A revelation of relationship…

Tapestry by John Nava

[The following is the sermon given at St. John’s Episcopal Church, Northampton, MA. Epiphany I, Year A]

The Baptism of the Lord is recounted in all four gospels. Only in Matthew’s gospel do we have a dialogue between Jesus and John. John doesn’t want to baptize Jesus because he understands who Jesus really is. The early Church Fathers had a terrible time with this event because:

1) Jesus didn’t need to be cleansed of any sins and

2) wasn’t Jesus greater than John?[1]

But this baptism had a greater purpose. Jesus encouraged John saying, Let it be so, now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.  To be righteous was to be in right relationship with God, with self, others.  What was about to happen in the Jordan was going to be a revelation of relationship – a moment of clarity for Jesus and for us.

We might keep in mind that Jesus had been “off the radar” since he was 12.  From the time his parents found him talking with the rabbis in the temple to the day he stood before John at the river’s edge, we have the “lost years.”   Scholars can never reclaim that part of Jesus’ life, but most believe he waited for a window of opportunity – a sign from God that his work should begin.  Something triggered his entry into public ministry. From the evidence given in the gospels, scholars agree that John’s mission was that “sign.”  When the time was just right, John – that wonderful Elijah-esque desert madman – emerged from the wilderness to offer a new kind of baptism.  [Baptism, itself, was nothing new. It was for Gentiles who wanted to become Jewish. They had to immerse themselves and be cleansed of the sin of the world before they could join God’s chosen people.]

John preached baptism to the Jews. He asserted their complicity in the sin of the world and proclaimed that the Messiah was near.  Only by turning from sin could one be ready to recognize his coming. Many resented John and the truth he proclaimed. But many more listened. It became, in the words of William Barclay, “a unique national movement of repentance and of search for God.”[2]  Among those moved by the message was the family of Jesus.

When Jesus chose to be baptized by John, he said, “yes” to all that was to come.  He who was without sin chose from the beginning of his ministry to stand with sinners – to be in solidarity with the people he came to save.[3]

When Jesus rose from the water, what was implicit in his life of prayer became explicit. The Father’s voice was heard – not just in his heart.  And the Spirit who played with the Word over the waters of creation, came to rest on the flesh he took to share our life. This “cameo appearance” of the Holy Trinity reveals to us the place of Jesus, the Word made flesh, in the life of God.  Beloved Son, God’s anointed one through whom the Spirit will come into the heart of every believer.  In his baptism we are given a glimpse into the life of God – three persons in a communion of love.

I don’t remember my baptism.  [I was two weeks old and it was November 22, 1963 – the day Jack Ruby shot Lee Harvey Oswald.  So, nobody else really remembers my baptism either.]  I find myself a bit jealous of people who can remember their own baptism – children, teens or adults who chose Christ in freedom – who came to the water because they were ready to live like the Trinity – in a communion of love.

Regardless of when it happens, our baptism is effective.  When we come to the water, as Jesus did, the Church voices what we know to be true in our hearts – that we are a “beloved” child.  The Spirit anoints us with power – not the power to reign over others but the power that enables the giving of ourselves.  In baptism we, too, say “yes” to all that will come.  The sacrament opens some door to the workings of grace – invites the Risen Lord into our lives and empowers us to be his love in the world. It is the most transformative moment in the life of every Christian. It makes crystal clear that we belong to Christ and to each other. Like the Triune God, we have been made to exist in a communion of love. When we rise from the water we are no longer alone in this world.[4]  Though we continue to exist within the boundaries of our skin and bone, we are deeply connected to one another and to all who have walked the journey of faith. That connection is real. We feel it in prayer and we feel it here when we gather around this table.

