Prayer Book of the Church

 Prayer is the life-breath of a Christian’s spiritual life. Without a genuine effort to keep in close contact with God our life, we contract into ourselves.  A self-enclosed, self-contained life soon yields to disordered passions, anxiety, depression, restlessness, mindless TV stupor, endless pursuit of entertainment, and so on. Prayer grounds us in divine Presence, in the reality that says to those who listen, “I AM your salvation.”  Prayer opens us up to the truth of reality.

When I was a young man I asked a friend who had been a Carthusian monk, “What is the prayer book of the Church?” For I was seeking a good collection of Catholic-Christian prayers. His ready reply was: “The Psalms.”  I immediately felt disappointed, because I had often prayed the psalms of the Bible, but thought that Christians could have better prayers than this collection of Israelite and Jewish (Old Testament) songs, hymns, laments.  Over time I came to learn that the Psalms do indeed form the skeleton of prayer life in the Church, especially for Catholic religious and clergy, and as a Benedictine, I have prayed most of the psalms literally thousands of times, using different translations. On the other hand, there are also magnificent prayers composed by devout Christians over the centuries, and some collections may be available. A few of these Christian prayers are known by many, such as the Our Father, the Hail Mary, the Memorare. One project I have long desired to accomplish is to make readily available to our faithful in parishes a very good collection of Christian prayers. That work awaits me. 

Still, however, the Psalms are indeed the Prayer Book of the Church, used and approved by two thousand years of praying by the faithful. I encourage our faithful to pray the psalms often. One can usefully begin with Psalm 1, and read up to Psalm 150. I have found it beneficial to read the psalms in the order in which we find them in our bibles, an order developed centuries before Christ by Jewish priests and scholars. Over time, one should discover favorite psalms which you “read, mark, and inwardly digest,” using Luther’s apt phrase. In the past, I have listed psalms I especially recommend, and I hope that some parishioners have prayed them. Remember: Jesus prayed the Psalms, and so has the Church over centuries.

There are truly psalms for all sorts of spiritual needs, feelings, problems of life, occasions of thanksgiving. Some of these prayers express joy in God, some are cries from hurting hearts. Many are mixed, often moving from desperate need to thankfulness for the LORD’s tender mercies. The point is: Pray. “Pray as you can, do not try to pray as you can’t.” Spiritual laziness leads to emptiness of spirit and a troubled mind. Pray. If any of you asks me, “Can you recommend a psalm or two for me?” I should be glad to do so.  It would be one way to give you a little practical help in your spiritual life, your desire to grow closer to the God in whom “we live, and move, and have our being.”

(Click here for a collection of previously recommended psalms by Fr. Paul).

A Dose of Reality

Order in the soul, order in the life of human beings, remains the source of order and goodness in society at large. When human beings are mentally and spiritually disordered, society suffers waves of unrest, political disturbances, social upheavals. The breakdown of order in our society and civilization, evident for decades, becomes acute.  Order in soul and society can be restored in one of two ways: by responsible action in individuals, or by increased doses of force applied by civil (or not-so-civil) authorities. The kind of order that results from applied force is not a truly civil society, but to one degree or another, an uncivil and even nightmarish police state. If human beings will not govern themselves, they will be ruled by power and more or less arbitrary commands.

Order in the soul depends on acquiring and practicing virtues. The most foundational virtue is faith in the sense of trust in the presence of God, who orders a person by love and wisdom. This kind of faith is not mere religious beliefs or intellectual thoughts, but a trusting, loving opening of the soul to the presence of the unseen God. The soul unattuned to divine presence will live a life of disorder, rebellion, self-centeredness, addictions, deceit, lying, and so on. The human soul open to God’s presence, responsive to God, cooperating with the divine, is capable of true love, fidelity, prudent and responsible action, self-control, human friendship, generosity.

An essential part of ordering one’s life is openness to the truth of reality.  Acceptance of truth requires one to break from untruths, from fantasy worlds, from delusions and illusions. The human being unaware of divine presence in the soul and in the cosmic order (reality) becomes a prey to destructive forces, to manipulation by power elites and propaganda, to the wiles of advertisers, to “values” and empty-headed opinions, to unruly passions. To be attuned to the truth of reality, on the contrary, means an active awareness of one’s sharing in the mysterious Whole in which beings and things exist. We are partners in the Whole of reality, and this Whole remains largely beyond our wishes and control. Reality can break into lives with a suddenness and fury that leave one bewildered and humbled. How foolish we human beings are to think that we can remake or control the vast, mysterious Whole in which we exist for a short period. 

