The Time We Have
Before the ubiquity of smartphones or even pocket watches, before most towns had a single clock in a tower or steeple, in the days when the church might ring the hour but more likely only the Angelus and Mass, people kept time by prayer. Medieval and pre-modern books of cookery use units of measure that strike us as something else entirely: two walnut-sized gobs of butter; and stir with vigor for four Aves. Cups and teaspoons, minutes and seconds were abstract or unknown, but everybody knew a walnut and the Hail Mary.
Marking amounts and distances by prayer was practical and intelligible. If someone’s house was just over a rosary’s walk away, anyone could understand how far. It seems that more people than not prayed then as they walked or worked, not to replace the ticking clock but rather finding in prayer’s rhythms the measure of their days.
When I was a young priest, I read The Way of the Pilgrim, a Russian book from the nineteenth century that describes the journey of a soul seeking to fulfill the injunction of Saint Paul to pray without ceasing (1 Thes 5:17). His recurring prayer is known as the Jesus Prayer: Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner. This prayer was short enough that not only could I memorize it but also it came to my lips readily and often in the weeks after I finished the book. I hardly managed to pray without ceasing, though, and after a while I very nearly ceased praying it.
When it comes to prayer, there is so little time. We all say this, and we all know this, though there is no more nor less time now than any “then.” There simply is so much more that takes our time. Our labor-saving devices have turned on us and become time-consuming devices that demand not physical effort but attention. But we ourselves are the thieves: how often when we find ourselves waiting even for a few moments do we reflexively open some window on a screen? Once the devouring is done, there is little time left to give attention where it is most merited: friends, family, beauty – and God.
Our appetite for entertainment has called forth a deluge of demanding distraction, leaving us wondering whether silence even exists anymore. These diversions are not innocent, but rather designed to take from us our attention and intention and bestow it on a paying customer who will turn it to his own purpose. It is easy to forget that on the internet, you (we) are what is for sale, and our life and freedom are taken from us in digital units of time and attention.
As often as we tell ourselves we should look less at our screens or spend less time on the infotainment that gnaws away our human freedom, we are helpless simply to do it less. To reduce what we do of one thing, we need to do more of something else; we must increase our gracious works to be able to reduce profane pastimes.
Meanwhile, I am no longer a young priest, and as any older person will freely explain, there is less time, not more. So perhaps I am more careful with mine. Watering the flowers and plants in pots around the rectory every day through the summer, I noticed that I no longer simply counted as the water flowed, but instead offered prayers of predictable lengths. The geraniums take two acts of contrition; the begonias, three Sub tuum presidium. Similarly, on my walks I know how far a rosary is, and how much farther another set of mysteries.
This is not profound contemplation, nor is it earnest attentiveness to the will and mind of God. But these simple, memorized prayers fill a need that we all have to open ourselves to the Holy, Mighty, and Immortal One. Filling, marking, or at least elaborating our task-time with prayer accomplishes something that no tune nor podcast can, and that is, it redeems the time – literally buying it back from the demands of the world for the things of heaven and eternity. They rescue us from the soul-sucking destruction of the screens and its repeating replay before our mind’s eye.
Once we have developed this habit, we can begin to tithe our time – offering the proper percentage to God of this most precious gift He Himself has given us. Part of every day should be for Him; part of every hour. Without looking at your watch or smartphone, you will know what time it is: time for prayer.
Monsignor Smith
