CN | Here Is Honest, Messy Holy Ground: Pray As You Can

 

Start where you are. Talk to God about the little details of your life you're sure he doesn't care about. Talk to him about the ways he has let you down or disappointed you. Talk to him about the blessings heaped on you that you could never deserve. Talk to him about the anxiety you're carrying today. Just talk to him. + Tyler Staton, Praying Like Monks, Living Like Fools

Along with Red Skies, When Faith Fails, The God in the Garden, Living Under Water, and Being with God, Praying Like Monks, Living Like Fools: An Invitation into the Wonder and Mystery of Prayer ranks up there as one of my favorite spiritual reads during 2022. Here is an excerpt that has helped me learn to pray however I can in the midst of the range of life's circumstances.

The Lord Is Near

The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. + Philippians 4:5-7

To our modern ears, that reads like it was written by someone who's never really been anxious, someone who's never been through what I've been through. That souls like religious well-wishing. It's just not that simple. If it's that simple, why isn't it working?

Most often, when this famous passage is referenced, it starts with the command to rid oneself of anxiety: "Do not be anxious about anything." But the passage doesn't start there. Preceding the imperative is a statement of fact: "The Lord is near."

The deep fear that robs our prayers of power is the lie that the Lord isn't near. The lie that God has forgotten me, that I'm not in good hands, that my future isn't secure. It's the worry that, at the end of the day, this God, near or far, can't be trusted, that he's something less than who he promises to be, and that — really, when it comes right down to it — I'm on my own.

All four gospel authors remember Jesus flipping over the tables of the temple's money changers in a holy tantrum. He prophetically scrubbed the sacred temple clean of the corruption staining the house of prayer. And in the midst of that rampage, with every eye on the rabbi-gone-mad, Jesus yelled through panted breaths, "Stop turning my Father's house into a market!" It wasn't in a composed, well-prepared moment of prepared teaching but in the throes of righteous anger — speaking from the gut, not the head — that Jesus instinctively called the temple "my Father's house."

That's significant because in first-century Israel, the temple was the most revered building on earth. The Jewish people believed it was literally the house of Yahweh — the place where God's presence dwelt. The house God lived in. There were cleansing rituals required just to cross the threshold, and restricted access the nearer you got to the center. Even most priests couldn't enter the inner-most room because in ancient Hebrew spirituality, the temple was the presence of God. And Jesus is calling that very place "home." 

"My Father's house." That's a profoundly different starting place from which Jesus' prayers emerge. The one, simple assurance that fills our prayers with power is "the Lord is near." 

More Practice Than Theory

The modern father of spiritual discipline, Richard Foster, counsels, "By praying we learn to pray." The contemplative Thomas Merton wrote, "If you want a life of prayer, the way to get it is by praying." The spiritual giant Mother Theresa instructed, "If we really mean to pray and want to pray we must be ready to do it now."

Prayer is more practice than theory, so let me offer a starting place, with a phrase borrowed from Dom John Chapman: "Pray as you can, and don't try to pray as you can't." If you can't pray for an hour, great. Don't try. It'll feel like an eternity. Pray for a minute. "Pray as you can, and don't try to pray as you can't."

If you zone out every time you try to pray at home, pray while you're running errands or exercising or walking down the sidewalk.

If you can't concentrate enough to pray aloud, journal prayers with paper and pen.

If you can't pray with hope and faith, God isn't bothered. He wants you to tell him about your doubt and disappointment.

If you can't pray in phrases of praise and adoration, don't fake it. Pray your complaints, your anger, or your confusion.

And if you're more comfortable with cynicism than innocence, unsure about your motives, afraid of silence, afraid of an answer, or pretty confident you aren't doing it right, you're in the perfect starting place.