Prayer is a funny thing.  Sometimes, we tell ourselves that deep, rich, contemplative prayer is the work of priests, nuns and monks – it’s their job to pray, isn’t it? Maybe it’s the word we get hung up on. Prayer is simply our communication with God – the two-way street of mutual love between the creature and the Creator. It looks and feels different for every one and there is no “wrong” way to do it. As we wake up to God’s presence in our lives we find ourselves praying more and more and we don’t even know we’re doing it. That is part of the grace of our baptism kicking in – leading us forward into the heart of God. We are all contemplatives living into our skin as “beloved” child. When we pray the implicit connection we feel all the time becomes explicit. We embrace the longing we feel for home and we sense the presence of so many who have walked this way before us.

The Sunday Eucharist is the greatest prayer of the Christian community. Baptism gives us a specifically Christian identity. The Eucharist is the action we do together as faithful Christians. We move from the water to the table where we give thanks for Jesus – for his example of self-giving love on the cross. We give thanks for the gift of eternity – for unending life in God through his name. And we leave this assembly nourished with his body and blood to continue his mission. Empowered by water and the Spirit and strengthened by Word and wheat, we go forth – like little Baptists – proclaiming that there is love and mercy, compassion, joy and peace to found here in God’s family. We proclaim it with our lives out there so that others may find their way home.

It is a truth too wonderful to keep to ourselves.

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[1] Barbara E, Reid, OP “The Gospel According to Matthew,” New Collegeville Bible Commentary (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2009.) 16.

[2] William Barclay, “The Gospel of Matthew, Volume 1” The New Daily Study Bible (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2001.) 69.

[3] Barclay, 69.

[4] Catherine Mowry LaCugna, God For Us: The Trinity & Christian Life (New York, NY: Harper Collins Publishers, 1991.) 263. “Baptism…transforms solitariness and separateness into communion.”

Countdown to joy…

Calligraphy & photo: Gosia Ix

When my brother’s first-born came to the monastery as a toddler, he wobbled into the Dining Room and saw the cart with all the breakfast cereal on it.  There had to have been half a dozen large plastic containers filled with different types – flakes, granola, some kind of bran.  And then he saw it, “Look Mama…O’s!”   The little guy had never seen so many Cheerios in his life.  I’ll never forget the way his eyes sparkled.  Pointing one tiny finger at the mother-load of snacking pleasure, he embodied “joy” – the full-body experience of delight.  “Look, Mama…O’s!

His childlike excitement mirrors my own when we reach December 17^th – the “O Antiphons.”   These antiphons help us to with our countdown to the feast of the Nativity.  Each evening as the sun sets, the antiphon is sung with the Magnificat – the traditional evening hymn found in Luke’s infancy narrative.  Each night – for seven days – we proclaim a new title for our little Messiah and bid him “come.”

December 17

O Wisdom of our God Most High,
guiding creation with power and love:
come to teach us the path of knowledge!

December 18

O Adonai,
giver of the Law to Moses on Sinai:
come to rescue us with your mighty power!

December 19

O Root of Jesse’s stem,
sign of God’s love for all his people:
come to save us without delay!

December 20

O Key of David,
opening the gates of God’s eternal Kingdom:
come and free the prisoners of darkness!

December 21

O Radiant Dawn,
splendor of eternal light, sun of justice:
come and shine on those who dwell in darkness and in the
shadow of death.

December 22

O King of all nations and keystone of the Church:
come and save man, whom you formed from the dust!

December 23

O Emmanuel, our King and Giver of Law:
come to save us, Lord our God!

Today, we sing, “O Adonai,” which translates to Lord or leader.  It was the name the Israelites used for God.  [The name of God given to Moses before the burning bush – YHWH – is too sacred to speak aloud.]  To call the Messiah “Adonai” is to  claim divine nature itself.  The God Moses encountered – the great “I AM” – is the God who chooses our flesh and bone – makes the death-defying leap into our skin at Bethlehem.

