My cyber-pal The Anchoress sent me this bewildering story about an Episcopalian priest who decided she wanted to become a Muslim.

And The Anchoress then proceeds to do a little head-scratching (under her whimple, of course) and wonder why, in the name of God, this woman felt compelled to switch teams when she could find so much of what she wanted right in her own backyard:

Given her background, it is interesting that Ms. Redding could not perceive the idea of “surrendering to God” within Christianity, and I cannot imagine that she is unaware that chanting, surrender and praying five times a day (or more) is not exclusive to Islam, and surely did not begin with Islam. Chanting prayers multiple times a day is not even exclusive to the Abramic religions. Buddhists do it and have done it for a loooooong time.

Jews were chanting prayers 5 times a day ‘way before Mohammed ever met Gabriel, and Christians were doing it before the birth of Islam, as well. Hermits and Monastics have been “sanctifying the day” through set prayer times practically since Christianity’s inception. St. Benedict’s monks and nuns were at it ’round 500 AD, rising even in the middle of the night to chant, read scripture and pray for those who will not pray for themselves. This monastic tradition of praying the Liturgy of the Hours is ongoing, and in fact thriving right now, particularly among lay people (of all Christian traditions) possibly because the world is so loud.

Amen. Priests and deacons around the world regularly pray the Liturgy of the Hours, the “prayer of the Church” at the beginning and end of each day. And monks and nuns everywhere gather several times to chant the psalms and pray for the world at large. It’s a moving, beautiful, heart-rending exercise in faith. And it can give your body clock a real work-out.

I can still remember, vividly, my first visit to a Trappist monastery in Georgia: rising at 3:30 in the morning to brush my teeth, rinse out my sleep-encrusted eyes, throw on some clothes, run my fingers through my bed-head hair and grope my way to the abbey church for the night vigil. Such serenity. Such darkness. Such mystery.

Such insanity.

But in the darkness and the mystery (and the insanity) there was the unmistakable sense of something else: God. People around the world were doing the same thing, at varying times, as an act of devotion, and an act of faith. It was uplifting, and enobling.

And there is this: in the quiet of the night (or morning, depending on your view), you just feel closer to the Divine. In the darkness, you are more receptive to The Light; and in the silence, you more easily hear The Call. And with the church windows cracked open, you can hear the crickets chirp their “Hosannas,” and the geese echo their “Aves.” As the organ taps out its sacred chant, you join your own voice with others, and with the monks’, and with the geese and the crickets, and together you say “Good morning” to God.

Visit a monastery. Try it sometime. You won’t regret it.

Photo: Monastery of the Holy Spirit, Conyers, Georgia