Why I Bought a Rosary
January 18, 2017 — Ecclesiastes 2:4–9
I undertook great projects: I built houses for myself and planted vineyards. I made gardens and parks and planted all kinds of fruit trees in them. I made reservoirs to water groves of flourishing trees. I bought male and female slaves and had other slaves who were born in my house. I also owned more herds and flocks than anyone in Jerusalem before me. I amassed silver and gold for myself, and the treasure of kings and provinces. I acquired male and female singers, and a harem as well — the delights of a man’s heart. I became greater by far than anyone in Jerusalem before me. In all this my wisdom stayed with me.
When I first started these articles it was in response to the fact that I had just been released from four years of Bible college and felt that quiet times with the Word were the last thing that I wanted to do. I utilized daily writing to spend time reading the Bible and thinking about the truths that are within it. It was also the start of 2016, and I felt that spending the new year honing my writing wouldn’t be a bad thing.
Over the course of the year, I found that I am woefully incapable of stirring up enough faith or discipline to make my relationship with God deeper. My spiritual growth growing up was built off of the belief that it was the love of God that allowed me to be disciplined and allowed me to grow in my faith through being faithful to Him. However, in that belief, I found a growing self-reliance and a dry, distant God I had to be grateful to.
The summer of last year was the first time that I was introduced to catholic practices. My wife’s Grandfather, who was a devout catholic himself, passed away. While catholicism was always in my peripheries growing up in the Philippines, I had never actually attended, or really looked into the practices of the catholic tradition. It was In the midst of his funeral that I understood that there might be something to these historically practiced traditions.
While I have my disagreements with some very important chunks of traditional catholic theology, I found that the reasonings behind many of the rhythms to be incredibly intriguing. I had to admit to myself that it wasn’t a bunch of dummies who came up with all of these things. Just as Evangelicals have a certain level of internal logic of why we do the things we do, Catholic practices also have an internal logic. It requires you to assume some level of agreement with certain presuppositions (as with any belief system), yet some of those very presuppositions are shared between Evangelicals and Catholics.
Something that I have missed while living in the city is peace and quiet. The hustle and bustle of day to day life can leave me frazzled, feeling disconnected from reality.
Within Evangelicalism, there is the practice of quiet-time. It involves stealing away to a quiet corner, opening your Bible, journal, and commentary, and studying the Word. This allows for a focused time of gleaning what humanity has ascertained about the meaning of greek words, and different expectations that can be dug out from the text, however, it rarely has space for marveling at the vastness of the unimaginable mysteries of our faith. The only thing that studying the word in this academic fashion can lead you to is an understanding that these are mysterious, but it can’t make you feel the strangeness of that truth.
Enter prayer. Prayer is the vehicle that drives you to the very throne room of heaven, allowing you to partake of the union of impossible construction. It is there that you are able to communicate with your maker freely and without fear because of Christ’s immediate and constant intercession on our behalf. Prayer is the conduit to basking in the mysterious, but it is also incredibly difficult for some people, including me.
When I pray I have a tendency to wander about my various thoughts. This flow of consciousness can be useful to allow you to “vent” to God in the cathartic method of the Psalms, but can also lead me to marvel more on my own humanity and frailty than the wonderful mystery of, say, the virgin birth. Eventually, my eyes get distracted by someone walking by, my ears get distracted by a queer sound, or my nose gets distracted by an interesting scent. I am unable to be quiet without the aid of something to keep me grounded in the practice of prayer.
I understand the reasonings behind why some Evangelicals find the rosary a problematic tool. It is very closely tied to the veneration of Mary and the idea that it causes people to pray to her, rather than to the Father. I myself also find this problematic, and want to stress that in the moments when I quietly pass my fingers over the beads, I am not dwelling on the “Queen of Heaven.” Mary, the Theotokos, or Mother of God, however, does make an appearance. Through quoting the scriptures surrounding Mary I am able to dwell on the impossible reality of Jesus’ incarnation in a real and blessed woman. The angel Gabriel said, “blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb” (Luke 1:42).
I do not participate in the traditional Catholic rosary prayers as I circle the beads, yet I am able to adopt the practice of focusing in on different things that are beyond the human understanding. I am able to spend time praying and thinking about the incarnation, the crucifixion, the resurrection, and the ascension. I am able to pause and remember the words of the Apostles’ Creed at the start of my prayers. I am able to take a moment between meditations to cry out to Jesus for the reality of His mercy. I am able to pray to our Father.
It isn’t for everyone, and I know that to some it could be off-putting. Yet truly, I see my rosary as a tool of focus and wonder. A reminder that there is peace in Christ in the midst of a difficult and troublesome time. It is an opportunity for me to be lost in the presence of my Father as I dwell on things that are too wonderful for my understanding.
