Ways of Praying
from, Tales from the (Daily) Office
I go along to the church to say Evening Prayer, with the secret and silent prayer that today I may be alone for it. I usually am. But for the past few days one of the village 'characters' has taken to joining me. On many occasions, it's nice to have company in prayer; but this person's company is distracting. She likes to fill the meditative silences I like to leave after the readings, with her own commentary on them, or on what she's been up to today. Most of her prayers are very heartfelt, sincere and empathic; but as soon as we stop, she will start telling me (if I don't escape quickly enough) the latest episode in the saga of how she is being persecuted by Satanists for her work of trying to free people from the clutches of the cult.
When I get to church today, however, one of the flower ladies is there instead, still working on the altar flowers.
At this point Super-Vicar in my head would say; "Now then, my good woman, that's enough of that. The hour for the Sacred Office is here. Get on your knees and join me, or be off to your home." But this real, modern, wimp vicar hasn't the heart to say any of this. After all, she lives miles away and has driven for half an hour, and is giving up her afternoon to make God's house beautiful. Her offering is a form of prayer, too; and who would presume to judge between its value and that of my saying of the Office? I am also haunted by the St Gargoyle's cartoon of some years back which shows a lady of the flower guild wearing a kimono and a confident expression, over the caption: Mrs Jones was a black belt in ikebana. As they teach you in the first week at theological college: Don't mess with the flower guild!
So I left her in possession of the sanctuary, and went into the vestry to say my prayers there. At least it saved me from the Character, who came in while I was there, but didn't find my hiding place and went away again.
I go along to the church to say Evening Prayer, with the secret and silent prayer that today I may be alone for it. I usually am. But for the past few days one of the village 'characters' has taken to joining me. On many occasions, it's nice to have company in prayer; but this person's company is distracting. She likes to fill the meditative silences I like to leave after the readings, with her own commentary on them, or on what she's been up to today. Most of her prayers are very heartfelt, sincere and empathic; but as soon as we stop, she will start telling me (if I don't escape quickly enough) the latest episode in the saga of how she is being persecuted by Satanists for her work of trying to free people from the clutches of the cult.
When I get to church today, however, one of the flower ladies is there instead, still working on the altar flowers.
At this point Super-Vicar in my head would say; "Now then, my good woman, that's enough of that. The hour for the Sacred Office is here. Get on your knees and join me, or be off to your home." But this real, modern, wimp vicar hasn't the heart to say any of this. After all, she lives miles away and has driven for half an hour, and is giving up her afternoon to make God's house beautiful. Her offering is a form of prayer, too; and who would presume to judge between its value and that of my saying of the Office? I am also haunted by the St Gargoyle's cartoon of some years back which shows a lady of the flower guild wearing a kimono and a confident expression, over the caption: Mrs Jones was a black belt in ikebana. As they teach you in the first week at theological college: Don't mess with the flower guild!
So I left her in possession of the sanctuary, and went into the vestry to say my prayers there. At least it saved me from the Character, who came in while I was there, but didn't find my hiding place and went away again.
posted by Tony at 9/03/2004 05:11:00 pm
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