Reality can and will break in. Many of us experienced a powerful reminder of the uncontrollable ways of reality this past week when a sudden fury pounded us with wind, rain, hail. It came, it shock up our little worlds, and it departed. Destroyed crops, damaged trees, wounded gardens, broken windows: reminders of our vulnerability to natural powers beyond our control, and of our own littleness in the scheme of things, in the timeless cosmic Whole existing time and time after. 

“Make us know the shortness of life, that we may gain wisdom of heart.” 

Avoiding Pitfalls in Faith and in Religious Practices

Living faith in God is one of the simplest and most basic activities possible for a human being. Although faith is a response to “hearing the word of God,” as the Apostle Paul wrote and as prophets before him declared, it remains a starkly simple activity on our part. God initiates faith by moving us to turn toward Him; but the response is ours to make, or not. Faith does not require studying the Bible, or performing various religious practices, or being taught what to believe and what to do. It is a simple act, that one makes in the moment, and which a soul needs to choose to do repeatedly. The essence of faith in God is a loving, trusting turning of the gaze of the mind towards the living God, who is ever beyond our grasp or knowledge. Hence, it can be called the opening of the soul towards the unseen source of all that is. To believe in God, to trust in God, is essentially an act of loving surrender and wonder. It happens in the moment, now, when one says, “Yes,” to God’s gentle pull. 

Each of us has his or her own set of obstacles or hindrances to naked faith. Some are emotional: a fear of trusting; a fear of trusting what we do not know; a fear of losing control; a fear of change; a fear of dying; fear generated by stories suggesting that God is not truly good and just. Other obstacles arise less from fear than from an excessive love of ourselves, rather than of God: Self-centered life; love of power; love to dominate; over-evaluating our own abilities; love of money, love of “stuff.”  We also can see the excessive love of play, of self-gratification, a refusal to grow up and to live responsibly. All of these vices and bad habits surely are contrary to childlike trust in God. 

Among church-attending Catholics, two main substitutes for simple faith keep showing up, both of which are in effect mental or spiritual diseases:  Traditionalism and secular social activism. Traditionalism substitutes a clinging to “traditions” and various forms of worship rather than to the unseen God. Traditionalists are those who “cling to the side of the pool, rather than swim,” as I like to put it. Traditionalists, like the Pharisees who resisted Jesus, love their laws, rules, religious practices and beliefs more than they love God.  At the heart of traditionalism is a fear of change, and a foolish love of one’s own judgment and opinions. They nit-pick and complain, and feel moral outrage at what they do not like.

Secularists in the church predominate in some areas. My home town of Missoula was a hot-bed for these social manipulators. Rather than love God and develop a genuine spiritual life, they have their worldly substitutes:  change the Church; change society; end war; provide for the needs and wants of everyone; and so on. Secularists are worldly, or “in love with the world.”  Rather than face their own personal short-comings and mortality, secularists want to tamper with everything they can get their hands on.  Never at rest, they seek power, control, dominance, all in the name of “doing good,” or “social justice,” or some other slogan of the day. Although secular souls may do some good, such as helping to feed the hungry, they lack an awareness of their own sin, ignorance, mortality, and need to turn around and face the living God. They want to “change the world,” not live now in God.

"New Order of the Ages?" Some Fireworks on the 4th of July

 

On the obverse of the Great Seal of the United States of America are two quotations in Latin, which translated mean: “He has favored our undertaking” and “New order of the ages.”  That our country’s founding was undertaken by men and women with trust in the Almighty is well documented from original sources.  As we survey the history of our country from its early 17th-century colonial founding, we can indeed find many reasons to be grateful for this land, our people, our institutions, and the American way of life. That the United States of America can in truth be called “the new order of the ages,” or even “a new order of the ages,” suggests a kind of millennialism or Messianic consciousness which can scarcely be deemed reasonable, but rather displays overly enthusiastic expectations for this country during the period of the Revolution and our constitutional Founding.

From the perspective of the 21st century--if not long before--a human being moved more by reason than by excessive passions would have to marvel at what happened to our founding experiment, to the country that most citizens of our country still love. What we experience daily is far less a “new order of the ages” than another heavily disordered body politic whose fate is not at all assured. How long the United States of America will survive in the course of history, before it goes “the way of all flesh,” no one knows. But one experiences daily strong and disturbing symptoms of disorder, of decay, of what surely feels like the passing away of this country--or at least of its historical way of life, of “justice under law.”

