DEVOTION

The first time I noticed my mother’s French accent was when she spoke Latin. I heard no such accent when she spoke English. To my ears how she said things in English was simply the way words were supposed to sound.  Other people heard an accent but not me; not until one day when we were talking about the church and she recited parts of the Latin mass. (Agnus Dei, qui tollis pecatta mundi …) She remembered this from childhood. In the early1940’s her father (our pépère) gave her a tiny prayer book, 2 inches by 31/2,  which could be used to follow the services in Latin, French, and English. I still have it.

Mum participated fully in celebrations of the Holy Eucharist. She would sit as near as possible to one of the loudspeakers in hopes of hearing the readers and the officiating priest. Even though she knew the service by heart she would still have her copy of the Sunday Missal open and her reading glasses out of the case, ready to use. She listened attentively to the sermons and used to share with me some snippet of what the preacher had to say, especially if he told a story or a little joke.

Over the last several years I’ve been increasingly drawn to worship. This does not mean I’m especially intrigued by the wonders of the church. I’ve always said that being Anglican suits me because it’s just about as much religion as I can stand. I continue to have little interest in the history of liturgy and have experienced no sudden fascination with ecclesiastical architecture; no swooning over flying buttresses. When I say I’m drawn to worship I’m referring to the daily offices of Morning and Evening Prayer, noonday prayers, and prayers said and sung at sunrise and sunset. I suppose I should say I’ve become more devotional.

When I pray it is not because I feel somehow separated from God; it reminds me that we’re never apart. When my parents were alive and I was living more than twenty-two hundred miles away I felt I was far apart from them, but when they died, so did any sense of distance.  It’s like that when I pray. I’m not attempting to communicate with a remote deity from the great beyond but am in communion with the One in whom I live and move and have my being. I realize that God is transcendent but I am also aware that transcendence doesn’t mean distance.

Believing in God, for me, means trusting God and I suppose that’s why I like the word ‘devotion.’ As well as meaning worship, devotion connotes loyalty and love. Devotion means sticking with someone through thick and thin; never leaving their side. It inspires me to be more faithful, more in tune to the present moment, and more grateful. Devotion establishes a pattern for each day and helps keep me oriented towards what is true and good and beautiful.

Gratefulness and praise are qualities of eternal Spirit and it seems like Mother Nature expresses this every morning when I listen to the birds sing before sunrise. They greet the dawn as if they are joyfully testifying to evidence of things not seen. I do not suggest the birds are praying, as such, but they do seem to have a lot to celebrate. We all do.

Happy Mother’s Day!