It’s amazing what the smell of a particular soap can do to you if you have grown up using it your whole life. There’s nothing special about that shampoo, but when I used it for the first time in a while upon my arrival home, suddenly I was a teenager again. Time jerked, almost inexorably, backwards, and it took all of my willpower not to revert to my teenage-hood morning grumpiness. The petty bickering that I thought I had left behind rears its ugly head when the same old family conflicts break out, and the phantoms of high school sleep and study routines, long banished from college life, loom large as I try to do a university-level amount of work in a new, and yet so familiar, setting. Three years into college, I like to think that I have grown significantly since leaving home, but coming home for holidays always threatens to rewind the clock on that growth; finishing this semester at home due to the coronavirus presents similar challenges and throws doubt on that progress: Have I really grown as much as I thought?
The challenge presented by the return home takes place not only on the practical and natural level, but also on a spiritual level. At school, easy access to the Sacraments and Catholic community facilitates a routine that incorporates, or even revolves around, prayer and reflection. When routine breaks down, the relationship with God that the routine is meant to build is left behind. It’s an opportunity for reflection on whether the routine of Catholic student life has supported or supplanted the development of that relationship with God. Does my relationship with God persist when it is stripped of my familiar prayer spaces and faith communities? What have I been seeking in this routine? How has God nourished me through it? How will He continue to nourish me now, in a different place?
I have found, as I have attempted to learn the art of remote learning, that the setting in which you place yourself is important. Making a clear, clean surface designated for work is essential to productivity. I’ve found it helpful to prepare that space at night for the next morning and then to clear the clutter of pens and sticky notes off midday. I’m no psychologist, but I know what I need in order to work effectively and that setting matters.
With this self-knowledge, I approached my prayer life the same way when I arrived at home, laying out a routine: “When you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen” (Mt. 6:6). I know this verse is part of a larger discourse about hypocrisy and humility, but it struck me as far more practical now that my prayer space was not a Church or a chapel but my room.
I mapped out time for a rosary walk around the block or digitally streamed Mass and learned that specific settings were more conducive to prayer than others. Something as simple as retreating into my room and lighting a candle a couple of minutes before Mass makes the difference between feeling like I’m watching TV and actually prayerfully participating in Mass. Taking a break from a desk to walk to a nearby park allows my mind to relax into each mystery of the rosary and to find God in the blooming of spring, undaunted by pandemic, in my hometown. Jesus’ instruction to “go into your room [and] close the door”, in addition to being a warning against pride, perhaps has some practical and natural wisdom to it as well; a deliberate approach to set aside time for prayer in times of stability or instability is a natural step towards deeper prayer and relationship with God.
As I proceeded, however, I realized just how much I depended on the prayer routine I had established for myself at school. Taking a step back, I saw that the relationship between God and myself is more than that routine. In the refining fire of family life, God is carrying me and I am learning to lean on Him. In the moments when I struggle to hold my tongue, God’s grace carries me. In the beauty of being with family too, God’s presence is real. Cooking together, brushing teeth together, watching the news together, and praying together, I get a close-up look at the ways my parents and siblings have grown since the last time I lived at home full time. The mundanity of home life is brimming with grace and with opportunities to grow closer to God at every moment. This is not to say that routine is not important; we are humans, weak and frail. The routine is not a way of summoning or making God present in my life, but a way of opening my eyes to the fact that He is already there at every moment. God made us and knows we are spiritual and material beings. He speaks to us through the material and the mundane, in Sacraments of water, oil, bread, and wine. Lighting a candle in my room doesn’t summon God, but it does lift my mind and heart to God. In a new, and yet familiar, situation at home, now is the time to be deliberate about seeking God. Whether it is to “go into your room [and] close the door” or to open the door to seek solitude in nature, now is the time to make prayer a part of the routine of quarantine and to let our eyes be opened to the ways in which God transcends all routine. In the pressure-cooker of pandemic, may our eyes be opened to the opportunities for spiritual growth we would not have had under normal circumstances, and may our hearts persevere by His abundant grace in seeking Him… at all times and in all places.
Featured image courtesy of Klaus Schönitzer via WikiMedia
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