After the Messiah is named – given a title that links his person to the promise to Israel – we bid him “come.”  “Come rescue us with your mighty power!”  The invitation is critical.  We must open the door of the heart.  Christ will knock, most certainly, but he will never break it down.  Our brave statement of faith in him demands brave action.  “Come…”

The “O Antiphons” give us the heads-up.  Christmas is coming…Christ is coming…here and now, and, at the last.  They offer us the opportunity for meditation, for gratitude and for a glimpse of the big picture of salvation – God’s work in time for our blessing.  If you have never prayed these antiphons before, welcome them into your Christmas preparations.  Read them each evening with Mary’s song.  Look for symbols of the antiphons or draw them yourself if art is your way to God.  Search iTunes for sung versions of the “O Antiphons” from different monasteries.  [It was in a Benedictine monastery that the antiphons were listed backwards so that the first letter of each would vertically spell, ero cras – Latin for, “Tomorrow, I will come.”]   Integrating these ancient prayers into your devotions will add to your Christmas joy.  Then, year after year, you will await their coming as I do with holy longing.  “Look…the O’s!”

Advent joy and love to you all…

Vicki

Make ready my soul…

This Advent feels different somehow – like there is some new fragment of truth dangling just beyond my reach.  I find myself straining as if to hear some whisper in the winter cold.  I stare at the trees behind our house with their barren arms extended. They are reaching for something, too, I think.  Although I have all my Advent resources in a neat little pile – new booklets from wise and holy people to enrich my prayer – there is something more for which I am longing – some inexplicable reality that feels close but just beyond my reach.  It isn’t just Christmas.  Christmas will come no matter what.  I am longing and all I know is that the longing must be a gift.  It must be for my blessing.

As I reread some old Advent blogs, I noticed a thematic trend – a theological premise, really.  Advent makes all waiting holy.  I want to walk that one back a bit.  All waiting isn’t the same.  Waiting for a cup of coffee is qualitatively not the same as waiting for bottled water after a hurricane.  Waiting for the next available operator is not the same as waiting for a son or daughter to finish a tour of duty in Afghanistan.  Waiting for a tax refund is not the same as waiting for biopsy results.   It’s just not.  I’m not sure why making this distinction feels so important.  I guess the degree to which I find myself longing this Advent feels very different – as if the Advents past were practice for a varsity game.

It is in our deepest longings that our need for God becomes evident.  When we are sated – spiritually, physically, emotionally – the sacred void in us that can only be filled by God seems, well, a little less empty.  The times of interior plenty are a gift to be sure, but, when we ache for something beyond ourselves – some new knowing, a clear, purposeful direction, a way to move forward – then, we give God the chance to be God.  Sometimes, with all my plans and dreams, I forget that each day should be lived as if it were my last.  I forget that prayer isn’t to move God’s heart but as C.S. Lewis suggested, to reorder my own.  I forget that fear and worry are the spiritual equivalent of a flat tire!  I’ve decided to welcome this longing.  Instead of seeking relief in “practical” solutions, I am embracing the dis-ease.  Yes, something’s coming…and in this holy season I have permission to just be and make ready my soul.

With all we are, we wait for God, the Lord, our help, our shield.

Our hearts find joy in the Lord; we trust God’s holy name.

Love us Lord! We wait for you.[1]

 

Peace and love to you all…

Vicki

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[1] The International Committee on English in the Liturgy, The Psalter (Chicago, IL: Liturgy Training Publications, 1995) Psalm 33:20-22.

God has her…

We went to Sunday Eucharist with my Dad.  The priest was in the midst of his sermon when a woman three rows behind us had a stroke.  “Is anyone here a doctor?” a woman in that pew shouted.  Father stopped preaching and a man singing in the choir moved quickly to the woman who sat staring blankly ahead.  She made a low unintelligible moan and then they helped her to lie down.  The doctor from the choir called 911 and we all heard every word.  Many sat in stunned silence transfixed by the surreal scene.  The three of us joined the majority who did not watch.  We lowered our heads and began to pray.  There was a great silence.  No one spoke.  Even the babies were hushed.  After about 5 minutes the choir began to sing softly, “Jesus, Jesus, beautiful savior, heal us, hold us, and help us find rest.”  We sang this mantra for a long time – maybe 10 minutes before the ambulance arrived.  The prayer continued as the EMS personnel took vitals and moved the woman’s body on to the gurney and out the side door.

