If you know me, you know my spiritual practice is not a quiet one. Literally: in church, on my mat, on the cushion, in community with others, I make noise. Whether a grunt or moan of affirmation, an “Amen!” of encouragement, the sound of OM, or a hymn taught to me by my teacher with shruti box accompaniment, my spiritual practice is vibrational. I make sounds. So when I was gifted a box containing mala and rosary, specifically, I was curious about the practice of this Catholic prayer. Can I chant it? What happens if I do? Does it feel similar or different to my regular mantra practice?
Now. I am not a Catholic. I say that not to differentiate myself in any forceful, dismissive way, and to attempt to respect deeply the liturgical and contemplative practices of Catholicism. (The ecumenical part of me, which is sizeable, is disappointed, even wounded at times, by the way that the institution conducts itself in relationship to others who profess and practice Christianity, but it has been such an institution of such power for so long that I couldn’t pick a meaningful fight with the Catholic church even if I wanted to.) So I wonder about the practice of picking up this prayer tool, and reciting—mentally or orally—these prayers, some of which are a part of my daily life, some of which are entirely new to me.
I can definitely pray the rosary and not be Catholic, someone told me. Of course you can, my friend told me, feel free to say whatever prayers you’re comfortable with. So I found some print-out instructions and sat down.
But right away, the Apostles’ Creed stunned me between the eyes. This may be in part because I am a a part of a Protestant denomination that self-identifies as non-credal (though we do have a statement of faith, many of us don’t chant it regularly, or at all, as an act of worship). Historically, the people of the UCC doesn’t like folks “in charge” telling us what to believe: it’s a flat denomination with discernment and self-determination that comes from and is rooted in the local church, not a bishopric or papacy. (I like that about us, but it doesn’t make anything simpler.) So maybe my UCC Spidey-sense went off. It wasn’t a matter of theology; it was a matter of language. Despite the fact that it has been relevant in the Christian history and practice for the last fifteen hundred years, I needed to make it more flexible. I mean no disrespect, but I needed to be able to see myself in it, to believe what I was saying when I said ‘I believe.’
So I rewrote it.
I’m not the first, I won’t be the last, and it’s not even that good. But here is the thing I can say when I sit down and cross myself, and pull out that rosary that my boss gave me to contemplate the relationship between a mother, her child, the Creator of the universe, and me.
I believe in God, the One beyond all separation, Creator of heaven and earth, and in Jesus Christ, God’s Beloved Child, my Savior, Teacher, and Sibling who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born to the Virgin Mary, lived, suffered, and ministered under Roman occupation, was executed by crucifixion, died, and was buried; Jesus descended into the hell that is total alienation and distance from God; on the third day He rose from the dead; He has been reunited in Oneness, and is complete with the One; from this Oneness he will come to reconcile all in love. I believe in the presence, mystery, and workings of the Holy Spirit, the flawed-but-in process Church universal, the communion of saints known and unknown, the forgiveness of sins, and oneness in Love by Love in the fullness of time. Amen
Yes, it’s longer. This is unsurprising if you know me. It would be hella impressive if I could write it in Latin, eh? Maybe someday. Today, I’m gonna keep reading Toni Morrison and handle this rosary and think about my Friend who was killed.