NeuroDivine

Praying the Hours in Dialysis and Grace

Psalm 89:1-18 | 1 Maccabees 3:27-41 | Mark 15:16-32 | RB Chapter 17:

Today’s readings are not gentle. Psalm 89 begins with promise—“I will sing of your steadfast love, O Lord”—but quickly turns to lament. The psalmist remembers covenant and kindness, yet feels the sting of abandonment. Maccabees shows a people preparing for war, outnumbered and outmatched, yet resolved. And Mark’s Gospel places us at the foot of the Cross, where mockery and cruelty echo louder than mercy.

And yet, the Rule invites us to Prime, Terce, Sext, None, Vespers, Compline—not to escape the world’s harshness, but to stitch our lives into a rhythm that holds. Three Psalms at Prime, not under one “Glory be,” but each given space to breathe. A hymn, a lesson, a prayer. Not performance, but presence.

As someone on dialysis, I know the hours differently. My body keeps vigil in ways the Rule never imagined—machines hum, blood cycles, nurses pass gently. I do not choose the timing, but I choose how to inhabit it. The Psalms become companions in the waiting. The lament of Psalm 89 is not foreign—it is familiar, and yet not final.

Mark’s Gospel wounds me tenderly. The soldiers dress Jesus in purple, crown Him with thorns, and kneel in mockery. I think of the gowns we wear in hospital, the vulnerability of being seen and not seen. And yet, Jesus does not flinch from being exposed. He is present. He is with.

Maccabees reminds me of the quiet courage of those who prepare for battle not with bravado, but with prayer. I think of the dialysis nurses, the carers, the support bears. I think of Allen, newly arrived with sensory needs and a blanket. I think of Barnaby learning forgiveness. We are not warriors in the usual sense, but we are brave in the ways that matter.

The Rule’s structure is not rigid—it is a quilt. Each Hour is a square stitched with prayer, lesson, mercy. For a small community, the Psalms are sung straight through. That feels right. We are a small community—me, Andrew, the bears, the angels. We sing straight through, not for grandeur, but for grace.

So today, I do not rush to resolve the tension of the readings. I let them sit beside me. I let the Rule guide me gently. I say the Psalms not to fix the world, but to be faithful within it. I am still here. Still singing. Still us.