There is, it seems to me, a great chasm in the political consciousness and heart of every American born several decades or more ago--say, born and raised before the Viet-Nam debacle. We love our country and feel considerable patriotic pride; and yet, especially in moments of sober honesty, we recognize and feel in our whole being that this country is spiritually, morally, and politically sick. The “New Order” is experienced on a daily basis as disorder. And the sickness, the disorder, is seen in many citizens, in our political and civil rulers, often in our own families, perhaps in ourselves. If we are willing to face reality, each of us can list a number of disturbing symptoms, signs of deep corruption at every level. And facing the truth of reality, we can echo the sentiments of Thomas Jefferson when he said, “I tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just....”

America is paying the price for her corrosive spiritual negligences. Unfortunately, those who bear the most burden are the young. With minds often corrupted and damaged--but surely not properly developed--by broken or wounded families and by a poor and often perverse educational system, our young are all-too-often rudderless, uncontrolled and uncontrollable, adrift in a seemingly meaningless life of destructive music, mindless mass media, alcohol and drug abuse, lack of good economic opportunities, a vast spiritual wasteland that is breeding anxiety, depression, narcissism, egomania, violent behavior, suicide.
 
America is losing its soul.  As a people in history, we have turned away from the one source of true order in human lives: God. Wanting what we want, when we want it, regardless of the consequences, we have shrunk ourselves down to such a level that even our “great ones” appear to be very small indeed to anyone with eyes to see.  Political, educational, cultural, business elites should inspire our people to strive for excellence, to cultivate virtuous lives, to sacrifice selfish ambitions for the common good. Instead, what we see is a virtual free-for-all for power and wealth among “elites” who are often about as uncontrolled and uncontrollable as many of our youth.  It is not the most noble and virtuous who rise to the top in America, but generally the more unscrupulous, the deceived and deceiving, the most power-driven.  

Forty years ago, the Russian writer and prophet Alexander Solzhenitsyn warned our country that we were spiritually sick and dying. Rather than listen to him, our educated elites chose to ignore him, or to vilify him, and to continue deceiving us. We must consider again Solzhenitsyn’s basic truth: That a people in history who have rejected God will break apart and perish, regardless of how we raise our wine glasses and flash fake smiles. My hope is that the undertaker is not yet at the door, and that a genuine spiritual and intellectual renewal is possible.  But before undergoing renewal, we must at least acknowledge the spiritual, intellectual, and moral wasteland that we have become. Unfortunately, recognizing this truth is least likely by those who hold the reins of power and mass manipulation in this country. 

Exploratory Thoughts on Prayer (III)

 

Why pray?  For contact with reality.  As the divine is a partner in the whole, so one who wishes to be attuned to all of reality, and especially to its ground and source, needs to be open to divine presence. Prayer is the openness of heart and mind to the living God. 

Prayer may take the form of praising God or asking for blessings, but the essential motive, I believe, is to move from a more self-enclosed world into the abyss of divine freedom. The divine is unbounded, unlimited, using a symbol employed by various ancient thinkers from Greece through India to China. Contact with the Unlimited may be disturbing, even frightening, but it is also liberating, moving one beyond one’s limits, especially from the confines of the self-contained world.

In this basic conception of prayer, one would probably not ask, “What should I pray for?,” or “To whom am I praying?” One is simply opening up to reality in its creative, life-engendering source. A word or name may be useful to focus attention or to remind myself of ultimate goodness, but a name or word may not be necessary. What matters is a strong, conscious, and deliberate desire to be awake, to tune in.

Although one can pray anywhere, at any time, a set time of quiet and alertness is highly recommended. Posture: sitting relaxed but alert, with head up, feet resting on the floor (or with legs up if necessary for circulation). Seeing: eyes preferably closed, mind not looking at any thing, real or imagined. Listening: not attending to sounds heard through the ears, nor to one’s thoughts, but to silence. Breathing: calm and steady, perhaps mindful of air passing through nostrils for a minute or so for calming.  Awake, not drowsy.  As for length of time, I recommend beginning with 15 minute sessions or so, and gradually increasing the time to about half an hour daily.

