During my childhood, there was a period when my mum made it compulsory for the family to recite several parts of the rosary each evening. As a way to imbue us with a deepening admiration for the divine, it didn’t really hit the mark.
When we kneeled down to pray, my sister and I would be hit by uncontrollable giggles. We would make attempts to control ourselves, to divert our focus onto the recitation of the prayers, but the overwhelming urge to laugh would always take over. We’d be in tears, choked with laughter, shaking as if we were having fits.
This behaviour would undoubtedly halt the prayers while mum would admonish us for our lack of respect and invariably ask what was making us laugh. We could never answer her because we were just as clueless about what triggered the laughter, only that it was immediate and strong.
She attempted various strategies such as making us kneel in separate areas of the room where we couldn’t see each other. But the more she tried to inhibit our laughter, the more emphasised it became. Gradually, the rosary recitation declined.
Prayer, however, continued to be a vital part of our routine. At Mass, I would be constantly reminded to participate in the responses, and as a reluctant adolescent, I was compelled to join my family on a trip to Knock, where we dedicated hours to circling the church and repeating the Our Fathers. By the end, it felt akin to a form of spiritual torture.
Yet, the rationale behind these routine prayers remained unexplained to me. I don’t think even my mother understood it, other than it being a practice Catholics were supposed to follow. It was as though God relished in hearing the repeated recitation of Hail Mary from millions of people each day, such that saying enough of them could possibly fulfil a desire or a need.
As time passes, I’m filled with the ever-growing presence of departed loved ones. Their contact details are still stored in my phone, their photos hang on my walls, my mother’s included. I have Mass cards that serve as bookmarks.
While others of faith might not view prayer as such a quid pro quo process, more a dialogue with the divine. Each day God engages in conversations with millions. For those lacking faith, this may seem akin to having an imaginary companion.
It’s not my intention to launch a tirade against religion or more accurately, the act of religious faith in this discussion. There are valid arguments to be made about the solace and purpose the belief in a divine entity has brought to an innumerable number of individuals. However, it could be equally suggested that the incorporation of these beliefs into institutionalised religions has caused more detriment than benefit.
The focus here is on the concept of prayer, an activity that I’ve always been fond of per se. Why, I’m unsure. It’s a fact that like Nick Cave, I reject the idea of a deity that interferes in worldly affairs— the current state of our world could attest to that, and I certainly don’t believe in a god with human characteristics. If indeed there is some form of governing intelligence or mechanism at the heart of our universe, it’s probable in my mind that it’s an objective entity. Of course, there might be no such system in place at all.
Regardless if there’s absence of anything, I find enjoyment contemplating my own existence at random moments— waiting for the Dart or savouring a quiet early breakfast. I visualise myself dwelling in the suburb of a relatively small city, nested on an island on the westernmost edge of Europe. I exist on a petite planet spinning around one of the average-sized stars in the universe.
At times, my tiny life drama feels overwhelmingly grand to me. As time goes by, I find more and more that I am surrounded by memories of people no longer living. Their contact details linger in my phone, their photos decorate my walls alongside that of my mother’s, and I use their mass cards to mark pages in books.
Sometimes I find myself speaking to them. I don’t anticipate their responses or think they hear me, but they greatly impacted my life, often more than I was aware of during their lifetimes. It almost feels like I could predict their answers if I posed questions to them. Maybe this means I’ve been praying subconsciously all along.