I have spent a good deal of my adult life looking for God.  I have felt God come near many times.  It happened often when I was in the monastery and we were at prayer.  It happened several times when I was a student chaplain in a hospital.  Now that I am married, there are moments when God breaks through in the space we call, “us.”  And there have been moments – rare and fleeting encounters in my private prayer – that have felt “full” of God.  Yet, what happened on Sunday was different from all of it.  It’s as if we all felt it as we prayed for the sick one in our midst.  The Presence enveloped us all as we used our love to heal and to bless.  Like Moses come down from Sinai aglow with God, we looked at one another as we left the church – aware that something extraordinary happened in our prayer together.

We’ve been traveling for three days back from SC.  This moment of communion has stayed with me – a blessed assurance of God’s power in our lives.  Perhaps, the greatest gift of this experience is the certainty that we are connected to one another.  We look like separate beings.  We have flesh and bone that seem to contain “us.”  But we are capable of moving out of ourselves for the good of the other.  When we pray we can transcend the boundaries of our bodies – move from isolation to community with the assent of our will.  We can live now as we will live in glory – one Body in Christ.

I am still praying for the woman who fell ill in our midst – and for her family.  Yet, no matter what happens to her, I know God has her.  And, if God has her, God has you and me, too.

Grace, peace and love to you all…

Vicki

The Sunday “thing”…

I am learning a lot about the millennial generation – persons between the ages of 18-30.  For one thing they are passionate about spirituality and believe that we are all connected and held by a divine Other.  They are, however, less passionate about religion.  It’s made me wonder why being part of a specific religious tradition has been so important in my life.  I could argue that my parents took me every Sunday and that practice shaped my beliefs.  I could say that the liturgy speaks to my soul – helps me to pray my life.  I could admit that Sunday worship sustains me through the week – reminds me who I really am in the world.  All these things are true.  Yet, there is something more – something less explicable.

When I was an undergrad I read the great works of Mircea Eliade and Rudolph Otto.  Eliade documented the human capacity to detect the sacred apart from the everyday or “profane.”[1]  Although that distinction has had a profound affect on our understanding of religious behavior, it no longer helps when we begin to see everything in life infused with God’s grace.  God is not just in the Scriptures but also in the streets – in Holy Communion but also in holy conversation.  Otto wrote about our encounter with this holy Presence and how our personal intuition of the mysterium tremendum – though essential – was profoundly different from the experience of the collective at prayer.[2]  In other words we are wired to know God in our hearts but we experience something different when we gather together.

I believe this is true.  My solitary spiritual practices are essential to my life in Christ, but without the experience of worship in community, something would be missing.  I don’t think God needs me to go to church on Sunday.  I need to go because God is uniquely present when two or three are gathered (Matthew 18:20).  Although I am generally a very happy person, when I am facing something difficult in my life, the Christian community carries me.  Even when I don’t feel particularly energized by personal prayer or when I’ve been unfaithful to it, the community at worship heals me.  God’s people at prayer have a power – a power we cannot experience alone.

There is something Trinitarian about this, too.  This is part of our faith in a God who is One and Three – persons in community.  If we are made – truly – in God’s image and likeness, then we need each other. Our Christian faith abides in us – body and soul – but it is lived out in community.  If we are not, somehow, positioned to be at one another’s service, something intrinsic to the Gospel endeavor is lacking.  Basil, the great Cappadocian monk, admonished a few self-absorbed hermits saying,  “Whose feet then will you wash?”[3]

Now, whether that “community” has to be a formal religious organization or can be a more casual association – that is for each soul to determine.  I need the structure of a “church” or congregation.  More than that I need to pray with others and to have a context in which to serve.  Community gives my faith flesh and bone – gives me a place in which to practice being a Christian.  I think this generation of seekers will find that they need community, too.  We must not worry for them because their searching looks different from ours.  God’s got this.  God’s got them.  We just need to live the Gospel as best we can.  That is the best advertisement for organized religion there is!   The quality of our loving will draw the curious and the lost.  Then, we do what Jesus did.  We invite them to come and see (John 1:38-39).