Given our Catholic roots, a certain kind of brief preparation for quiet sitting in prayer may be prudent. After making the sign of the cross, I think that reciting the Our Father or another favorite prayer, and perhaps reading some Scripture for 5 minutes or so, may serve to remind one of the goodness of the God to whom we turn in quiet prayer. But this preparation should be very brief, and not become an excuse to avoid sitting quietly in God’s presence.

Exploratory Thoughts on Prayer: Part II

 

A.  “Is special grace needed?”

 The following responds to several questions from a young man, a former student of mine, who read my brief “Exploratory thoughts on prayer.”  His questions are very good, and it should be worthwhile for us to consider the questions and my answers, as both may throw some light on the activity of prayer.  I indent his material below

You mentioned in your recent blog that prayer could be the response of man to the presence of the Divine and that in prayer, one listens as the Divine speaks. Does this imply that one needs a special grace in order to pray? And that God could choose to give that grace or abstain from giving that grace to a specific person? If a man struggles to pray, does he not have this grace or is he just lazy? What is the human element of prayer and what is the Divine?

First, dear friend, I would say that genuine prayer is always a response to divine prompting, and is in reality a work both of the human being and of the divine partner. If one thinks that he is praying on his own, then I would say that either he lacks living faith, or is oddly blind to the presence of God at work in him. By living faith I mean what St. Thomas Aquinas calls the fides caritate formata, faith formed [or enlivened] by charity. This conception apparently draws from the Apostle Paul’s words to the churches of Galatia, in which he insists that what matters is simply “faith working through love.”  Love is always a form of union of lover and beloved. If one trusts that God loves him, and loves in return, then there is indeed a real union, a kind of “circle of love.” On the other hand, if one prayed as if to a “God out there,” to “God in heaven,” without understanding that heaven is the presence of God, then the problem is not only a misunderstanding of prayer, but an imaginative divorcing of God from one’s consciousness or soul. And this imaginative alienation from God is highly common in our society, among “believers” and “agnostics” alike. This act of imagination in effect treats God not as a partner in reality, but as a kind of being separated from consciousness and from reality as we know it. Indeed, a primary problem in the history of Christianity at least since about the 16th century or so is this splitting of the divine from living presence in reality. In other words, modern Christianity has often presented God as a separate being, without communicating to the faithful the reality of the divine that encompasses each and all.  In short, in discussing prayer and problems of prayer, we must also make sure to avoid misunderstandings about who or what God is. Prayer ought to be a response to the living God, not a self-willed exercise towards an imagined “God,” perhaps constructed in imagination during childhood. On the other hand, religious beliefs may well serve as something like training wheels to move one gradually into more genuine prayer.

Next, you ask about needing a special grace to pray, and you draw out the logic of your question:  “Does this imply that God could choose to give that grace or abstain from giving that grace to a specific person?” My first response is caution, because I feel that we could be drawn into the kind of speculating on what happens “inside God” in a way that may be “theological,” but is beyond the realm of reason, of philosophy. For my part, I find speculation on “God’s election” and choosing some and not others to be disturbing and moving in the wrong direction. Let me begin from our side of the divine-human partnership, from concrete experience: the divine is available to each and to all, or we would not be human beings. It is the presence of God in the divine-human soul (psyche) that makes us what and who we are. God is present to us by who God is, and we can access the divine presence by who we are. Using Christian language, all of humankind makes up “the body of Christ,” really or potentially, as St. Thomas explained. It is “our nature” to be in God--or, if one prefers, to be in tension towards God. Surely some choose to neglect divine presence, blinding their own intellects to what is present, as St. Bonaventure described it, but I will surely not attribute such blindness to a fault in God. To claim that God graces some and not others, in my opinion, not only falsely speculates on God, but attributes extraordinary injustice to the Almighty. The question you raise almost sounds as though it comes from the Calvinist tradition, but apparently it is found among Catholics, too: that some may not be able to pray because they “lack the grace.” Whether those who neglect God are lazy or not (the sin of acedia, of spiritual laziness), one detects in their refusal to respond to the divine presence in them a willful act of resistance. Cicero called it “a rejection of reason,” using “reason” (ratio) in the sense discovered by the Greek philosophers as divine-human mutual participation. 

