Book of Hours

“The hour is striking so close above me, so clear and sharp, that all my senses ring with it.”    Rainer Maria Rilke

ED356F50-D700-49F8-B0EC-EE7AB7CFDC74_1_201_aFloral Capital I | ClipArt ETC have been spending time throughout the last year at the Cistercian Abbey of Heiligenkreuz, an hour outside of Vienna, in the gently rolling hills of the Vienna Woods. The abbey, home to roughly one hundred monks, was founded in 1133. For nearly 900 years – through medieval wars and plagues, and through the horrors of the World Wars – the monks have gathered uninterrupted in the oratory at each hour of the monastic day to chant the hour’s hymns.

In this age of manic productivity, when time is measured on an atomic clock down to the nanosecond, it is to places like Heiligenkreuz that we go to renew our sense of presence, and to recalibrate our relationship to human time. It is no small irony that the first clocktower bells, installed in monasteries to summon monks to prayer at the appointed hours, are the very innovation that set in motion this march of the ticking clock that would usher in the Industrial Revolution and the digital age from which we now seek refuge in the cloistered walls of monasteries like Heiligenkreuz.

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Whether we are listening in stillness to the ethereal sounds of Gregorian chant in a cavernous oratory, or stopping for a moment in our busy day to observe the shifting light, listen to the song of birds, or simply feel our feet on the Earth and the beating of our heart in time with all of life, observing the hours is a way of weaving a more expansive connection to the march of time through our hours, days, and lifetime. The Austrian Benedictine monk Brother David Steindl-Rast describes the hours as the “seasons of the day.” He describes them in this way:

The monastic understanding of the word ‘hour’ goes back to a Greek word, hora, which is older than our notion of a day broken into twenty-four-hour segments. The original notion of hour is something quite different from a unit of time composed of sixty minutes.”

He goes on to explain:

“We come closer to an appreciation of the original meaning of hour when we reflect on the seasons of the year. They betoken the original understanding, in which a season is a mood and an experience, not an exact period that starts, say on the twenty-first of December and ends on the twenty-first of March. It’s rare that any season really starts on its assigned date. Rather, seasons are qualitative experiences: We sense a subtle difference in the quality of light, the length of daylight, the feel of the air on our skin. We know intuitively that something is happening in nature.”

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The hours of the day are qualitative and textural like that. A day emerges gradually from the dark stillness of night, into the light, activity, and fervor of the day; it settles into the soft, reflective glow of evening, and slips quietly back into the darkness of night. Such is the rhythm and flow of our lifetimes as well, and attuning our senses and experiences of each moment to that rhythm and flow of time frees us from the ticking of the chronological clock, and allows us to appreciate and live each moment more fully and richly, as a unique human being, living a singular human life in a world filled with both aching beauty and suffering.

Excerpts from: Music of Silence: A Sacred Journey through the Hours of the Day, David Steindl-Rast and SHaron Lebell (1998)

An Invitation

I have long been interested in monastic traditions, and I believe there is great wisdom to be gleaned from them in working with the chaos and upheaval of life in our modern world, in non-sectarian ways that do not necessarily require adherence to any particular religious doctrine. St. Benedict saw his Rule as a “trellis,” a scaffold upon which daily life could naturally grow. While the structure of the hours comes from the Catholic tradition of the Divine Hours, and the scaffold of the day set out by Benedict, my interest lies not in espousing the Christian doctrine contained in them, nor the Buddhist doctrine of my own spiritual orientation. My interest lies, rather, in exploring how we can apply our attuned awareness and presence to the unfolding flow of time through our lives, and how we can share that experience in a way that transcends religious affiliation.

So I invite you to join me for the next eight weeks in an experiment of building such a “trellis,” tuning into the flow of these “seasons of the day.” The cocoon of this unique Coronavirus period seems an opportune time to do so, as many of us have seen our normal routines upended, and will eventually return to a new “normal” routine. Now is the time we can choose to consider what the shape of that new normal might be.

I will be releasing my own contemplation on each of the hours every Sunday for the next eight weeks, and I invite you to explore that hour of the day in your life. Each posting will feature a section with ideas for Practice, questions to Contemplate, a Poem touching on relevant themes, and ideas for ways to Create, in words or images, your experience of each hour. I invite you to Share whatever observations or insights arise in your own exploration, keeping in mind these two simple guidelines:

  1. Speak from your own lived experience.
  2. Situate any outside references (religious, spiritual, literary, etc.) within your lived experience (i.e. what experience of your own made those ideas or words of others ring true in your life)

The Hours

For your reference, here are the hours we will explore:

A note on times of the day (especially if Vigils scares you!):

We all have our own biological clocks – some are morning people, others are night owls. Approach this in the spirit of an experiment for a few days to taste each hour. The idea is not to tie these necessarily to an exact hour on the clock. Monastics often get up and begin Vigils at 5am. It does not have to be that early, but see what your body is capable of for a few days. The idea is to feel the texture of that portion of the day. There is a textural quality  before sunrise that is very different from mid-morning, or even dawn.

Lauds

First Light Oh, to love what is lovely, and will not last! What a task to ask of anything, or anyone, yet it is ours,     and not by the century or the year, but by the hours. – MARY OLIVER auds is the hour when the first light comes to waken the day and… Continue reading Lauds

Vigils

The First Moments Before Dawn igils is the first hour of the monastic day, when the monks rise in darkness to break the long silence of night with the sound of chant. This is the night watch at the gate between darkness and light, night and day, silence and sound. As our day emerges from… Continue reading Vigils

Sext

Firmly Rooted at Midday Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me!” – D.H. Lawrence ext is the hour that strikes at noon. It comes in the middle of the day when we are most fully engaged in the world – in the thick of things – when we might feel the… Continue reading Sext

Prime

Starting with Intention May what I do flow from me like a river Rainer Maria Rilke his world was given us to work on,” writes David Steindl-Rast. We each find our individual way to work on this world. Work forms a part of the day in every monastic tradition, and is approached with the same… Continue reading Prime

Terce

Harnessing the Elements Each of us going on in our inexplicable ways building the universe. Mary Oliver erce is the hour of blessing, the hour when the vitality that flows through our veins and our body takes the form of our work in the world. At this hour, we are inspired to action, and we… Continue reading Terce

Compline

Coming Full Circle What is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?” Mary Oliver he final note of the day is signaled at Compline, pulling the curtain and ushering in the darkness of night. The day is now complete. As the last chants conclude at Heiligenkreuz, the lights in the oratory go out,… Continue reading Compline

None

Shadows Lengthen What if it snows? What if the Spring returns?” Seo Jeong-ju one is the mid to late-afternoon hour when the lengthening shadows begin to stir in us an awareness of the passing of time. The outward activity of our day begins to settle, and a bittersweet ripeness fills the air as we sense… Continue reading None

Vespers

The Evening’s Glow Slowly the west reaches for clothes of new colors, which it passes to a row of ancient trees.” Rainer Maria Rilke olors bleed and fade back into the darkening canvas of evening at the hour of Vespers. The activity, the energy, the outward expression of life throughout the day is drawn back… Continue reading Vespers

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