You start with morning prayers when you wake up, end with evening prayers before bed, and fill everything in between with short prayers that take seconds. That’s the basic answer. But let me unpack what that actually looks like when you’re driving to work on I-10 or standing in line at Brookshire Brothers.
The Orthodox tradition gives us a rhythm called the Hours. These aren’t just for monastics. Vespers happens at sundown (the Jewish day started at evening, and we kept that). Matins comes at dawn. There’s a First Hour around 7 AM, a Third Hour mid-morning, a Sixth Hour at noon, a Ninth Hour mid-afternoon. Most laypeople can’t pray all of these formally, especially if you’re working a 12-hour shift at the refinery. That’s fine. The Church knows this.
What matters is the principle behind it. We’re trying to punctuate the day with God. To remember Him when we’d otherwise forget. To turn our minds back to Him again and again, because they wander constantly.
So here’s what it looks like practically.
You wake up and say your morning prayers. If you’re new, this might be five minutes. The Trisagion Prayers, the Lord’s Prayer, maybe Psalm 51. You’ll find a morning prayer rule in any Orthodox prayer book. Don’t start with an hour-long rule. Start small. Be consistent. You can always add more later, and you should talk to a priest about what fits your life.
Then you go to work. And this is where the Jesus Prayer comes in. “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” You can say it while you’re driving. While you’re waiting for your computer to boot up. While you’re washing dishes or folding laundry. It doesn’t require a prayer corner or a candle or closing your eyes. Just your breath and your attention.
St. Paul told us to pray without ceasing. That sounds impossible until you realize he meant this kind of prayer. Short. Repetitive. Woven into the fabric of your day. The Jesus Prayer becomes like breathing after a while. You say it when you’re anxious. When you’re grateful. When you catch yourself thinking something you shouldn’t. When you just remember to.
Some people pray it on a prayer rope, which is basically Orthodox rosary beads. Thirty-three knots or a hundred knots, and you move through them as you pray. Others just say it freely. There’s no magic number you have to hit.
You can also pray other short prayers throughout the day. “Through the prayers of the Theotokos, O Savior, save me.” “Holy Angel, guardian of my soul and body, forgive me.” “Glory to You, O God, glory to You.” These take three seconds. You can pray them anywhere.
The Antiochian Archdiocese publishes a Midday Prayer service on antiochian.org. It’s short. If you’ve got ten minutes at lunch, you can pray it. If you don’t, you can just say the Lord’s Prayer and get back to work. God knows your situation.
When you get home, there’s evening prayers. Again, start simple if you’re new. The Trisagion Prayers, the Lord’s Prayer, maybe a prayer to your patron saint. Thank God for the day. Ask forgiveness for where you failed. Pray for your family, your parish, people who need help.
This rhythm does something to you over time. It sanctifies your day. Makes it holy. Not in some abstract way, but in the sense that you’re actually communing with God in the middle of ordinary life. You’re not waiting for Sunday to be spiritual. You’re letting Sunday spill into Monday and Tuesday and the rest of the week.
One thing people from Protestant backgrounds often struggle with is the idea of a prayer rule. It can feel legalistic. Like you’re earning something. But that’s not what it is. Think of it as physical therapy for your soul. If you hurt your shoulder, the therapist gives you exercises. You do them daily. Not to earn a healed shoulder, but because that’s how shoulders heal. Prayer rules work the same way. They’re medicine, not merit badges.
And if you miss a day, you just start again the next day. No guilt spiral. No “well, I blew it, might as well give up.” You just begin again. That’s actually most of the Christian life right there.
Fr. Thomas Hopko used to say that if you can’t pray, just stand in your prayer corner and let God look at you. Sometimes that’s all you can manage. God takes it.
The goal isn’t to become some kind of prayer athlete. It’s to stay connected to Christ while you’re living your actual life. Your life with its work schedule and its family obligations and its hurricane preparations and its ordinary Tuesdays. All of it can become prayer if you let it. Start small, be consistent, and talk to your priest about what makes sense for where you are right now. The rhythm will grow as you grow.
