The lost art of leisure

20/07/2002

Swap duty for delight

Monika-Clare Ghosh

In the second in our series to help readers restore true leisure to their lives, a hermit writes from the Irish midlands with some suggestions on how to use summer to step off the escalator into nature’s rhythms.

Holidays are no longer holy days in this busy age, but are there to be filled with useful or improving “leisure activities”. We keep up the frenetic rhythm – is there anywhere more frenetic than a leisure centre? – to avoid both the unease of stillness and silence and the frictions of just “wasting” time with those we love. Many children never seem to have an idle moment to get into trouble, let alone stumble upon the contemplative insights that can blossom out of childhood boredom.

As a townie science student, one of the things that drew me to monastic life was the rhythmic ebb and flow of the psalmody. I loved the shifting seasons of light and dark, cold and warmth, fallowness and fertility, and became aware of the rhythms of the seasons – both liturgical and agricultural – and of each day. In the monastery there are special times: a time to sleep, a time to rise, a time to work, a time to eat, a time to pray, a time to sing, a time to talk and a time to fall silent before the mystery of God. It is a life that weaves in and out of activity and stillness.

As year followed year, I came to realise how our liturgical year draws its life from the rhythms of the planet; how the pre-Christian feasts have not really been eclipsed. The zodiac that is often found on our great medieval churches echoes not the determinism of newspaper horoscopes, but a recognition that the great sweep of salvation history overlays a swirling pattern of rhythmic cycles. Gradually I came to realise that I needed to find a less regimented lifestyle, one genuinely governed by a sacramental perception of time, by the rhythms of the earth we live on, by the sun, the moon, the stars and the planets – one in which my own bio-rhythms would lead me into the universal rhythm of Christ’s dance. The seasons would be my icons and parables of the great christological mysteries. They would shape my timetable and show me how to pray at all times.

What if you just stepped off the escalator for a while and joined me in embracing this rhythm?

It can be unsettling to be jolted out of the enforced but reassuring routine which Parisians call Métro-Boulot-Dodo (train-work-bed). Unstructured days soon become pretty debilitating, but there is a rhythm at hand: the liturgical “hours” designed to structure the Christian’s day, punctuating it with prayer. Try it, but don’t get obsessive.

For a start, try getting up really early. It is amazing how leisurely the day becomes when you do. Don’t bother with a watch. Set an alarm if something absolutely must be done at, or by, a specific time: you will soon find that children and dogs and husbands are perfectly capable of demanding attention when they need it.

Get up before the dawn. Watch and wait for the great symbol of resurrection and renewal to rise in the east. You may want to say some of the psalms of the Night Office or read some of the readings, but what really matters is to be there, to watch and wait in faith, and then to celebrate the dawn – to be there to welcome the symbol of our glorious Christ, the cosmic bridegroom in his fiery chariot. This is Christian priesthood; and this is what Lauds or Morning Prayer is about, rising with all creation from darkness into light, from death to life and bondage to freedom, blessing the Lord who visits us like the dawn.

Enjoy the prayers; don’t let them get in the way. Go out for a walk (ideally over dew-drenched grass, but pavements will do). Consider the lilies of the field, or the roar of traffic, and come back to a good book and a good breakfast – aromatic coffee and fresh bread is essential (if you can share these, you are blessed indeed). Luxuriate in the morning. Don’t complain if it rains: you and the morning are both charged with the glory of God. If you normally say the Office regularly, try slacking off a bit. Stick to the “hours”, mark the passage of time, but take a holiday on content. Swap duty for delight. Try praying less, but taking longer.

And don’t call it “meditating”, “praying”, or “having quality time”. Just let the busy-ness drain away. It may be quite frightening. If you’re not the person who successfully juggles career, family, friends, culture, study, home, then who exactly are you? Not a contemplative, spiritual, or wise person; not someone necessary; no one, in fact, very special; yet you were worth Christ’s dying and rising.

Soon you’ll begin thinking you ought to listen to the news. Maybe call home. Check e-mails. Read that book. Write some cards. At least think about what to do later.

But don’t; not yet. Wait till you actually want to do these things. You may even find you’re praying, but remember, no Brownie points – you’re doing this because you want to. This isn’t “time given to God”: it’s living, and there’s nothing virtuous in that. God is not at a loose end; you are the one with time to spare.

Most people cannot do too much of this floating like a feather on the breath of God, but nearly everyone can find time for a bit of it most days, and holidays are a good time to start practising. The summer is liturgically light – there are few holy days when we feel we ought to be focused on some specific mystery. The great Easter journey and the Advent cycle are far away, and what is left is just the odd strawberry- or cherry-flavoured feast. Summer is a good time to banish the surreal concept of “holidays of obligation”.

If you have young children you will need a lot of cooperation from a willing partner, but trade-offs can usually be negotiated – reaching otium, in other words, will require a bit of neg-otium. But if you stick at it you may suddenly find your natural pace, and then soar. Leisure is about recovering our freedom – Christ’s freedom, the freedom to do good, to run in the ways of the Gospel rather than limping through an unending round of duties. You can be very busy, very creative, even very productive and still have leisure, but it is a difficult art. It takes discipline at first. Think of the focused stillness of a cat: not doing anything, yet poised from whiskers to twitching tail – utterly cat.

Don’t try to make time, but find the precious pearl, the “timewarps” in the fabric of your everyday life. How long does it actually take to hear the blackbird sing or feel the sunlight? That’s how long it takes to come fully alive before the face of God. Go to the monastery or retreat house if you want, but don’t stay too long or return too often. The pearl is hidden in your own life, not someone else’s. You may have to “sell” all you have to make it yours, but it is there to be found.

To make this a spiritual holiday, take it easy. Don’t plough through a raft of psalms. Mull over a few verses. Sing, dance, read, fall silent – move on when, or if, you’re ready. The whole art of prayer lies in learning to recognise when one is ready, and it takes a lot of mistakes to start learning. Calm down: tomorrow is another day. The psalm will still be there, God will still be speaking through it and, please God, you too will still be there, still a sinner in need of repentance, still longing to glimpse the face of God.

It doesn’t matter how you “spend” this time – saying psalms, reading, silently praying. Pour yourself into the words of Scripture; let them well up from silence, and sink back there. It really doesn’t matter if you take a month or a lifetime to get through the psalms provided for a week. Learn to listen: the texts will speak, but it will take a long time and a lot of living to learn to recognise the voices. There are many voices, so don’t just pick out the pretty, comforting or reassuring bits. You probably need the other bits more; self-doubt can be liberating.

The Gospel warns of those who make heavy burdens for others to carry; one suspects that they learn to do this by first saddling themselves with spurious religious duties. Why turn leisure into an endurance test? Is it for a sense of achievement (not to say smugness) when you’ve staggered through your prayers, missing the beauty of the night, the thrill of the dawn and the sounds of a world waking around you?

© The Tablet Publishing Company