Pray as you can, and somewhere along the way, you will make the most important discovery of your life — the love the Father has for you. That discovery is God's end of the deal. Your part is just to show up honestly. Show up, and keep showing up. That's the one nonnegotiable when it comes to prayer. And that invitation is for everybody. If you've never uttered a word of prayer, you should know that one humble request was enough for a career thief crucified next to Jesus to discover the Father's love. "Remember me ... "

If prayer is the source of a deep wound or disappointment for you, remember that when trust is broken in a relationship, it doesn't get healed by silence and distance; healing requires the courage of re-engaging. I won't pretend that's easy. But it is the place of healing.

If you're years into an active life of mature prayer and beginning to wonder what's left to discover, remember that you'll spend eternity in the presence of God and never reach the end of him. You'll never lose a sense of wonder at his goodness, never grow bored in his presence, and never have him all figured out. There is discovery ad infinitum in this divine relationship. 

Pray as you can. 

That's an invitation for everybody — the rookies, the jaded, the faithful, and everyone in between.

Prayer Practice: Pray As You Can

Holy One, 

there is something I wanted to tell you, but there have been

errands to run,

       bills to pay,

               arrangements to make,

                     meetings to attend,

                           friends to entertain,

                               washing to do ... 

and I forget what it is I wanted to say to you,

       and mostly I forget what I'm about

              or why.

O God,

don't forget me, please,

for the sake of Jesus Christ.

Eternal One,

there is something I wanted to tell you,

but my mind races with worrying and watching,

       with weighing and planning,

              with rutted slights and pothole grievances,

                     with leaky dreams and leaky plumbing

                            and leaky relationships I keep trying to plug up;

and my attention is preoccupied

       with loneliness,

              with doubt,

                    and with things I covet;

and I forget what it is I want to say to you,

       and how to say it honestly

              or how to do much of anything.

O God,

don't forget me, please,

for the sake of Jesus Christ.

Almighty One,

there is something I wanted to ask you,

but I stumble along the edge of a nameless rage,

haunted by a hundred floating fears

      of terrorists of all kinds, 

            of losing my job,

                   of failing,

      of getting sick and old,

             having loved ones die,

                    of dying ...

I forget what the real question is that I wanted to ask,

       and I forget to listen anyway

              because you seem unreal and far away,

                    and I forget what it is I have forgotten.

O God,

don't forget me, please,

for the sake of Jesus Christ ...

O Father ... in Heaven

perhaps you've already heard what I wanted to tell you.

What I wanted to ask is

       forgive me,

              heal me, 

                      increase my courage, please,

Renew in me a little of love and faith,

       and a sense of confidence,

              and a vision of what it might mean

                     to live as though you were real,

                            and I mattered, 

                                and everyone was sister and brother.

What I wanted to ask in my blundering way is

       don't give up on me,

             don't become too sad about me,

                   but laugh with me,

                         and try again with me,

                              and I will with you, too.

What I wanted to ask is

        for peace enough to want and work for more,

              for joy enough to share,

              and for awareness that is keen enough

                     to sense your presence

                           here,

                                  now,

                                         there,

                                               then,

                                                     always.

+ Ted Loder, "There Is Something I Wanted to Tell You," in Guerillas of Grace: Prayers for the Battle

Bonus prayer post: Abbey Awe | Awakening to Wonder (Again) in Vigils Psalms

Next post: CN | Run with the Horses: Knowing and Naming True Friends

Here are links to other recent City Notes (CN) books:

A Time To Heal (Shalom); Red Skies; Story of God in a Sanitation Truck; The Artistry of What's Next; Days of Song on Spot of Scorched Earth; Seeds of Hope in the Rain & the Dark; The Church is the Most Corrupt Institution on Earth; The Seamless Life; A Good Calling; Inisheer Island; Wrestling with God in Doubt; Taste Grace in World of Seculosity; I've Seen What Hope Can Do; Ubuntu and the Family of God; Baptism as the Way of Life; Childlike Wonder; Listening to God's Voice; The Cross and Peacemaking Presence; Being with God

With presence, peace, and many prayerful blessings,

Rev. Mike “Sully” Sullivan

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