of urgency - a dire longing to be free of our sins, perhaps. The Latin inflection of Salvum me fac completes the image by importing the language of salvation (salvum) more directly. We are asking for God to rescue us from sin by granting us His salvation. Are they the same meaning theologically? Perhaps, but there is, I maintain, a richness in the slight differences. Misericordiam also offers an interesting study. This particular word is quite common in the ecclesiastical lexicon, and is most commonly translated as mercy. Here, the translator has chosen kindness. Does this not beg a meditation on the relationship between God's mercy and God's kindness? If we break down the word Misericordiam we can see within it miser, which is approximately wretched, and cor, which is heart. So, God has a wretched (perhaps grieved?) heart for our salvation. Is this not His compassion? Is not His mercy moved by His compassion? Was it not His compassion and mercy that prompted Him to send His only Son to accomplish (fac) our salvation (salvum).

This is but one fairly in depth example, but there are (I'm sure) many more to be found. Translation is a delicate art, to be sure, as no one language directly equals another (as any multilingual person will tell you). In that regard, it is both intellectually and spiritually rewarding to occasionally veer down these translator's rabbit holes for the possible gain of an added insight.

Paradise Regained?

"If we had to choose today, would Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Mary, the Son of the Father, have a chance? Do we really know Jesus at all? Do we understand him? Do we not perhaps have to make an effort, today as always, to get to know him all over again? The tempter is not so crude as to suggest to us directly that we should worship the devil. He merely suggests that we opt for the reasonable decision, that we choose to give priority to a planned and thoroughly organized world, where God may have his place as a private concern but must not interfere in our essential purposes." - Pope Benedict XVI, Jesus of Nazareth, Ch. 2

Ever since we got the boot out of Eden, we humans have been trying desperately to regain our earthly paradise. Perhaps we can say it began with the story of the tower of Babel, when we thought we could pridefully build our way back up to God. The attempts have continued since.

We have been discussing in my history of architecture class the various reactionary movements inspired by the Industrial Revolution. Mechanization of industry set in motion a number of attempts at Utopianism - attempting to create a beautiful, equal, and productive society. Of course, the most vile of these was Marxism, which lead to untold misery and disaster. However, it is perhaps the more milder ideas that still influence us the most. The captains of industry building rational, self-sufficient suburbs for their workers. The City Beautiful movement that sought to bring life and equality into city life. The Arts and Crafts movement that brought production away from the machines back into the hands of skilled artisans, who organized themselves in self-sufficient guilds.

The idea that we can somehow establish a utopian society on earth rests on two fundamental assumptions: that human beings are on a constant trajectory of moral and social advancement, and that our priorities are utterly and completely based alleviating all suffering in this world. Evidence of these two assumptions is plentiful in our American society. We laugh at the silliness and ignorance of those who came before us - thinking ourselves the most enlightened generation to ever walk the earth. We live in the 21st Century, for God's sake! We are naturally superior! We have evolved out of all that nonsense! Why does anyone need to suffer? Look at all of the technology we have developed, surely we can save ourselves from destruction of any kind!

We, as a society, have opted for a planned and thoroughly organized world. A world of complete rationality, escape from suffering, and constant material advancement. Where does God fit into a society where we set ourselves up as our own saviors? He is treated merely as an inherited cultural superstition - harmless to invoke in private, but an offense to our enlightened and decidedly sensible civilization.

My colleagues and friends are all engaged in professions that involve progress. I am not here to remotely suggest that progress in medicine, engineering, or design is inherently bad - quite the contrary! We are indeed called to assist our fellow man. However, it is when we suggest that we can exterminate suffering and live in complete peace and harmony that we approach the dangerous pride and subsequent ruin of Babel.