Anchored in Prayer | They Turned Their Eyes Toward Heaven

I will go to the altar of God, to God who gives joy to my youth.
St. Joseph's Chapel, College of the Holy Cross

Jesus models the kind of prayer 

we need to cope with a world 

that goes mad at times.

Recently, I had the privilege to visit a new friend who is an art professor at the College of the Holy Cross. After he generously treated me to lunch on campus, we walked over to St. Joseph's Chapel on a particularly beautiful Wednesday in September.

In looking up at the tympanum (i.e. the triangular area often decorated with sculptures at the top of a chapel building), he shared with me about this particular artistry that features a risen and ascended Jesus as most often it's either a scene from the nativity or the crucifixion.

I was particularly captivated by this depiction of the victorious King Jesus after the last weeks have included many moments of defeat to the onslaught of violent actions and violent words that have been filled with murder, hatred, racism, supremacy, blame-shifting, fear, censorship, and more across the U.S.

And then I was reminded of these words that have captivated me even more than the barrage of bombs and burdens:

Unless we are anchored in something 

beyond the here and now, 

chances are we will drown 

in the present moment.

Jesus models the kind of prayer 

we need to cope with a world 

that goes mad at times, 

and with hearts prone 

to drink in that madness. 

The Gospels describe Jesus 

praying in different ways, 

but sometimes they simply say, 

"He turned His eyes toward heaven!" 

(ex. Mark 7:34; John 17:1) 

The same expression is used 

of other great faith figures 

(ex. see Stephen in Acts 7:55) 

and it's used of them 

precisely at those times 

when the forces of madness 

are threatening to kill them. 

When the world around them 

is going mad, 

they "turn their eyes toward heaven."

What made Jesus different

(and what makes any prayerful person

different) is not superior will power,

less-fiery emotions,

monastic withdrawal

from the temptations of the world,

or intellectual insight.

Prayer is not a question of insight,

of being smarter than anyone else;

nor of will, of being 

stronger than anyone else; 

nor of emotional restraint or

sexual aloofness, of

being less passionate than 

anyone else.

Prayer is a question of

unity and surrender —

of uniting one's will with 

someone else and

surrendering one's will to that other.

Prayer is the desire

to be in union with someone,

especially in union with

that other's will ...

surrender of one's will to

a higher power, to God.

Each of us needs to find

our own way of doing this 

if we are to cope with the forces

that threaten to drown us.

It's not through study or will power

that we will rise above our

moral ineptitude,

the endless practical demands of life,

and the compensations 

we give into to cope.

We will always be adrift,

until we, like Jesus, regularly 

"turn our eyes toward heaven."

+ Fr. Ronald Rolheiser, 

"Prayer: Our Deepest Longing," 

pgs. 41-42

If you are feeling bombarded by the madness today, I hope this image and these words above help turn your eyes toward heaven today, and that in looking up, you discover King Jesus looking at you with love, courage, compassion, and strength.

And perhaps, like I sense Jesus has been inviting me to do, you will find a place where you can do what the Latin phrase says underneath St. Joseph's Chapel's tympanum:

I will go to the altar of God,

to God who gives joy to my youth.

Next Post:

+ Finding Home Again

With anticipation and joy,

Rev. Mike "Sully" Sullivan

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