This is something that really separates the sheep from the goats. Tessa Bieleckie once defined the contemplative life as “the art of stealing time.” If you have ever spent time in communities of monks or friars or nuns, you will see firsthand that even in communities that officially value contemplation, the practical demands of earning income, keeping rather large premises reasonably clean, and apostolic initiatives leave time for little else other than liturgical prayer (which is certainly better than no prayer at all) and create an in-house culture of going from job to job to job as quickly as possible in order to move on to the next job. On the other hand, I know a woman who has four children under six; she uses their nap time as her prayer time and has mastered the art of praying psalms learnt by heart while doing laundry, preparing meals, housework, breaking up fights, chasing the dog down the street, and doing more laundry. Prayer is not something tacked onto her life but its integrating dynamic.
Some years ago the Jesuit Anthony de Mello was giving a retreat to a community of priests. After he picked up on their resistance to devoting some time each day to quiet prayer, he lambasted them: “Fathers, do not tell me you don’t have time to pray. You have time for your cocktails. You have time for your television. Do not tell me you do not have time to pray.”
The dynamic of contemplation is easily thwarted if prayer, even regular prayer, is something merely tacked onto our lives, as is the case in most religious communities, whether so-called contemplative or so-called active communities (this dualism is deeply misleading). If we do not allow prayer to assume its natural place as the centering dynamic of life, our prayer life, whether individual or communal, will be like planting seeds in tarmac. We may replant them season after season, but Godot will arrive sooner than any sustained growth and development in prayer. When prayer becomes what orders our day, as something we attempt to live out of moment by moment, rather than the tail pinned blindly onto the donkey of daily life, then prayer will integrate us into itself.
Many dedicated people somehow find a way of reclaiming part of the morning. A steaming mug of coffee or tea creates a lovely liturgical environment of openness and receptivity. The early morning stillness of the house has not been interrupted by telephones, family squabbles, car pools, or doorbells. Some spouses agree to honor this silence between themselves.
Whether we can claim two hours of the morning or twenty minutes or ten minutes, it is important that it be workable on a regular basis. Daily practice is as important as daily nourishment. It does very little good to eat nutritious food once every fortnight and junk food the rest of the time. And so with a contemplative art like sitting in stillness. Carve out of each day something workable, whether it be a portion of the morning, of lunch hour, or of the evening, and go from there.
~Martin Laird, A Sunlit Absence: Silence, Awareness, and Contemplation
