THE HOURS OF THE DAY
“To hear the music of silence and to harken to its message,
we must step out of clock time into the monastic flow of time
as expressed through the hours of the day. We must forsake
our usual unconscious gesture of reaction, and make the
aware inner gesture of response to what is before us in
each moment.”
Brother David Steindl-Rast (Music of Silence)
Lauds
The gift of morning is the gift of life.
It arrives in increments: just a mote, a dot
of light, a mere speck, a particle,
and evolves slowly—its source
St. Anselm’s “something than which
nothing greater can be thought.”
The gift of Being emerges as sunlight--
an opportunity to rejoice, for day
has come, has arrived within the darkest
night. Startled awake, in this moment,
we take advantage of what has been given,
and give thanks—a soaring celebration
of song.
Lauds is light
leaking through high windows as song.
We hear the day before we see it,
and our senses then blend as One: Divine
light embodied in all that IS. We know
what must be done, no matter how little
we can do—how small our own capabilities
are compared to this large gift: first light.
The poet Rilke wrote: “Nothing was
completed before I laid eyes on it.”
Each day requires us to fulfill itself.
All that was hidden comes to light,
including our faults, our trespasses--
refreshed by day, cleansed mercifully,
with tears of joy. Blessed, whether
deserving or not, we begin again--
not just another day scratched off
a calendar, but an occasion to create
a brighter world: to shine throughout
the day in sacred song.
Prime
“Give us this day our daily bread.”
Prime is the time in which we prepare
to make use of the gift of a new
day: to make the most of another
beginning—the urge of a plan
for a new poem perhaps: something
that will proceed in arduous, halting
stages from William Least Heat-Moon’s
“frailties and unacceptabilities of
inception” to finished work able
“to stir humankind long past those
anguished hours of initial composition.”
Requisite devotion requires intention--
a meaningful purpose, as in grasping
a thing in your hands as if shaping
clay, finding the Divine in the material,
a challenge, not a routine chore: a new
day of opportunity.
We savor the task
as if making love: our own Song of Songs.
Haste has no place in the holy endeavor
of existence. There is nothing to get
“over with,” but an occasion to embrace
at an even, stately pace. Everything
we do is prayer unfolding—and for that
we must make the right start, with
the best intentions.
Prime is priorities, free of whims and
infidelities. Prime is forgiveness. Prime
is a slow drum roll to greet the day, knowing
what to play, and when: coming in at just
the right moment, hoping to avoid
mistakes we made before, yesterday--
working at ends we need not see
completely, but shape and embrace.
Vespers
We light out lamps as evening descends.
Solemnity, serenity: We celebrate
the indefinable soul of creation, its
glorious construction, harmonious
diversity: the unexcelled All, its infinity
of sundry forms worthy of veneration,
praise, and love (in the mind of Hermes
Trismegistus, 3rd century A.D.). Remove
your work clothes and tools, and arrive,
freshly dressed, for this celebration
at sunset.
We shall meet in the garden,
placed in the monastery’s center, where
nature has divulged its round of gestation,
birth, flowering, fading. Daylight fades
and night descends, providing peace of heart,
reconciling contradictions within ourselves.
The poet Rilke writes of having expelled
all noise from a palace so that God might
arrive as a guest to take us beyond time--
to walk again with Adam and Eve in Eden.
We gather the day’s fragments in tranquility
and send them away in the cool of
the night.
We sing the Magnificat, of
Mother Mary as unconditional love--
healing the rift that runs through the world.
The music becomes embedded in our soul,
so we may carry it with us, wherever we go.
“It is better to light a candle than to curse
the darkness”: the light of caring attention
shared, moving closer to our neighbors
in this dark hour—its song a gift, shared.
William Minor has published eight books of poetry—most recently Gypsy Wisdom: New & Selected Poems, and a chapbook--Another Morning (Finishing Line Press). He has also published two memoirs: The Inherited Heart and Going Solo: A Memoir, 1953-1958. A recent YouTube video (with original music--Bill on piano) features the title poem from the chapbook (“Another Morning by William Minor”: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=epJ7eFylCoQ).
