We are beginning our monthly spiritual theme of prayer this morning. Last spring as we were choosing the themes, the election was certainly on our minds, and, well, prayer seemed like a good topic for these days. That was before COVID. That was before we had weeks of protests for black lives.
In the scriptures we are advised to pray without ceasing. To pray without ceasing. That was the call of Saint Paul talking to the early Christian communities. That their devotion, their attention, should be on their connection to their God and that that was a constant thing.
So just what does it mean for us in these times?
Prayer can be a loaded word for Unitarian Universalists. In this church most every Sunday we have two prayers—one as part of the pastoral concerns, the other at the conclusion of the sermon. Some of you have told me that those are some of the most meaningful parts of our service, something you look forward to every Sunday. Others of you have said that’s the part of the service that is not at all comfortable, a time you more of less grit your teeth, waiting for the next element of the service.
So I take up the subject a little gingerly, and maybe especially right now. If the conversations in your circles are anything like the conversations in my circles have been lately, well, a lot of us are a little on edge, and that is not a good place to begin what might be called a delicate conversation. But let me try.
Some of us came to know prayer in childhood. I certainly did and it was important to me. I remember saying prayers before bedtime, even if I wasn’t sure what that part about “I pray the Lord my soul to keep” meant. Growing up I remember sitting in church and focusing hard on the prayers that were said there. The more I concentrated the more effective they might be.
Often our first experience of prayer might be like these, what we might call prayers of petition. God give me this. God make me better. God please… fill in the blank. And those prayers, of course, were to that father god above, and now, with hindsight I should note, a God who was also white and while we’re at it probably straight—but certainly with a white beard. This was the god who gave a thumbs up or a thumbs down to whatever petitions came his way.
As I got older and as I came to have more questions about all manner of things relating to church and certainly to that concept of god, the meaning of things like prayer, too, was called into question. Just what did it mean to pray? Where did my own agency come into play? If god was making all these calls then something seemed to be amiss. No, I came to have lots of questions when it came to the subject of prayer.
And, all that said, when I look at my life, that impulse to pray—that impulse to want to turn to something larger, to connect with something outside of my own self, to what I might call my source? That, I think is something that is always there for me.
The writer Thomas Moore says that impulse often arises out of a need, when we are trying to understand what’s happening in our lives. Moore says it also comes out of our need to offer thanks, praise, blessing and remembrance. Moore says prayer doesn’t require belief in a personal god, but may be an expression of absolute dependency and an appreciation for what he calls the mysteries. Moore says prayer is a way of being, a way that we are in dialogue with life, in relation to something beyond our individual selves, some sense of other. Prayer, he says, is about being in that dialogue, searching for words, sometimes not even words, but something that makes a space for the questions that arise, that are part of our living.[1]
For me that impulse to reach out, that search for meaning, that is something that comes from somewhere deep within me. It is a kind of reaching out when we don’t know where else to reach. It may be when we find ourselves in a tough spot, when we may not know what else to do. It is in those moments when we feel isolated from the world that we are most in need of reaching out. We search for some connection and we search to find what matters most to us.
The poet Mary Oliver wrote:
“I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed…”[2]
So maybe that act of paying attention is the place to begin. Sometimes it can feel as if life is pulling me in all kinds of directions depending on what is coming my way at any given moment. Those times when we may not be at all sure where to turn. Making a space for what I would call prayer is making a space to pay attention to what is stirring. It may be an issue in my life that I’m trying to figure out. It may be a struggle I’m having… maybe around forgiveness or letting go. It may be fear. It may be confusion. It may be just a sense of something isn’t quite right. And it also helps me to be mindful of the world around me. It may be calling to mind a loved one I’m thinking about. It may be calling to mind some of you and struggles you are having. It may be gratitude for the blessings in my life. Whatever those things are, Prayer is about making that space where I can sit with what is on my mind and on my heart.
The theologian Frederick Buechner says: “We all pray whether we think of it as praying or not. The odd silence we fall into when something very beautiful is happening, or something very good or very bad. The “Ah-h-h-h!” that sometimes floats up out of us as out of a Fourth of July crowd when the skyrocket bursts over the water. The stammer of pain at somebody else’s pain. The stammer of joy at somebody else’s joy. Whatever words or sounds we use for sighing with over our own lives. These are all prayers in their way. These are all spoken not just to ourselves, but to something even more familiar than ourselves.[3]
Buechner says that by far the most important thing about praying is to keep at it. To stay in that dialogue, having patience for what will emerge. And maybe that brings us back to that quote from scripture asking us to pray without ceasing. I wonder if we might see that as a kind of invitation, to imagine just what it would be like to be praying all the time?