Now, your questions can also be taken to point in a different direction, and we shall explore it briefly. God breaks into some souls in extraordinary ways, as we see in Moses, the Hebrew prophets, Jesus, the Apostle Paul; and in Greeks known for their response to God, such as Hesiod, Parmenides, Heracleitos, Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Plotinus. The truly great spiritualists of history, be they prophets, saints, philosophers, or sages, as far as we know from their writings, had unique experiences of divine presence in them. Paul’s vision of the resurrected Christ, for example in unlike anything found in the Hebrew prophets or in the Greek philosophers.  Now, the prayer-response of Socrates would be different from that of the Apostle Paul, as each man had different experiences of God. But both men responded to the presence--the “grace”--received. When the divine breaks into consciousness in an extraordinary way, then one would expect that person to respond differently. I interpret Plato’s dialogues as a response to his experience in the divine breaking into his soul, with his use of intellect to explore the experiences; and I interpret the letters of Paul as grounded in his experiences of the Resurrected Christ, and his intense awareness of Christ / the Spirit of Christ at work in his consciousness (soul). 

So in this sense, divine grace varies. But to maintain that some souls are outside of God, and receive no divine impulses, conveys, I believe, a bizarre conception of God as willful, capricious, even demonic if God causes human beings to be ungraced, beyond the pale of his ordering presence. Furthermore, we are not isolated beings. What God did for Moses, God did for all who will respond to that divine action. Moses and the other outstanding spiritualists are representative of humankind. (Note: I often quote Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s famous question in Emile, “Did God speak to Moses to speak to Jean-Jacques?”  And I say:  “You bet he did, and you ought to pay heed, and quit playing your introspective game of self-salvation.”)  What happened to the representative receivers of these great “revelations” happened in them and through them for all who respond with loving trust (faith).  You and I may respond as Moses did: humbly obey the leading of God in ways we never expected; and keep wondering, “Who are you, LORD?”  To claim that our faith is “apostolic” means that we receive gratefully, and meditate on, divine revelations to the apostles, such as Peter and Paul; through accepting what God did in them, we are partakers of the same “grace.”  Who is excluded? Only those who refuse to “open up” to the presence of God, or what in Christian tradition has often been called “the Holy Spirit.” If one is in the dark, one can wait in faith. Rebellion and the “will to power”- the way of our friend Nietzsche--is not forced on one's consciousness. One may stop playing games, stop “putting on masks,” and recognize and respond to the truth of reality as it presents itself. Reality--including the divine partner--is the measure, the standard, not one's own ego, imagination, beliefs, or wishes. What matters is the truth of reality.

     B. On distractions in prayer

My friend also asked about the problem of “distractions” in prayer.  His main points: 

To respond to your question regarding types of distractions I encounter during prayer, the list !is manifold. There are the minor distractions of a neglected duty, a physical discomfort, a memory of a recent conversation or event that I partook in.  And there is the major distraction of a noisy mind.

“Distractions” are to prayer as various personal challenges or emotional problems are to friendship or marriage. The divine attracts us to himself.  We are drawn, moved. Various forces attract us in other directions, or “distract” us from God. In overcoming distracting pulls away from God, we do indeed grow in genuine self-giving love for God, or in other words, become more like God, and surely develop firmer, more noble character.  For example: A young man, working in his father’s shop, encounters a pretty young girl one day, who evidently likes him, and is even a little flirtatious. Although friendly to her, this prudent young man knows the proper boundaries, and by resisting an inward pull to get close to her, in any excessive way, he grows in his faithful love to his beloved wife. That is how it is with distractions: Love grows stronger and more true by being tested. Perhaps we all encounter various distractions while in public prayer, as in liturgy. If the distractions are visual, one may advert or even close one’s eyes.  If they are auditory--such as crying children--one can accept them for what they are, not become judgmental or angry, and try to keep one’s conscious attention on the public prayer or preached word.  Distractions are much more distracting when we actively engage them, get angry, or think about them. In struggling against such distractions we gain inner peace. In personal prayer or meditation of any kind, of course distractions will arise, because our consciousness is not simple, but subject to various pulls. If you are seeking God, then seek God, regardless of other thoughts or feelings that should arise--even obsessive thoughts, such as a repeatedly heard tune or phrase, or memories of that pretty young lady. Let them be, or, if you prefer, place them “under the cloud of forgetfulness,” as the author of The Cloud of Unknowing instructs his readers.  