Blessings and love to you all…

Vicki

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[1] Mircea Eliade, The Sacred and the Profane: The Nature of Religion (English translation for Harcourt, 1959)

[2] Rudolph Otto, The Idea of the Holy (Cambridge, UK: Oxford University Press, 1923)

[3] St. Basil of Caesarea, Long Rules

Where is your “hermitage?”

Merton’s hermitage on the grounds of the Abbey of Gethsemani

I’m reading Thomas Merton’s journals – backwards.  [The longer we live, the wiser we become!]  In Volume Six: Learning to Love, we find Merton established in total solitude.  Given permission to live as a hermit, he lives alone in a small house in the woods.  Merton’s life on the periphery of monastic community is fascinating to me. It seems lonely at first glance.  Yet, in the midst of his occasional rants about his abbot or his self-concerned struggles as a writer, Thomas experiences moments of incredible clarity.  Merton’s humanity makes me love him.  Like Henri Nouwen Merton struggles openly with crankiness, self-pity and the longing to be loved. Amid sentence after sentence of ego-related stuff, there are chunks of wonder and grace.  I am especially moved by his relationship to the nature – how creation is his companion and, at times, his spiritual director.

“The morning got more and more brilliant and I could feel the brilliancy of it getting into my own blood.  Living so close to the cold, you feel the spring.  And this is man’s mission! The earth cannot feel all this.  We must.  But living away from the earth and the trees we fail them.  We are absent from the wedding feast.”

Hermits have existed in the Church from the beginning – from the desert abbas and ammas, to medieval anchoresses attached to local churches.  The desire to go into solitude must come from God.  For a few it is a call that lasts for years or even decades.  For the rest of us who are called to live exclusively in Christian communities – the family, the local church, and even religious life – the call to solitude comes infrequently.  Sometimes, we are not even aware that we are being “called.”  Something happens and we find ourselves utterly alone:

–       your spouse goes on a business trip and suddenly there are no expectations

–       the kids go back to school and the mornings become quiet again

–       a parent becomes critically ill and we sit in silence at the bedside

–       we get “stuck” somewhere and spend an unplanned night alone in a motel

Illness became my “hermitage” recently.  The weeks before surgery and after, were very hard but rich.   Stripped of the ability to do, I was forced to just be.  Although much of my recollection was infused with painkiller, God visited me when I was sick and held me close.

As we progress in the spiritual life, we make peace with our frailties and befriend our ego-centered failures.  We get brave and seek out this God who dwells in silence.  Chance visits to the “hermitage” become intentional.  We make a retreat day at a monastery.  We go on a pilgrimage to Iona or walk the way of St. James in Spain.  We embrace the desire to be in silence because we come to recognize the power of being in God’s presence – without agenda, without fear, without our “to do” list.  These experiences don’t turn us into saints, but do move us along in the river of God’s love and make us more attentive to the priority of love in our daily lives.

So, where is your “hermitage?”

Love to you all and peace,

Vicki

Intercession for the sick…a true “Hallmark” of Christian faith

It’s been two weeks since my last post.  I am cancer-free.  Join me in thanking God and in praying for those who still battle and those who work for a cure.  The last two weeks have been a little dream-like in places.  Anyone who has had a major surgery can tell you that the first couple of days are a drug-induced sleep punctuated with gentle, caring hands and gentle caring voices.  Doctors and nurses continue the healing ministry of Christ and do it with great humility.  “Thank you” just doesn’t cover it.

