Praying the Worldwide Rosary

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Participating in the month-long global prayer marathon to end the pandemic has been fascinating, educational and frustrating all at the same time.

A few weeks ago, Pope Francis called for the entire month of May to be dedicated to prayer, with the intention of the end of the coronavirus pandemic. Each day, a different Marian shrine or sanctuary is broadcasting a rosary on YouTube. The Holy Father opened the prayer marathon at St. Peter’s Basilica on May 1, and is scheduled to end it on May 31.

That rosary led by the pope had all the pomp and pageantry that is to be expected from the Vatican, with a professional-sounding choir, gorgeous videography and a seamless ceremony. The prayer services in the following days have been wonderfully diverse: the Shrine of Elele in Nigeria began theirs with a procession accompanied by a Marian song with a catchy beat; the Basilica of the Annunciation in the Holy Land recited each decade in a different language; the Sanctuary of Our Lady of the Rosary in South Korea showed off its “Rosary Road,” a path lined with large stones representing the beads of a rosary that pilgrims can touch as they walk toward a statue of Mary with Jesus, as a boy, clinging to her leg.

It’s been fascinating to see how our faith is expressed in different ways around the world. We are all praying the rosary, but even though the basic prayers are the same, the form is different. I know that many of the prayers associated with the rosary are optional, but I was surprised that the Apostle’s Creed has been omitted during most of the ceremonies. I asked Fr. Christopher Gray about this, and he was kind enough to explain that “the rosary has distinctive regional variations. In Latin, like on Vatican Radio, there’s no creed, and it begins ‘Deus in adiutorium’ like the Office.”  

(I admit I needed a translation for his explanation. “Deus in adiutorium meum intende” is Latin for “God, come to my assistance,” which are the opening words of every Hour of the breviary, a book containing prayers for the canonical hours.)

With the global rosary, it’s been fun to read about the history of the various shrines. I’m familiar with a number of representations of Mary – the Black Madonna of Częstochowa, Our Lady of Loreto, Our Lady of Knock – but others I’d never heard of before. And I learned more about those with which I had a nodding acquaintance; for example, the Black Madonna of Częstochowa dates back to at least the 14th century, and legend has it that St. Luke painted it on a cedar plank from a table in the house of the Holy Family.

I expected that participating in rosaries recited in various countries around the world would be fascinating and educational, and it has been. What surprised me is the frustration I’ve felt. The vexation comes not from the language differences – even if I can’t understand what’s being said I can join in by praying the Our Father and the Hail Mary in English – but I’m annoyed that I don’t feel the spiritual peace that usually comes from prayer.

Now, I admit that during the global rosary I spend the first decade gawking at the video of these places I’ve never seen, but after that I try to focus on the specific intention for that day, as well as the overall intention for the end of the pandemic. I try to join in solidary with my brothers and sisters around the world who also are participating in this global prayer. I ask Mary to intercede for us, I ask God to hear us. After the final “Amen,” though, I don’t feel that I just raised my mind and heart to God, to paraphrase St. Thérèse of Lisieux. Rather, I have the sneaking suspicion that I was merely mouthing words. Still, I am comforted by the thought that God in his goodness will bend his ear not to my whisper but to the combined roar of the voices rising in prayer all around the world each day of this global rosary.

Marie Mischel is editor of the Intermountain Catholic. Reach her at marie@icatholic.org.