There is a group of Benedictine monks who make their home right, smack-dab in the heart of the city of Chicago. Odd place for contemplation of God, no? Nevertheless, there they are, the Monastery of the Holy Cross—down on Aberdeen and 31st, for those of you familiar with the area.
Having attended the liturgy there, I can tell you that it is very beautiful. Sitting in the pew, you can’t help but forget that you are in the middle of a large metropolis. You are transported by rhythms of their chant to a doorway into Heaven. Singing is something they take very seriously. In their most recent newsletter, Polis, Prior Peter Funk, OSB has an article entitled “Prayer as Music.” Let me quote you a bit here:
…Once we begin to understand what makes a piece of music tick, and once we have trained our bodies to put one note after another, the real music begins to well up in us, as if from some other place. We begin to lose control over the music; and indeed, performing can’t ever really be about control. For the music to soar, it must be set free from our grasp; we must channel it rather than force it…Now I offer this as an image of prayer. Prayer is also in one sense a difficult discipline, and yet something as natural to the human species as music.
This struck a chord in me (pun intended), coming as it does during a period of difficulty, both in my writing, and my prayer life. More from Prior Peter’s article:
…When we say, “Our Father, Who art in heaven,” what do we mean? Where is the music in it? We might not feel it right away, and if so, it is probably the case that we are trying too hard to control the process. We are speaking with another Person, and just as no conversation can take place in which only one person speaks, or dominates the exchange, prayer cannot happen if we insist too much on ‘getting it right.’…But to let go is frightening, and many people pull back from it. What if I really were to mean what I say, rather than taking pride in having spent long hours in prayer—but prayer according to my standards? This would really involve the conversion of my life.
I like his use of music as a metaphor for prayer and it got me thinking about my writing. Obviously, like music, there is a structure to writing that can’t be avoided, but what elevates the words from mere prose to a kind of prayer, is the channeling of the ideas rather than forcing them onto the paper.
As with prayer, writing is hard to begin, but once begun and allowed to flow, time compresses and conversion of life takes place. Yes, conversion of life. I doubt any writer will honestly say that in the act of their creation, their work does not affect them one way or another. I am first and foremost ‘preaching to the choir’ in my writing, but I also desire that it impart an edifying message to the reader. If it does, you can be sure that is was written as a prayer.
