Simcha Fisher on the slog of the daily Rosary.

"The slog" is my term, but her experience sounds very familiar.

Despite these past failures, we have returned once again to this old practice of walking through the events of the life of Jesus of Mary, one bead at a time, a verse or two of scripture per prayer, just one decade a night, because that’s what’s sustainable. As with so many other things in my life these days, I’ve arrived at a possible workable solution by failing at everything else. The plan is just to respectfully witness what happened. Just speak the words if it’s my turn to lead, and listen if it’s not, and just be a witness.

What I’ve found is that the extreme familiarity is not a bad thing, any more than it’s a bad thing to be extremely familiar with the events and memories of my own life. In fact, that’s kind of the point: The mysteries of the rosary ought to be very close to our hearts, very familiar, very well-known. They ought to live with us. We do a different mystery each night, so it’s not the exact same prayers every night. The kids take turns leading, so there’s some variation there. There’s enough variety that you have to pay some attention, so we avoid the rocket prayer effect. But basically, it’s nothing new. And that’s a good thing.

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But I don’t think it’s necessary or helpful to try to torment ourselves into some kind of jarring insight or ecstasy every single time we approach the mysteries of the rosary. Spiritual novelty, it turns out,  is overrated, and probably has to do more with spiritual vanity than with a genuine thirst for holiness. Sometimes it’s more important to sit right where you are and just accept what God has given us, even if it’s just the same old same old. Especially if it’s the same old same old. (It’s called “humility.” Look it up, sweaty.)

My Much Better Half and I have been reciting a daily rosary for more than a year now.

Spiritual insights occur, and this long-out-of-print classic is a very worthwhile companion.

The Presentation in the Temple, featuring one of my favorite New Testament figures, Simeon, is one which holds my focus better than most.

Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace according to thy word.
For mine eyes have seen thy salvation,
Which thou hast prepared before the face of all people;
To be a light to lighten the Gentiles and to be the glory of thy people Israel.

Faith rewarded, at the very end, right before the Short Darkness falls: it never fails to move me. 

Honestly, though, recitation is often a drill we push ourselves through. And I have come to the conclusion that that is not a bad thing. Love is at least to some extent an act of will: we have to act, and sometimes our heart is not entirely in it. Feelings are far from infallible guides to what love is, let alone to what love may ask of us.

I like to think it has made me a better pray-er, praying more for than against. I also liken it to a kind of spiritual training. As with any other form of training, it is a process with ups and downs--and frequently no obvious results. But with God as the trainer, He will be the judge of progress.