The first several hours of a day are special. I’m fresh; I’m expectant. After some form of breakfast, I start walking. Normally, these early morning hours are my hours of solitude and prayer. If I’m walking with others, I try to politely say that I’m going to lag behind. Most of the time, nothing more needs to be said. Probably everyone who walks long-distance hikes knows and values, in their own way, the freedom to be alone.

During these first two or three hours, I follow a routine. While external and internal factors affect how consistently I follow the routine, the routine itself has been quite stable, probably for the past ten years. Since fellow walkers have asked me to explain my routine, here goes. There are six stages.

I begin with noting my breathing, my inhaling and then my exhaling. I consciously pay attention to my senses, smelling coffee as I pass a cafe, hearing the birds, feeling the newfound spring in my legs. This beginning stage can last for a minute or five minutes. I never know.

At a certain point, I move into a second stage. Maybe because I have such poor long-term memory, I recite over and over one of the great classic, and brief, prayers of Christian spirituality, the “Jesus Prayer” of Eastern Orthodoxy. “Oh Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner.” The prayer flows easily, almost unconsciously. The third stage is that I recite the Lord’s Prayer several times, usually pausing at a different phrase each day to hear the words over and over. Enough said. For the fourth stage, I recite the Apostle’s Creed. Similar to when the creed is affirmed at a person’s death during an Oak Grove UMC funeral service, I sense a powerful connection with millions who have recited this creed. Some day, I might try to learn the Nicene Creed, but as I said my long-term memory is rather pathetic. The fifth stage is when time disappears. Let me explain.

When I attended the Dharma Jewel Monastery, I learned the Taiwanese Buddhist tradition’s Seven-Fold prayer. I reframe that Seven-Fold prayer in a manner that I find usable. I use the prayer to shift my attention. My prayer begins by focusing on those who are much older, living or deceased, who have contributed to my life. Normally I begin with family, from distant ancestors to more immediate parents, aunts, uncles, and then to siblings by birth or by marriage, cousins, and all the other family members that I now share. Such a rich stage within which to dwell. In this first stage, I then move to think of those distant and near who have shaped me in my Christian faith. Okay, even though I taught Hebrew Scriptures and the New Testament, I find myself thinking of those “big-names” that I can remember. The same is true as I remember individuals of different Christian traditions, from classic Eastern Orthodoxy and Roman Catholicism, to classic Protestant traditions. I’m reminding myself that no one specific part of the Church has had, or ever will have, a monopoly on saintly lives or truthful convictions. As best that I can, I then move to think of those great individuals within other religious traditions, the Jewish, the Muslim, the Hindu, the Buddhist. While confessionally Christian, I want to acknowledge the virtuous and wisdom-filled individuals in these other traditions. My second movement is to think of those non-family friends who contribute to my life. I bring before the Triune God my friends at Oak Grove UMC, my co-workers at Reinhardt, my neighbors in Decatur, you who have been reading these posts, friends separated by miles. My third stage is to pause and to pray for those younger than me. Maybe former students, maybe those that I admire from a distance, maybe those that seek to live honest and ethical lives in treating others kindly and with sensitivity, maybe those who are facing some crisis. The fourth stage is where I simply meditate on strangers, past or present, distant or immediate, whose life intersects with mine. While walking the Via Francigena, I meet and depend on VF hosts and other VF Pilgrims. Many of strangers turned into friends! Even just picturing their faces briefly allows me to be grateful for their intentional and unintentional help. My fifth, sixth, and seventh stages are the mirror opposites of the preceding first, second, and third stages; however, rather than thinking of individuals who have enriched life, others or my life, I think of those who have damaged and harmed life. It probably says something about me that I find these stages much, much briefer. Putin has been a specific name, and a stand-in for all sorts of individuals in Eastern Europe.

There you have it. As a guide, not an unalterable method, I have found this practice helpful. I find that it allows me to move beyond simply remembering those for whom I normally pray, family and friends. I find that it allows me try to recognize a never-ending way in which my life has been and is connected with others. In a way, it is one small step toward taming the Ego. It allows me to return to thinking of others, even when my mind inevitably drifts out of a sense of praying. In this regard, the Buddhas recognition that our minds are like butterflies is so apt. I simply acknowledge that I have drifted away from my praying, and return to that praying with no sense of guilt or inadequacy. While praying to “The Big One Upstairs” in my primitive anthropomorphic way of putting it, can take the form of sighs or single words, I am grateful for the opportunity of these mornings of prolonged prayer. In some ways, my friend Don Hoyt was astute, I might have been a Benedictine monk in the Middle Ages!

Solitude comes in many shapes and forms. Solitude as a person in a new city. Solitude as one amongst hundreds of strangers. Solitude shared with others in a moment of worship. I know that Solitude can be a debilitating loneliness, a desired isolation from others, or filled with a sense of assurance and peace. For me, I often choose a Solitude during the early hours of each day while walking the Via Francigena. Again, in my own way, I take inspiration from those words of the Ancient Writer: “in the morning my prayer comes before you.”