Such times bring to mind a quote from the book of Revelation: When he broke open the second seal, I heard the second living creature cry out: ‘Come forward.’ Another horse came out, a red one. Its rider was given power to take peace away from the earth, so that people would slaughter one another. And he was given a huge sword (6:3-4).

It is not difficult in times such as these to believe that spirits bringing war and hatred do exist and can, God forbid, be unleashed to prey upon human weakness and hardness of heart.

By contrast, this day in our part of the world was one of those hot, slow days where nothing moved. The day might yet produce a thunderstorm, but there has been a kind of languid tranquility prevailing.

It’s enough to lull one to sleep, to tempt one to forget about the troubles in other parts of the world, and to drift off into a kind of soothing reverie.

But events in the world today soon prove that we are one world, one suffering body. We will die or we will rise together. No isolated corner remains unscathed for long by the general pathos.

That brings me to another quote from the book of Revelation, this time from chapter 12: A great sign appeared in the sky, a woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet, and on her head a crown of twelve stars. She was with child and wailed aloud in pain as she labored to give birth. Then another sign appeared in the sky: it was a huge red dragon… (1-3a).

This verse forever assures us that the Church, symbolized most clearly by the holy Mother of God, can never be indifferent to the fate of God’s children. She is implicated to the point of life and death.

A primary way into her world—a way utterly implicated in the spiritual battles of our times—is her prayer, the rosary.

Every October we are reminded of its relevance, its effectiveness, its secret depths. If we pray it in the spirit in which she is offering it to us today, it will become a most effective weapon in the battle between darkness and light.

Whatever the material of which it is made, a rosary is a kind of chain. It is fettered to the mysteries of Christ’s life and death. If I circle that chain with my duly recited prayers, they will gradually link me more and more to the mysteries that encompass those beads.

If I enter into those mysteries, I enter into Christ. If I enter into Christ, I enter into his offering for the world.

I suppose that one of the first things one notices about praying the rosary is that it brings a measure of peace.

Maybe it’s the repetition of prayers to Papa and Momma. Maybe it has to do with the feel of the beads themselves or the tranquil predictability of it—but many will attest that the prayer itself gradually overcomes our restlessness and even our resistance to prayer.

Yet the real peace that the rosary brings transcends all these. This peace comes from being led by Our Lady into her world of relationship to her Son and his offering.

How strange that we only discover this when we are engaged in their battle! How unfathomable to human thinking that such engagement alone brings peace to the human heart, and ultimately to our world.

To live in the world of Jesus and Mary is to say "yes" over and over to whatever is asked by life itself, to respond according to the mystery of Christ that reveals itself in the moment. The rosary takes us there, to that place of offering, where the Eucharist alone can sustain us.

In Combermere, we have had the custom for quite a few years of praying the rosary together in the dining room at the end of supper. Other than often hearing the first part of the prayers in an astonishing variety of languages, there is nothing extraordinary about our efforts.

But together we are being pulled into the battle for peace in our world, the battle for faith, the battle for life over death. That battle begins the second we rise from our tables.

Yet to give a cursory look at what happens, you would never think this was so! Some head for the kitchen to receive dishwashing assignments. Others head to the basement to prepare vegetables for the next day’s meals. One man brings in the wood for the kitchen stove. Others sweep up the sand. Others go off to finish the accounts for the day’s work at the Gift Shop or at St. Martha’s Office.

In summer the gardens may require large numbers of "volunteers" to help with the weeding or the harvesting. Some last-minute work is done in carpentry or maintenance or automotive care. And so it goes.

How does this domestic activity have anything to do with the sufferings of war victims, or with the painful, endless negotiations for peace? Where is the link between a dropped cup and a bomb dropped on a village?

Is it living in a dream world, after all, to think that when conditions permit us to live an "ordinary" life in Christ’s Nazareth, that we can be of use to our neighbors who live in the actual Nazareth in Israel…or in Beirut or Baghdad?

The rosary takes us not into pious sentimentality but into the mysteries of Christ. As we go about our day, one person is asked to make a tremendous act of faith in the word of obedience that has been given, even as Our Lady was so asked by the angel at the Annunciation.

Sometimes the battle to give that ‘yes’ is dreadful and deep, involving a veritable death to self hidden from all but the eyes of God the Father.

Another is asked to present in the Temple what is most precious and to make of it an offering to God. It may be a matter of talents, or family members, or the spouse one has always dreamed of, or carefully laid plans for the future.

The sword that pierces the heart can cut very deeply at such moments, but all that may be visible is a woman or man quietly sweeping the steps, lost in thought.

Still another may enter into the flagellation of Christ, or into his crowning with thorns. At such moments, the agony of rejection, injustices suffered, insults borne in confusion and helplessness—some from long ago and far away—may be overwhelming.

All one can do is stand still, with Our Lady, and let the fire of suffering do its work. At such times, we must beg for the grace to forgive, to pour one’s personal agony into that of Christ himself.

And all of this, while outwardly going about one’s day, doing the necessary while "the one thing necessary" occurs deep within, that is, deeper union with Jesus in all things.

In another instant we might pass through all the above into the light and joy of the Resurrection.

Truly a moment ago we were dead and without visible sign of any positive outcome. Suddenly, now, we are raised with Christ, having let go of what was required, having died with him, so that we rise with him.

And who can doubt that those we carry in our hearts somehow share in this passage? We are one world, one body, one people before the face of God.

It is this secret, hidden dimension that is the power of the rosary for peace in our world. For Christ alone is our peace, says St. Paul (see Ephesians 2:14 ff.), and the rosary is his gift to us to take us to that place the whole world is longing for. With the help of Our Lady, let us renew our commitment to the journey.