The blessing of the muffins
The blessing of the muffins
On Prayer: Part 3, in which we sanctify the mundane
Prayer can be hard. Many of us follow the forms laid out by the Church because they are a good foundation upon which to build a prayer life. Whether it’s the Liturgy of the Hours or the Rosary, we drink from a deep and pure well that can nourish our spiritual life with the wisdom of the Church and voice of God in Scripture. When we do, we join the People of God in one prayer.
Yet this discipline of prayer is like any discipline: it requires work and practice. As with a diet or exercise regimen, it can become a burden. If we put all our eggs in that basket, we can feel like failures if our discipline slips.
This why the Rule of St. Benedict emphasizes brief, frequent prayers over long, focused prayer. He says: “Prayer ought to be short and fervent, unless it happens, that one is moved by the grace of God to prolong it.”
Did you catch that last part? Longer prayer is a function of grace. Now, Benedictines certainly pray the Divine Office hours, so he’s not dismissing longer prayer. Instead, he sees the Office as a way to stand in the presence of God:
“We believe that God is everywhere present, and that His all-seeing eye beholds both the good and the bad; but there are no circumstances in which we should have such a profound and lively conviction of these truths, as while we are engaged in singing the Divine Office.”
In these deeper practices, we learn about God and dispose ourselves to His action, but prayer—the reaching out to God with heart, mind, and word—can be a much simpler thing.
The most humble yet powerful prayer is the Sign of the Cross. Body, mind, and voice all work together to proclaim the Trinity and the saving power of the crucifixion all at once.
It’s common to say “let your life become a prayer,” but that’s not quite what I mean here. Rather, we need to make prayer—short, frequent prayer—a part of our lives. Nothing big, mind you: just what the Church calls ejaculations. (Yes, I know, I know: but the Church’s understanding of the word preceded the other meaning.) Bring our lives back to God all day long with all our actions, if only just for a moment.
Say the Jesus Prayer. Make the Sign of the Cross before an action. Say “God be with me” before you make a phone call. Say an Our Father at random points in the day. Offer up a “Requiem aeternam” or “Lord have mercy” when you hear of a tragedy.
We all want our prayers to be outsized, deep, moving, profound. That is a worthy goal, but it should not be the ordinary way of prayer for us. The ordinary way is the little way.
I remember a video I saw years ago in a diocesan training session. It showed a woman making the Sign of the Cross over a tray of muffins as she put them in the oven. I snorted at the absurdity of, but now I see its ordinary beauty. She was trying to sanctify the mundane. It's way of praying with our whole being, and composing that prayer from the simple moments of life.
We are a sacramental people. We believe God dignified flesh by taking it on Himself in the incarnation. We believe God uses matter to convey the sacred. Time, too, can become sacred, and every moment that clicks by can be sanctified for us if we turn to God in that moment and ask His blessing upon it.
Turning to frequent, short prayer throughout the day is like opening a windowshade on a bright day. The new light baths the room to reveal things formerly unseen. God is that light. The anxiety and stress of everyday life is the windowshade. Prayer is when we choose, if only for a moment, to let that light in so that we may see our life anew.
I doubt that The Muffin Lady’s Prayer was “Lord, make these the best muffins ever!” Rather, I think she was simply using her actions—in this case an act of both love and necessity in providing food for her family--as a moment to turn to God in thanks and love. She was trying to open herself to holiness by sanctifying the simple things.
"Pray without ceasing," we are told. This doesn't mean every person commits themselves to a life of prayer like a cloistered contemplative, but rather that each one of us is commanded to turn to God in the midst of life. We draw near to God and dwell in His presence, weaving our prayer out of the simple stuff of life, and offering up our time, our actions, our emotions, our very bodies in an act of love and devotion.
Beautiful reflection. It's easy to get caught up in the desire to do "great things" but neglect the small ones. The small ones have more immediate effect, both personally and on those around us. Your thoughts brought to mind a passage from The Nun's Story by Kathryn Hulme:
"She began with childhood, with the cook, Françoise, who had never cut into bread without first tapping the knife in the sign of the cross over the big round loaf. The child who watched the bread-cutting ritual used to go with the cook to first Mass every day, not because she understood then anything of its significance, but because there was something wonderful and mysterious about candles and singing before sunlight and the sight of so many grownups doing without breakfast until a small white wafer had been dropped upon their tongues. Then there were the visits she used to make with her doctor father to homes in the provinces as they were in the old days, every one with a big old-fashioned rosary hanging on the wall from two pegs spaced far enough apart to make the crucifix fall heart-shape to a point at the base. You seldom saw such visible piety now. Nor did you see nowadays the great single eye in a triangle which used to be painted over the zinc bars of country cafes where her father refreshed himself after his rounds. She remembered his explaining that the strange compelling design meant that the Eye of God was upon the place and no cursing would be permitted. The old-fashioned religious childhood, she thought. God was like one of the family and this above all is why I am here. I learned to love Him when I was very young..."