The title for this little inspirational piece comes from a one-liner in Brian Doyle’s exquisite book, Eight Whopping Lies. As I get a little further into this wonderful book, I am amazed at Doyle’s skill to narrate in a succinct, clever fashion a short story that winds up being gripping and then instructive. It has been a while since I enjoyed a book this much.
Today’s focus comes in a short story simply called, “Your First Rosary.” Since I did not grow up Catholic, I never had a first rosary. In fact, I have never had a rosary. I have seen them and held a few in my lifetime, but I don’t have any of my own. Like most non-Catholics I think, I have struggled to understand and appreciate what the rosary means to Catholics. This may not be true, but the rosary always seems to be more important for women than for the men I have known.
Typically, the Catholic young boy or girl receives the rosary at their First Communion, i.e. the first time they are at Mass when they actually take the Eucharist or holy communion. As I hear so many of their stories, this usually happens when they are in the first or second grade, which seems a bit young to me. Many Catholics I know do not remember this too well. But some recall it with fondness. And many of them treasure that first rosary which would be given to them by a grandmother or someone close.
I have been using Doyle’s book in a group I lead, a group we daringly call Soul Work! And so I looked forward to the gathering of the group when we were going to do this little story. I know there are some dedicated Catholics in the group and I planned to encourage them to tell their own First Communion story and receiving their own first rosary. I was not disappointed by their stories. Their stories made Doyle’s account even more special. Let’s look at what he shares with us.
In the beginning Doyle tells about all the details that he remembers. He describes dressing up, the money he is given and all the rest of that special day. In many ways it reminds me of the Jewish Bar Mitzvah or bat Mitzvah for girls. In both Catholicism and Judaism, the young person comes of age and joins the community as “adult believers.” Innocently Doyle says, “You are supposed to put your new rosary back in the special celebratory box but there is something tactile and sinuous and riverine and finger-friendly about it, and you thumb the beads for a while…” This gives you a sense for the brilliance of Doyle as a writer.
Soon the scene shifts to the night when the young Catholic is in his bedroom. He tells us about his own experience. “…you suddenly remember your rosary, and you get up stealthily, and retrieve it from your pocket or purse, and tiptoe back to bed…” I sensed the poignancy of this part of his experience. Doyle confesses that “you finger the rosary again for a while, with complicated feelings.” I smile when Doyle unpacks a bit the complicated feelings going on inside him. He quips, “You want to be cynical about the whole thing,” but then he recalls how it came to him as a gift from grandmother, his parents are spiritually moved by the whole scene and so on. What’s a boy to think or do?
Then comes the phrase I want to share. Doyle describes it this way: “…the rosary is a river in your hand…” Wow, somehow that phrase hit me. The rosary is a river in your hand, which he continues to say, “ever since you were little there has been something alluring and mysterious and ancient about the rosary being chanted and mumbled and muttered and sung…” With these words and somehow in the river, we have entered the deeper waters of the Spirit. We have moved from beads profundity. We have been moved from materiality to spirituality. No wonder he cannot be cynical.
I love that image of the rosary as a river in my hand. Quakers are devoid of images and symbols; it may be too much of a reach for me to appreciate fully the rosary. All my life I have been taught the symbols and outward signs, like a rosary, are not necessary to experience the Spirit and to be spiritual. I still believe that. But I also have to wonder if I and all the ones like me have not spent too much time on dry land.
Instead of finding my way to the river and the Spirit the river runs toward and, perhaps, runs from, we plod along on dry land becoming parched and pathetic in our disconnected march through life. Our contemporary culture gets the cynicism all too well. It is easy to make fun of little old ladies fingering their beads and muttering what we too readily label as nonsense. We make fun of them and the joke is on us!
I was happy today to listen to my Catholic friends tell their Doyle-like stories. I was not cynical and tried to be open to their truth and the process by which they find their own river in their hand. Instead of superstitious superficiality, I saw and felt the Power of Presence they experience and were trying to convey. Although there was no Eucharist or communion wafer or cup in sight, I had the feeling our whole group had been led into a sacramental moment.
