A rhythmic hum greeted me this morning. It didn’t awaken me, for I was already awake, although in that stage of grogginess when you have to fight for the will to stay awake. The humming sound was periodic, short, low and electric. If not for the sound of indistinguishable words in between, I would have taken it for a machine, or perhaps a unique repeating alarm.
No, this was chanting. Or to be more proper, a repetitive prayer of some sort. Perhaps Muslim, although I am not expert enough to tell for sure. I was not struck so much by the form of the prayer, but for the discipline of the pray-er (I’m not sure what to call one who prays, except a supplicant, and that seems too medieval.)
And it was not so much that this pray-er had woken so early to pray in his manner, but that I had the impression, perhaps because of the regular rhythm, that this was a steady practice.
Paul entreats us to pray constantly, and just how that is carried out is probably best left to each of us in our own manner. The question is do we pray constantly? My guess is—no.
I felt kind of embarrassed by the man I heard above.