 ***

Now I will get more specific and concrete based on my experiences in prayer.  I thrive with several kinds of prayer: The first kind of prayer is by closely studying a text that draws my attention towards God (such as reading a Gospel, a letter by the Apostle, or a Platonic dialogue). A second way is by meditating or thinking about God or the divine-human relationship. A third way is by writing down my thoughts and exploring them as I seek to be conscious of God. A fourth and I think most complete and truly satisfying way is not to entertain any particular thoughts about God, but by seeking God as God is, or simply “letting God be God,” the method carefully explained in the Cloud.

The kind of distractions one experiences, and how to handle them, vary with the kind of prayer. When studying a text, I simply attempt to keep my attention on the words, and to think about their meaning with as much clarity and understanding as I can muster. In this form of prayer, one may indeed entertain thoughts, as long as they are related to what one is studying. 

Second, when thinking about God in meditation, one must be attentive and sift and weigh each thought for its truth, in light of truth already understood. One seeks to expand the range of one’s divine awareness, and to deepen the sense of union. Whatever aids in this goal is good. When one attempts to sit still and alone in God’s presence, without any thought, but simply stretching out the soul into the divine presence, then any particular sensation, feeling, or thought is a distraction. What one does is not to engage the distraction, not to think about it, or dwell on it, but let it as it were drift on downstream, as the mind keeps watchfully alert towards the One present. This technique is only learned by practice: sit still and be alert to God’s presence. In the kind of prayer that employs concentrated writing can serve as a remarkable check on distractions. In other words, I recommend that on occasion one sit quietly and write out one’s praying-activity, because the concentration needed to write focuses the mind, and keeps diverting one away from distractions. Consciousness can fragment in various directions within a few moments of time, but thoughtful writing (as distinct from mere daydreaming on paper) forces consciousness to focus.  If distractions happen to arise (such as hearing a disturbing noise in the street), one does not dwell on that sound, but thinks about forming and writing thoughts on the page. Indeed, I highly recommend the exercise of writing prayer, with one special caveat: Beware of excessive introspection in any way. Generally, introspection has replaced meditation in our culture. We dwell on ourselves. Think about and towards God, and keep your attention God-ward. Keep self-referential thoughts in check.

More to follow.

A Few Exploratory Thoughts On Prayer

What is prayer?  St. Bonaventure’s brief summary articulates the common Christian understanding: “Prayer is the raising of the heart and mind to God.”  By “heart” he refers to our willing and desiring, including our emotions; by “mind” he means our reason, intellect, that with which we think and know. As he does not mention the body, we can usefully remember the words of the Apostle Paul: “Offer your bodies [yourselves] as a living sacrifice to God, holy and acceptable, which is your reasonable service [or, spiritual worship].  Do not be conformed to this age, but be transformed by the renewal of your minds / hearts” [Romans 12].

Bonaventure’s brief phrase raises some questions: Does one raise the heart and mind to God [ad deum], or into God, or perhaps both? Raising the heart and mind “into God” seems preferable, for it communicates the notion one is dealing with present reality, and not with a “thing” or “being” that is “out there” or “up there.”  Praying as an activity “to God” is more spatial, suggesting that God may be a “separate substance” or being-thing apart from what one experiences here. To move “into God” leaves open the possibility that what we call “God” and is already present to one’s consciousness [or soul], whether or not one chooses to remember and to attend.

To what human activities is prayer most akin?  It is a kind of communication, as are speaking and listening. But it is more of a communing with than a “talking to another,” I would suggest.  If this is true, than prayer is close to meditation or thinking about God, when one is aware that “God” is not apart or a being or a thing at all, but the divine Presence experienced in consciousness. In this sense, to pray is essentially to be aware of God’s presence, as suggested by the Psalmist: “Be still and know that I AM God.”  Stillness and awareness of divine presence, perhaps remembered as He Who Is, would seem to be the basic activity underlying various kinds of prayer. Without this simple remembering awareness of divine presence, one may be speaking towards God or a god, but perhaps not “praying” in its essential meaning.

In other words, are not some types of prayer more truly prayer? Is it possible that one thinks that he or she is “praying,” but is not? Is it possible that someone may actually be praying, although they are not aware of it as “prayer?” Could it fittingly be claimed that any form of activity in which one is truly mindful (attentive, aware) is prayer, at least implicit prayer?  Or does one need to invoke certain words, such as “God,” or “Lord,” in order for the activity to be prayer?
 
