It is 1.25 am and I am wide awake. Perhaps the room is too hot; the apartment, with its large windows, stays hot for six months of the year. Perhaps it is the new pillows, not yet softened by use, or maybe a thought has taken hold in my head and prodded me awake, demanding the attention of my conscious mind.
I reposition the fan closer to the bed, throw the harder pillows to my feet, and try to change the channel of my thoughts by getting a glass of water. But I am still wide awake when I return to bed, with hours sullenly stretching out before me until the sun rises.
And so I pray. I pray the rosary, the longest sequence of prayers I know, to keep me company through these long hours of darkness. The rosary is properly described as a “compendium of the Gospel”, a remembrance of and meditation on the life of Christ as seen through the eyes of Mary, beginning with the announcement of Mary’s pregnancy, and Jesus’ early life (the joyful mysteries), Christ’s ministries (the mysteries of light), the events leading to the crucifixion (the sorrowful mysteries), and the events following the resurrection (the glorious mysteries).
I count the prayers on my fingers in the darkness to keep track. These prayers induce a sense of calmness and peace and the breath slows as the focus broadens to the spiritual. These prayers mark the rhythm of human life too; in contemplating the events of Christ’s life we learn charity towards others. As John Paul II explained, how could one contemplate Christ carrying the cross and Christ crucified without feeling a need to help others weighed down by grief or crushed by despair?
The rosary is not an escape from the problems of the world, but rather offers an opportunity to see needs with responsible and generous eyes. The rosary gives us the strength to face troubles and challenges with hope, and in the knowledge that we are not alone.
We are in the midst of Lent, a forty-day period, which began with Ash Wednesday, of preparation for Easter. The annual commemoration of the suffering of Christ does not, for believers, lessen the pain of the cruelty inflicted upon Him. It breaks one’s heart every year. Yet by reliving the death of Christ and Mary’s sorrow, standing at the foot of the cross, we enter into an understanding of the depths of God’s love for humankind and experience its life-giving power.
It is common to impose some restriction on oneself for the duration of Lent, a small act of going without, like giving up chocolate or alcohol. Some pray the rosary. I suspect, like most spiritual practices, what may be begun out of a sense of duty will reveal itself to be nothing but beneficial to the individual concerned, because one of the gifts received from prayer sincerely offered is peace.
Melissa Coburn is a Melbourne writer.
