What Do We Pray For In The Depths Of Night? (Vigils)
I have written another Book of Hours (stay tuned, I’m in a very in-between stage of life right now where all clocks are silly.) Perhaps “compiled new and existing poetry into a second Book of Hours manuscript” is a better description. It’s a sequel to the first one where I was still a bit of a gangly youth in my understanding of the process, but extremely heartfelt nonetheless. This next one is going to be about lament and hope- all the things we’ve needed for 2020 and surely beyond. As I wrote these poems, though, I found myself wanting to immerse in prayer in a more whole-being way, instead of feeling like I needed to be ethereal when clearly my entire body is feeling the emotion of engagement.
A lot of people, when they write a book, will say they put their whole heart and soul into it. Additionally, I put my whole chronically ill body into mine. I think it will make more sense when I get it published, which I hold out hope for in 2021. When I write, you get all of me, because everything is connected. When I pray, I want it to be all of me, too. I imagine I am not alone, so I wrote some guided meditations for us for the specific hours, the first one being Vigils (12 a.m.) which is self-explanatory as the hour of keeping watch.
A Guided Meditation For Vigils
Let us move through this first one together:
Waiting. Life is filled with so much waiting.
I imagine it like sitting in a dark room in straight-backed chairs- nobody wants to be there- we just found ourselves there in all those layers of discomfort and have not figured out what to do next. In these hours we find ourselves listening in the silence, whether peace or agony building, and notice our hope struggling to prevail.
Fear lurks in the things unseen, unknown, felt in their uncertainties. We notice the pressure of it in our limbs or chest perhaps, so we’ll let out a long sigh and release the tension in our shoulders. We think about the support of the ground beneath us and the shelter of the ceiling above us. Safe. We are safe. Say it with our heartbeat.
We enter this time with the intention to be present in the mystery, to witness and to ponder. We are holding out our hands now and keeping vigil in the space where our faith has met with a storm- maybe several times in one day- but we’re clinging on to it anyway, as we’re loved. As we’re found: Simple, childlike, anxious, but fervent in keeping watch for the breakthrough we will not be swayed from desiring.
We take a breath, hold it gently for a very few seconds, then release and dwell on the relief of letting it go. We lift our still outstretched hands, symbolizing our waiting to receive answers.
Then we pray we will find ourselves encompassed by Love in a known beyond knowing, inside the impossible, where even if we’ve lost our grip on the magic we won’t let the wounds steal the embers of hope- our stubborn, magnificent, awkward, aching hope.
Whisper into the quiet: “See me. Hear me. Hold me in this space of no resolution.”
We then gently drop our hands into our laps and return to the silence. We breathe. We rest.
Yes, we rest, even in the watching and waiting.
From The Archives
https://www.jamiewrightbagley.com/jamiesblog/2016/12/15/one-candle