I have been overwhelmed by the prayers and good wishes of so many people – near and far.  The stack of “get well” cards continues to grow.  I haven’t received so much mail since I took the SAT’s!  The e-mails have touched my heart, as well.  I know that the past two weeks have been kinder and gentler because people of faith have cradled me in prayer.  I’ve been thinking about the act of writing a card or an e-mail to someone in need.  There is power in it – a commitment of the soul to the other.  It begins with the intention to write and takes shape as the medium is selected.  The power of love is engaged as the writer gives the assurance of prayer, the reminder of affection, the assurance of God’s healing power.  I think when we write these kinds of cards or messages, we give God our loving energy for the one in need.  God accepts the gift gladly, I imagine, and adds it to the divine Love flowing into our broken body or bruised spirit.  It make take one minute or twenty minutes to get the words from the heart to paper, but I think this energy given to the other in compassion cannot be measured or limited to the act itself.  We open a door when we reach out in love and that door cannot be closed.  It is a moment of communion – real presence to the other – that reminds both the writer and the reader that we are all connected all the time in the Paschal Mystery.

Sister Hilda Kleiman, OSB, wrote a piece for the American Benedictine Review in which she skillfully crafted a theology of writing.[1]  I refer you to her as the preeminent thinker on the relationship of a word to the Word and the sacredness of the act of writing in the Christian life.  Sound theology feels true.  Sister Hilda understands something primal about the creative act of writing and what it means to be in relationship with God.

As for me I have decided to use this pile of cards and e-mails in grateful prayer.  “What gift can ever repay God’s gift to me (Psalm 116:120)?”[2] I want to assure you all of my prayers in the days ahead.  I will re-read your card or e-mail and lift you up as you have lifted me up in these challenging and grace-filled days.  “Thank you” just doesn’t cover it.  I will pray for your good.

In love and gratitude,

Vicki

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[1] Nimble as the Pen of a Scribe: Toward a Theology of Writing — Parts I; II and III Hilda Kleiman, O.S.B., ABR 1:20-35; 2:173-209.

[2] International Committee on English in the Liturgy, The Psalter (Chicago, IL: Liturgy Training Publications, 1994) 116:12

A Sunday sermon on prayer…

[The following is the sermon given this morning at St. John’s Episcopal Church, Proper 12, Year C.]

Last Saturday I took one of those big airport shuttle vans from Berkeley, CA to Oakland International Airport.  I was the first pick-up so the driver eased in to some conversation as we made our way through residential streets.

“You doing summer school?” he asked?

“Yes. Just finished,” I said.  

“Theology?” he wondered.

“Yes.” I replied.  

“I had a woman rabbi in my van once and a theologian, too.”

“Lots of seminaries on this hill,” I countered.  

Then, it got interesting…

“Don’t you think what we call God is important?

Like, when you ask the president for something you don’t say, ‘Hey, Barack…’

You say, ‘President Obama.’”

“Or ‘Mr. President,’ I added.  

“Right,” he said.

“The rabbi told me there are 72 names for God in the Bible.”

“Wow!” I said – genuinely astonished.  

He asked the question again.

“Don’t you think it matters who you’re asking how you ask for it?”

I said I thought it was about relationship – that God is happy to hear from us anytime, for any reason and by any name.  He was not impressed.  Clearly, I was not the conversation partner the rabbi had been.  We came to a stop outside a small house and picked up two more passengers.  The driver turned on the ballgame and I knew our conversation was over.

People of faith worry a lot about praying.  

Some of you know that I was a Benedictine nun.  Many people have this illusion about nuns – that because they pray the Liturgy of the Hours morning, noon and night, that they somehow have prayer all figured out.  Not true! I had so many questions throughout the last decade about private prayer:

• – Why is praying such hard work?
• – Can I really talk to God this way?
• – I must be doing it wrong!
• – Why does everyone else look so happy at prayer?
• – Sister Mary Holy Card looks like she’s floating on a cloud!
• – I need to clear my mind – so many thoughts getting in the way!
• – If my novice director knew I was sleeping instead of praying, she’d have a cow!
• – It’s been years, Lord.  When am I going to get “good” at this?

Obviously, Jesus’ friends had similar issues.  