Stories like the rosary is a river can transform the profane into a sacrament. I think I was led to the river.
Today’s focus comes in a short story simply called, “Your First Rosary.” Since I did not grow up Catholic, I never had a first rosary. In fact, I have never had a rosary. I have seen them and held a few in my lifetime, but I don’t have any of my own. Like most non-Catholics I think, I have struggled to understand and appreciate what the rosary means to Catholics. This may not be true, but the rosary always seems to be more important for women than for the men I have known.
Typically, the Catholic young boy or girl receives the rosary at their First Communion, i.e. the first time they are at Mass when they actually take the Eucharist or holy communion. As I hear so many of their stories, this usually happens when they are in the first or second grade, which seems a bit young to me. Many Catholics I know do not remember this too well. But some recall it with fondness. And many of them treasure that first rosary which would be given to them by a grandmother or someone close.
I have been using Doyle’s book in a group I lead, a group we daringly call Soul Work! And so I looked forward to the gathering of the group when we were going to do this little story. I know there are some dedicated Catholics in the group and I planned to encourage them to tell their own First Communion story and receiving their own first rosary. I was not disappointed by their stories. Their stories made Doyle’s account even more special. Let’s look at what he shares with us.
In the beginning Doyle tells about all the details that he remembers. He describes dressing up, the money he is given and all the rest of that special day. In many ways it reminds me of the Jewish Bar Mitzvah or bat Mitzvah for girls. In both Catholicism and Judaism, the young person comes of age and joins the community as “adult believers.” Innocently Doyle says, “You are supposed to put your new rosary back in the special celebratory box but there is something tactile and sinuous and riverine and finger-friendly about it, and you thumb the beads for a while…” This gives you a sense for the brilliance of Doyle as a writer.
Soon the scene shifts to the night when the young Catholic is in his bedroom. He tells us about his own experience. “…you suddenly remember your rosary, and you get up stealthily, and retrieve it from your pocket or purse, and tiptoe back to bed…” I sensed the poignancy of this part of his experience. Doyle confesses that “you finger the rosary again for a while, with complicated feelings.” I smile when Doyle unpacks a bit the complicated feelings going on inside him. He quips, “You want to be cynical about the whole thing,” but then he recalls how it came to him as a gift from grandmother, his parents are spiritually moved by the whole scene and so on. What’s a boy to think or do?
Then comes the phrase I want to share. Doyle describes it this way: “…the rosary is a river in your hand…” Wow, somehow that phrase hit me. The rosary is a river in your hand, which he continues to say, “ever since you were little there has been something alluring and mysterious and ancient about the rosary being chanted and mumbled and muttered and sung…” With these words and somehow in the river, we have entered the deeper waters of the Spirit. We have moved from beads profundity. We have been moved from materiality to spirituality. No wonder he cannot be cynical.
I love that image of the rosary as a river in my hand. Quakers are devoid of images and symbols; it may be too much of a reach for me to appreciate fully the rosary. All my life I have been taught the symbols and outward signs, like a rosary, are not necessary to experience the Spirit and to be spiritual. I still believe that. But I also have to wonder if I and all the ones like me have not spent too much time on dry land.
Instead of finding my way to the river and the Spirit the river runs toward and, perhaps, runs from, we plod along on dry land becoming parched and pathetic in our disconnected march through life. Our contemporary culture gets the cynicism all too well. It is easy to make fun of little old ladies fingering their beads and muttering what we too readily label as nonsense. We make fun of them and the joke is on us!
I was happy today to listen to my Catholic friends tell their Doyle-like stories. I was not cynical and tried to be open to their truth and the process by which they find their own river in their hand. Instead of superstitious superficiality, I saw and felt the Power of Presence they experience and were trying to convey. Although there was no Eucharist or communion wafer or cup in sight, I had the feeling our whole group had been led into a sacramental moment.
Stories like the rosary is a river can transform the profane into a sacrament. I think I was led to the river.
Comments
Post a Comment