Example, or a brief remembrance: In 1992, while walking through the Imperial Gardens near the Emperor’s palace in Tokyo, I photographed, as has been my custom since childhood. With the ancient stone walls, the immaculately groomed plants, and the utter silence and lack of commotion in the gardens (no one running, no one speaking loudly [not even an American], no children crying], I was able to concentrate to a high degree on photographing.  The combination of the Zen-inspired beautiful order, the silence, and my loving concentration induced an intense state of awareness that I still recall twenty years later. Although I did not explicitly call on a deity or saint, I was intensely aware of reality--of It as a whole--as I was fully conscious in the moment. I felt intensely alive, present, joyful. To my way of thinking, this experience was truly “prayer” as union with that which is, not a mere uttering words towards God without recollection and concentration. Unfortunately, the photographs, which I knew at the time were among the best I have ever taken, were not properly developed. They recorded my focused state, or “Zen mind, open mind,” borrowing the phrase of a Zen master. The photographs have been lost, but recollection of the experience abides.
                                                        ***
We begin again, understanding that a meditative experience, or an experience of open consciousness, of quiet awareness, may not be what some of us would consider prayer. (Admittedly, I wonder, “Why not?” But I also assume that many have been taught that using words towards God is prayer, and I know that new paths need to be explored carefully and in a way that some, at least, may follow.)  So we employ some words in a prayer: You creatively form all things according to your wisdom. We humbly ask You to guide our hearts, LORD God, so that we truly love you, and guide our minds to wonder about you, and perhaps to know you as you let yourself be known. Bring each and all of us, every creature, into full communion with you, each according to its way of being. Make us awake and alive during our brief sojourn here. Amen. 

St. Thomas Aquinas wrote prayers and hymns, but I think that his great prayer was his scholarly work, for it is evident that his heart and mind were set on God first and foremost, and that he examined other beings (especially human being) in relation to God.  If one would not wish to call such philosophical theology “prayer,” then perhaps one could call it: mindfulness of the reality of God, and a concentrated act of response to the One seeking Thomas to love and to know Him.

What is mindfulness of the reality of God? Well, it surely is remembering what one ought to remember, and not forgetting: that the “I AM” who spoke to Moses out of the burning bush is also present to the consciousness of every human being.  That which we call “God” is the eternalizing or immortalizing presence experienced in consciousness.  And it is this divine “Creator” that forms and orders each being thing for what it is, as depicted in the opening chapter of Genesis in the great story of creation. To be mindful of this creative, formative presence is to be mindful of God.

Without mindfulness of God, without awareness of divine presence, what would prayer be?  “To say one’s prayers” could mean to one without this awareness of presence, “Talk to `the man up there.’”  Is that prayer, or it is more an act of unformed imagination?  I wonder if some persons never get past this form of praying as “saying your prayers.” Does it dawn on a person in this mode of existence that one does not form one’s words alone, but that Another, the divine, is present aiding the process, and moving one to pray as a means of realizing a truer union? What would prayer be, if it were the product of someone who thought that he or she was praying by one’s own strength and light, and not aware of the inner light and divine force moving in and through one? Would not offering prayers in the belief that oneself is doing it an example of the ancient heresy called Pelagianism?  If one can pray by himself or herself to God, could not one also save oneself, or perfect oneself? Is it possible that a person who prays without being aware that God is moving the prayer is actually immersed in an exercise of self, engaged in a self-centered activity? Could such a form of prayer be a kind of alienation from God, more than a union with the Spirit of the Creator? 

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Do you pray? If so, why? And who or what is causing you to pray?  Could it be that when you pray, it is the divine that is praying, and you are listening? Is it possible that the ultimate source and cause of all that exists draws human beings to be aware of the divine present and active here, now, everywhere? Is it possible that prayer is more a response to divine activity in us than something we generate on our own? If our prayer is not a response to God, to what is it a response? Could self-generated prayers be a response to fear--of being damned to hell, or of failing to be “a good boy or girl” if one does not pray in a “churchy” way? 

A possibility: Anything in one’s life that is a response to divine presence could be called “prayer,” for it is a means through which one is becoming one with the One. Praying in words is one way to respond. So is listening to God, or waiting in utter silence. So is what the Benedictine tradition called “divine reading” (lectio divina), in which one studies a sacred text with the desire to listen to God, and with firm trust that God is speaking to the reader in that very activity, in and through the words on the page. So here we see three ways to respond to God moving us to pray: speaking words to God; listening for the Lord in silence; studying a sacred text, mindful of God working through the words on the mind of the attentive reader.
 