We might even call it a spiritual practice of prayer, that no matter the task we are doing, no matter how much might be on our own plate, it might be done prayerfully. I wonder if that might point us to prayer not so much as an act but as a way of being, a way of approaching life, to make a space where we can be open and vulnerable, a place where we can listen to those stirrings of the heart.
It was Abraham Joshua Heschel who said, “When I marched with Martin Luther King in Selma, I felt my legs were praying.” So just what would it be like to imagine ourselves praying without ceasing? Marching, yes; protesting yes; singing, yes. What would it be like to pray in the midst of all those daily tasks we are asked to attend to? What would it be like to bring that mindfulness into the people and groups we encounter?
The poet and theologian Pádraig Ó Tuama tells the story of an experience that happened in a group he was in. His words:
“I remember once being part of a group, we were speaking about prayer, and somebody said, “My prayer is, I’d like to laugh again.” And there was such vulnerability to say that to a roomful of people, “I’d like to laugh again.” I’d like to laugh again — five words. But there’s an entire life wrapped into those small five words. The compassion and kindness in that room — that was prayer. And if we can treat it as if God’s listening, well, then, we might find a way within which God is listening because of what we’re creating in the room.
“And that goes beyond how you articulate a devotion. That goes into the ways in which you say, “Well, even if there isn’t a God, well, I’ll make one up in order to respond kindly into this room in a way that works well.” And that’s what I think prayer can be. It can be a deeply dignifying thing for the desires that we wish to name.”[4]
The poet Czeslaw Milosz, wrote:
“You ask me how to pray to someone who is not.
All I know is that prayer constructs a velvet bridge
And walking it we are aloft, as on a springboard,
Above landscapes the color of ripe gold
Transformed by a magic stopping of the sun.”[5]
Perhaps the central spiritual task is seeing ourselves in relationship with the world, with something larger than ourselves. Call that god, call that spirit. Call that beloved, call that community. Prayer is making a space to name what it is we are holding, what it is we are carrying, to name what it is we are seeking. Prayer is perhaps most simply about how we are in relationship with life. It is about taking the stuff of our lives, our stories, our hurts, our gifts, our angers and our fears, recognizing all the many ways we are blessed, it is taking all of that and making meaning. It is a place where we can be vulnerable, where we can reach out and in that reaching out discovering that we are not alone.
In these days leading up to the election I find that my own emotions tend to be all over the place: fear, anticipation, dread, hope. I will confess to you thing morning that I also note some of those petitionary prayers come through as well, that some force outside me will somehow get things in order. There is much that is stirring and it all likely points to a restlessness in my spirit that I need to pay attention to. My hope for all of us might be that we are able to cultivate a way of being in the world, that makes a space for us to be in touch with our deepest wants, our deepest aspirations, a place where we can name our fears, too. Whether those prayers are in the silence of our hearts, whether they are given voice in the protests we make, whether they are in the ways we are with those we love, how we are with those we call our communities, whether it is even how we strive to be with those who may not vote the way we do, who may not see the world they way we see it. That they all might all point us towards a world where we recognize our interdependence.
No matter what prayer may be for each of us, may we have a place to bring all that we may be holding right now. No matter what prayer may be for each of us may we have a place that helps us to know that we are not alone, that we are held by others, that we are loved, and that nothing can separate us from that love. May that love abide with us as we make our way through these complicated days and in all the days ahead. Amen.
Prayer
Spirit of life and of love, god of our sorrows, god of our hopes and our dreams, be with us in this moment. We make a space here to honor those who have gone before us. Those who were part of this community and the larger world. In this year we note all who have died of COVID in our country and in our world, the lives of black and brown people who have died violently. We recognize their lives and how they helped to lives we live. We recognize the gifts they gave us, the blessings they were. And we make some space too for forgiveness where we need to find forgiveness. We make a space for peace where we need to find peace. Help us to make a space for our grief, for the losses we have known. May they live on through us and in our lives. May they be with us, most of all in these days when we know peril and also possibility. In these days when do much is unknown, help us to recognize our interdependence and our agency. Help us to be mindful, too, of that love that holds us and that will not let us go. May the lives we lead help us we together we make community worthy to be called beloved. Amen.
Benediction As you go into the rest of this day, as you go into this coming week, pray without ceasing, good people. And in your praying, never forget that you are held in love. Amen.
[1] Thomas Moore, “The Soul’s Religion: Cultivating a Profoundly Spiritual Way of Life,” Harper Collins Publishers 2002, pp 248-249.
[2] Mary Oliver, “The Summer Day,” in New and Selected Poems, Beacon Press, Boston.
[3] https://www.frederickbuechner.com/quote-of-the-day/2016/4/25/prayer
[4] https://onbeing.org/programs/padraig-o-tuama-and-marilyn-nelson-a-new-imagination-of-prayer/
[5] https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-prayer/
Topics: Prayer