“To hear the music of silence and to harken to its message,
we must step out of clock time into the monastic flow of time
as expressed through the hours of the day. We must forsake
our usual unconscious gesture of reaction, and make the
aware inner gesture of response to what is before us in
each moment.”
Brother David Steindl-Rast (Music of Silence)
Lauds
The gift of morning is the gift of life.
It arrives in increments: just a mote, a dot
of light, a mere speck, a particle,
and evolves slowly—its source
St. Anselm’s “something than which
nothing greater can be thought.”
The gift of Being emerges as sunlight--
an opportunity to rejoice, for day
has come, has arrived within the darkest
night. Startled awake, in this moment,
we take advantage of what has been given,
and give thanks—a soaring celebration
of song.
Lauds is light
leaking through high windows as song.
We hear the day before we see it,
and our senses then blend as One: Divine
light embodied in all that IS. We know
what must be done, no matter how little
we can do—how small our own capabilities
are compared to this large gift: first light.
The poet Rilke wrote: “Nothing was
completed before I laid eyes on it.”
Each day requires us to fulfill itself.
All that was hidden comes to light,
including our faults, our trespasses--
refreshed by day, cleansed mercifully,
with tears of joy. Blessed, whether
deserving or not, we begin again--
not just another day scratched off
a calendar, but an occasion to create
a brighter world: to shine throughout
the day in sacred song.
Prime
“Give us this day our daily bread.”
Prime is the time in which we prepare
to make use of the gift of a new
day: to make the most of another
beginning—the urge of a plan
for a new poem perhaps: something
that will proceed in arduous, halting
stages from William Least Heat-Moon’s
“frailties and unacceptabilities of
inception” to finished work able
“to stir humankind long past those
anguished hours of initial composition.”
Requisite devotion requires intention--
a meaningful purpose, as in grasping
a thing in your hands as if shaping
clay, finding the Divine in the material,
a challenge, not a routine chore: a new
day of opportunity.
We savor the task
as if making love: our own Song of Songs.
Haste has no place in the holy endeavor
of existence. There is nothing to get
“over with,” but an occasion to embrace
at an even, stately pace. Everything
we do is prayer unfolding—and for that
we must make the right start, with
the best intentions.
Prime is priorities, free of whims and
infidelities. Prime is forgiveness. Prime
is a slow drum roll to greet the day, knowing
what to play, and when: coming in at just
the right moment, hoping to avoid
mistakes we made before, yesterday--
working at ends we need not see
completely, but shape and embrace.
Vespers
We light out lamps as evening descends.
Solemnity, serenity: We celebrate
the indefinable soul of creation, its
glorious construction, harmonious
diversity: the unexcelled All, its infinity
of sundry forms worthy of veneration,
praise, and love (in the mind of Hermes
Trismegistus, 3rd century A.D.). Remove
your work clothes and tools, and arrive,
freshly dressed, for this celebration
at sunset.
We shall meet in the garden,
placed in the monastery’s center, where
nature has divulged its round of gestation,
birth, flowering, fading. Daylight fades
and night descends, providing peace of heart,
reconciling contradictions within ourselves.
The poet Rilke writes of having expelled
all noise from a palace so that God might
arrive as a guest to take us beyond time--
to walk again with Adam and Eve in Eden.
We gather the day’s fragments in tranquility
and send them away in the cool of
the night.
We sing the Magnificat, of
Mother Mary as unconditional love--
healing the rift that runs through the world.
The music becomes embedded in our soul,
so we may carry it with us, wherever we go.
“It is better to light a candle than to curse
the darkness”: the light of caring attention
shared, moving closer to our neighbors
in this dark hour—its song a gift, shared.
William Minor has published eight books of poetry—most recently Gypsy Wisdom: New & Selected Poems, and a chapbook--Another Morning (Finishing Line Press). He has also published two memoirs: The Inherited Heart and Going Solo: A Memoir, 1953-1958. A recent YouTube video (with original music--Bill on piano) features the title poem from the chapbook (“Another Morning by William Minor”: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=epJ7eFylCoQ).