reconciling things

I’ve been leaning hard into rhythms lately. Autumn seems to have that way about her, doesn’t she?

I am not good at routine at the same time somehow in love with ritual. The ones that come most naturally are the ones that bookend my days: grinding my coffee in the morning, drinking it with my husband, his arms around me while he says our morning prayers. In the evening, sitting in our twin rocking chairs chatting about the day, reading, and sipping something relaxing, his arms back around me as he says our night prayers. These are the rituals that never feel monotonous but are near identical every day.

I was pondering this, delighting in the sameness, while thinking back to my days before becoming Catholic. In those days it seems that newness was the thing most prized. I was in a community that was always looking for the newest revelation, the brightest insight, the novelty of what was termed “revival.” Reading Scripture was always with the goal of what was going to jump out of the pages, what was going to blow my mind, or dazzle my senses. When preparing a talk or sermon I craved something new and enlightening to say to the listeners.

Over a decade of being a Catholic, now I read old books–sometimes over and over. I say the same prayers every day. I don’t want to hear what the new preacher or author on the scene has to say. I’d rather find out what the stylite in the desert would say. What did the ancient hermit who never conceived of the internet say was the meaning of things? I feel intuitively that it would be far more applicable than any self-help book or self-appointed guru would have to say. I think, perhaps, the fascination with newness will be what ends us all, but the acceptance of the sacred sameness of the truth will comfort us and lead us to peace.

Below is something I wrote four years ago. Consistent to its theme, it still holds true.

Written April 29, 2021:

We live in a world where innovation is highly valued, disruptive technologies sought after, fresh ideas praised. It is as if what is current is interchangeable with what is important and the only relevant ideas are those which can be captured in a sound bite in the 24 hour news cycle.

There is always the temptation to be on to the next best thing.

This temptation draws us away from the romance of daily life, from rhythms and rituals, and practices as old as the world itself.

The world is old—at least in terms of humanity. (The world is young in terms of the eternal God who made and sustains it.) And the sun rises each day the same way. We can count on the seasons, the ebb and flow of the tides, the days of the week slipping in and out book ended with liturgies and weekend chores.

There is this sameness about the world—despite cars that drive themselves and phones that listen to my conversations in order to advertise to me things I neither need nor want. The sameness of things can either feel stifling or grounding, depending on my perspective and how much I let the monotony speak to me of things eternal.