Adoremus, a publication on liturgical life well worth following for any Christian, just published a reflection by Br. Stanley Rother Wagner OSB, a Benedictine monk of St. Meinrad Archabbey in Indiana, on the Liturgy of the Hours and the problem of contentment — or lack thereof — in our prayer and spiritual life.

Anyone who has gone down the many endless rabbit holes of liturgical minutiae, breviaries, the history of the development of different divine office traditions, psalter variants, Scripture translations, etc. can deeply sympathize and feel rightly convicted, as I myself am, by Brother Stanley’s reflection.

There is of course nothing inherently wrong with knowing about these things, but I know I’m not alone when I say they can drive one crazy trying to chase the proverbial “pink dragon” of “The Perfect Prayer Rule,” ironically reducing the very form of prayer that’s supposed to make one conform to and allow to be formed by his or her ritual church’s daily prayer tradition, uniting the hearts, minds and voices of believers across space and time, into the ultimate bespoke custom-tailored private experience.

In this way, what is meant to be sym-bolic (bringing together) of our life in Christ in and with the Church with contentment, becomes dia-bolic (casting apart) through self-will, puffed-up knowledge, or inordinate uncontrolled desire for novelty.

Chapter 51 of the Rule of St. Benedict says, “If a brother is sent on some errand and expects to return to the monastery that same day, he must not presume to eat outside, even if he receives a pressing invitation, unless perhaps the abbot has ordered it.” I think this serves as a great spiritual analogy for praying with the church to which we belong, and being content with the fare we receive “at home,” not presuming to eat from the fleetingly tastier-looking fare of others. Abbot Philip of Christ in the Desert monastery in his commentary on this chapter linked above says, “at times we spend too much on eating and look forward to our town trips simply as escapes from the discipline of monastic life.”

Does this not apply analogically to those of us laypeople who are all too eager to jump from one exciting new prayer rule or breviary to another, cavalierly mixing and matching traditions like we were trying on outfits for an outing, proverbially admiring ourselves in the mirror — instead of simply taking and living out what each of us is given in our own ritual home, humbly conforming ourselves to its limitations even (or especially!) when they feel uncomfortable or hurt our pride and our “knowing better?”

Trunks can only grow strong if roots grow deep, and roots cannot grow at all if they are constantly being transplanted from one soil to another. So, let’s say with the Psalmist, “The lot marked out for me is my delight: welcome indeed the heritage that falls to me!” And let’s live accordingly.