Stewart Weaver

A few weeks ago a question was posed: why should we pray if God already knows what we’re thinking?  It was humbly suggested that perhaps we are the ones who need prayer, not God.  In the act of prayer we articulate worries, hopes, dreams and ideas under the eyes of God.  We so often address issues not just with a skittery mind but with the entirety of our hearts and minds and our souls.  That may be why we pray.

But, what is prayer?

A roundabout sort of response.

When I first arrived at St. Philip’s I was a good little boy.  Here I was, a squeaky clean new minister and I was going to do my prayers once a day.  This I did.  And got thoroughly bored.  Within a couple of months, the usual structure of approach, confession, forgiveness, intercession, supplication, thanksgiving became tired and tedious.  And how irrelevant to someone trying to learn a new vocation.

So, I turned to the Church of Scotland Book of Common Order.  Within it is a framework for daily prayer, morning, noon and night.  There are some lovely turns of phrases and lovely insights.  But boredom set in quickly and there remained this booming silence from heaven.  Abandoned that one.

I turned to something along the lines of lectio divina, which I had seen described in one of our discussion groups on the DVD series ‘Living the Questions’.  In this approach the person reads of listens to a story from the Bible, focusses on it and lives within it, trying to gather the flavour, texture, faith and meaning within it.  It’s a fantastic thing to do and helped immensely.  But too often it was seen less as a means of listening to God but a means to tease out sermon fodder for the next Sunday.  Too much purpose and too much thinking.

So, something was needed to complement that attempt.  I had read much about the Eastern traditions and had studied some of them in college.  One writer in particular pointed to the many parallels between Eastern meditation techniques and those in our Chistian tradition.  But, whereas some might have in mind nirvana or nothingness, the Christian might encounter the stillness and silence of God.  So, breathe in, breathe out.  Again.  Keep doing it.  Good, for a while.  But whereas our mind was supposed to be as calm and serene as a pond on a moonlit night, I was all over the place.  Ideas, thoughts, worries and other mental burps were whizzing around like moths round a lantern.  Zero focus.

I then read a comment by a Dominican named Herbert McCabe.  If, in the midst of prayer our mind wanders, and instead of concentrating on the glories of God’s love or the mystery of the incarnation or the humility of grace, we think about the Sunday roast or the many chores we have to do, then go with it.  If we’re thinking of Sunday dinner, fine.  Ask God to bless the food and those who brought it to our table.  Ask God to bless those who will gather round the table with us, and perhaps take a moment to think of them and their lives.  Ask God to be with those who aren’t as lucky as we are and who would see a Sunday roast as a once-in-a-lifetime celebration.

What a wonderfully human approach.  Take skittery and flighty me as I am, God, and help me in all of these mental perambulations.

And how well that has worked.  Taking my days and setting them before God.  Forgive me for the silly, stupid, cold or hurtful things I have done.
Be with all of those with whom I have come into contact with.
Help those who are on TV or radio or in the papers.
And, my day ahead.  Here’s what’s coming God.  Please, please, help me to approach each challenge with hope and grace, and help me to respond to happiness and joy with generosity overflowing.

What a difference it makes.  My life is so terribly, terribly pedestrian and human.  Full of ups and downs and frustrations and sorrows and quiet joys.  Preparing myself for these in the light of God, under the tutelage of Christ, has been a true blessing.

If, when I raise my head from prayer, I am a better man, then the prayer is answered.  And that prayer can be magnificent, eloquent and inspirational, or it can be mundane and clay-footed.  But it gets me through the day.

Amen to that.