They knew him to be a man of prayer.  They knew his habit of rising early and going off into the silence alone.  So they asked him, “Lord, teach us to pray.”  The prayer Jesus taught them is our go-to prayer when words fail us.  Because it came from the Lord’s lips, this prayer has weight – a sacred character – that makes the praying of it especially powerful.  While the “Lord’s Prayer” is a most perfect prayer,  I want to look at the story Luke attached to it and what the parable of the inconvenient visitor says about our prayers.

When we consider the neighbor begging for bread in the middle of the night and the head of the household eventually relenting, we can think wrongly that God only gives in if we persist – if our petitions become such an annoyance that God acts to silence the asking.  This wrong-thinking makes God look really bad – distant, impatient and uncaring. This wrong-thinking makes us look bad, too – like tiny mosquitos making noise in God’s ear.

This is where some work with the commentaries can really help us.  Saint Luke is giving us a human response to set alongside the divine response.  People do this, but God does that!  People do give in sometimes because they are worn down or annoyed. But God’s response to our prayers comes always from love.

Luke then builds on this idea using the example of a parent’s love.  If we – broken and imperfect – know how to give good gifts to our children, “…how much more will the Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him.” 

God answers every prayer with what is best for us – with what will ultimately bless our lives. That doesn’t mean we get everything we ask for.  It does mean that what remains – after we pray and do what is ours to do – that God is always at work for our good.

Let’s double-back to our lesson from Genesis.  Here, Abraham has a particularly mouthy exchange with God.  He pushes the Almighty right to the edge by insisting that it is God’s very nature to act mercifully.  Abraham ask this rhetorical question: “Shall not the Judge of all the earth do what is just (Genesis 18)?”  I love his spunk!  This negotiation gives us a marvelous example of real prayer – honest human communication with the Creator of the cosmos.   If we gave God less than our truest self in prayer – in all our confusion, fear, anger, joy and longing – it would be less prayer and more a calculated attempt to coerce or manipulate God.

During LENT Penny Johnson gathered us to read Anne Lamott’s new book on prayer: Help, Thanks, Wow.  It was wonderful to sit with others who desire a richer prayer life and who could appreciate Lamott’s unique sense of humor. Honestly reflecting on asking God for help, Anne wrote:

“I try not to finagle God.  Some days go better than others, especially during election years.  I ask that God’s will be done, and I mostly sort of mean it.”

If you do “google” the phrase “how to pray” you’ll get 172 million results!  You’ll find hundreds of techniques for prayer:

• – centering prayer
• – lectio divina
• – the JESUS prayer
• – Ignatian meditation
• – The Rosary
• – The Stations of the Cross
• – The practice of the presence of God
• – Walking a labyrinth
• – Praying with icons
• – The Liturgy of the Hours
• And, of course, we have the richness and beauty of the Book of Common Prayer.

These are all wonderful practices and resources for meeting God but we will find them lacking until we are able to place ourselves in God’s presence “as is.”  Our prayer is like our fingerprints, our particular DNA – unique to each one of us.  It doesn’t help to compare ourselves to one another.  Mary Oliver, in her poem called, “Praying,” says that praying, “isn’t a contest but the doorway.”  I doesn’t help to worry that we’re doing it wrong.  We can’t do it wrong because the Spirit of God is praying in us!

The Carmelite writer, Ruth Burrows, maintains that our prayer is really God’s work in us.  Our part of this extraordinary relationship is to “show up” – be faithful to prayer in our own way – in the way we each feel called to. The rest God will do in us over our lifetime. She thinks we need to give ourselves a break when it comes to private prayer and grow in our gratitude for what God is doing in us.

“We must remember,” she writes, “that prayer takes place at the deepest level of our person and escapes our direct cognition; therefore we can make no judgment about it.  It is God’s holy domain and we may not usurp it.  We must trust it utterly to God.  …We must be ready to believe that ‘nothingness’ is the presence of divine Reality; emptiness is a holy void that Divine Love is filling.”

It’s ok if we don’t know how God is doing this in us.  We just have to keep placing ourselves consciously in God’s loving gaze and trust the promise of the Son:

“For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened.”