Turning love of ritual into daily prayer

My only serious practice of religion was at a lovely Episcopal Church in Eugene, Oregon in the 1970s. My husband at the time decided he would study religion and become a priest. I embraced his career move, became a parishioner, studied and was baptized and confirmed, and joined church life. It was an easy transition mostly because the conduct of the church matched my penchant for ritual and ceremony. I could be found at every Sunday evening service because I was enthralled with the sound of the plainsong choir in their brown, hooded, floor-length robes, the shiny sanctus bells that added exclamation points to the text, and the intoxicating smell of frankincense belched from the thurible waved among parishioners seated in the nave. I can still hear the clanking of the chain against the metal housing, and remember how alive and connected I felt afterward.

Decades later I am no longer married to the wanna-be priest, no longer live in Eugene, nor do I attend church. But I still long for that feeling. Based on my recent foray into my lineage, it is likely I come from a long line of ceremony-loving Celts. With the Lord's prayer out the window, I am required to rethink how I satisfy my love of ritual and need for prayer.

Prayer is practiced by those of us that trust the power of word and thought. It is a way to bear witness to our lives. I pray because it awards me with the connection, meaning and purpose I left inside those brick walls so many years ago.

Because of research we now know our brains are plastic and constantly changing. We know that how we think effects the way our brain works, and how it is shaped and structured. We know that the power of thought can move us in the direction of our own best version of ourselves. Enter our dinner prayer ritual. It has evolved over time, but began as a desire to model gratitude and an Earth connection for the family. The grandkids were our first guinea pigs, and took easily to a ritual of holding hands and singing "We give thanks." When the kids weren't here, we continued to evolve the ceremony. While the text in the liturgy is repetitive, our ritual is more of a guideline, spoken within context, and guided by the inspiration of the moment. 

Often one of us lights a candle while the other finishes up dinner preparations.

Stop and find presence. We sit across from each other and each take a deep breath. Not unlike what we have learned about coming with our best selves to our yoga mats, we invite ourselves to be present and open. We reach across the table and hold hands.

Bookmark a song if either of us feels inspired (if not "We give thanks" linked above, likely "There is no time like now."). The former song is an umbrella for the rest of the prayer because it ties the meal to the gratitude of the food itself and to the Earth for providing it. The latter song speaks a promise to be "in" and stay present to the connection (good for a chaotic day).

Gratitude for all we have--for the food in front of us, for those who made it possible, for each other, our lives, our home, our family and friends, our opportunities to serve--those things that are inspiring that day.

Request for guidance in how we use the calorie energy to do good work. A request for guidance can also be used for incidences when we have failed to live up to our own expectations.

Send light and love to those who are not as fortunate--in our tribal circuit and in the world at large, depending who is in need.

More often than not, Om--to symbolically and physically tune us into the one sound that acknowledges our connection to everything in the world and the Universe.