And when Mother Theresa arose from the chapel where she had been meditating before the Blessed Sacrament, and walked into the streets of Calcutta to find and to tend to the sick and dying, was she not responding to God, and hence, still praying? Was not her service of love a heartfelt response to the living God, who loves all of its creatures? Deeds of charity, done by one longing for God’s companionship, are surely ways of responding to God, and hence I would say, within the range of what is called “prayer” in our Catholic tradition.

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Do you pray, and if so, what in particular makes you want to pray? Where do you go to pray? Do you have a favorite place, or time of day, when you deliberately turn your heart and mind to God? Or are you content to just utter a few words every so often, and chalk up your chatter to “prayer?”  Do you need to be in a church to pray? Can you pray in church at all, or is it too distracting for you there?  Do you struggle against distractions in order to concentrate on what you are doing, or do you just let the distractions rule you? Are these questions a form of distraction, or a form of prayer, or neither, or perhaps both?  How does one know when one is praying, and not just “going through the motions?” Are you going through the motions, “jumping through hoops” (so to speak) when you pray? Or are you truly making contact with God?  Is your prayer in God, or out of God?

Do you seek God? If so, how? If you do not seek God, why not?  Did not Jesus say, “Seek, and you will find?” He did not say, “Assume that you have already found God, just the way you are.” Nor did he say, “I got saved!”  What he did say was, “It is not those who cry, `Lord, Lord,’ who enter the Kingdom, but those who do the will of my heavenly Father.”  And what is God’s will for you? Do you ask the LORD to make it known, and do you faithfully follow His pulls in you?

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It is speaking to me this evening, and I am attending. It arrested my attention by its beauty in the setting sun. Then it caught my attention as I walked by the bedroom, with the stain glass art of the burning bush hanging in a window, illuminated by the light of the reddened sun. It made me stop what I was doing, be attentive, look closely, enjoy. I was surely drawn by beauty, which I understand to be the glory of God, the face of the hidden One. No words were spoken.  My prayer was my loving gaze at God’s beauty shining through, And yes, I am mindful of being experientially close to a famous passage in St. Augustine’s Confessions as I write these words.

Why not, when the same One is drawing everyone to itself, and many are moved to attend through the perception of beauty? “But that is not prayer,” someone may say, “because you are not talking to God.” No, the divine is speaking to me, and I am awed by its beauty.  Awed and humbled, to be in the presence of that which is overwhelmingly beautiful and good. 

Where have you gone, you who spoke to my heart through the setting sun? Why have I stopped seeing what you display? Perhaps because I am concentrating on writing, and not attending to your divine work all around me / within me. Have you guided this brief meditation in any way? If there is any truth or goodness here, it comes from you. But I sense that my thoughts have moved too quickly, my words sometimes flippantly, not giving you the quiet in which to work. God opens the soul into peace. But to experience God’s peace, one must cease being merely complacent. In the realm of prayer, this means, perhaps, letting go of old habits and attending to God afresh, and sometimes in ways not so often travelled. 

Stopping to write, I simply look up. I see so much beauty around me: the dogs lying on the bed, sleeping; the moody-dark, cloudy sky in the evening twilight, brooding mysteriously outside the windows; paintings and works of art all around where I am sitting, and looking back at me as I look at them; light gracing the hard wooden floor, revealing it as alive in some way; the stillness of the evening, when you and I have time together, apart from the clatter of the day. And a slowing down even of my breathing, as I move towards my resting place. I do not feel you, but I trust that you are here, in me and with me, even as I write. What energy would I have, if not for you? What sense of purpose, what desire to write something for these good parishioners who sacrifice time to attend faith class?  I am conscious of your loving, guiding presence, LORD, and this awareness is joyful, and quiet, and the best kind of prayer I know for me.  Indeed, I feel fleeting moments of a joy that borders on ecstasy when, mindful of you, I see with a loving and joyful freshness. With you and in you, all has meaning, and beauty, and finds its home.  Each thing lights up, radiant with your light, shining within and without. Apart from you, life is stale, dull, tedious, and unprofitable. “Lord, you are my light and my salvation.”  Being mindful of you, and grateful, is prayer, and what I desire to offer to you until I enter fully into your peace.  And then “all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”
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Remember: “Your life work is to have such experiences, and to seek to understand them.” “Do not forget the deeds of the LORD,” but remember.

--Wm. Paul McKane, OSB
13 June 2013