On Prayer

Do you pray the Lord’s Prayer? On your own, I mean—not during worship?

It’s rare that I do. It’s so deeply embedded in the worship experience, it’s not something I immediately turn to on my own. I confess that I often feel I’ve said it and heard it so many times, the words barely register. Though it is powerful to repeat the words Jesus gave us together, as a community of believers around the world, when I pray alone, it seems somehow superficial—too easy, too automatic. Like I’m not really giving God my best.

The little Quaker church I grew up in didn’t use rote prayer, with the exception of the Lord’s Prayer. And the itinerant, untrained preachers who filled our pulpit never read prayers that were written down. They always prayed spontaneously, from the heart. Which of course can be a good thing. But like many others, these men became very emotional as they led us in prayer.

One always pulled out a big, white handkerchief to mop his face, because he cried every single time he prayed. Another got predictably choked up, especially when he prayed about his humble desire to be allowed to fasten the sandals of John the Baptist in heaven. (Don’t ask. We had no idea why that specific desire. Did anyone even wear sandals in heaven? I’m sure he didn’t mean it to be entertaining, but it made us kids roll our eyes and smile at each other—behind our hands, of course.)

I was introduced to the high church service of the Catholic mass by a college boyfriend. Nothing had prepared me for it! So much was repeated in exactly the same way, in every service—which I actually found comforting throughout my difficult college years. With the exception of the homily (which was mercifully shorter than the sermons to which I was accustomed), everything was either read or recited from memory. So very different! Yet it spoke to my spirit, so much so that I converted and sometimes attended more than one mass a week.

I have since come to appreciate all kinds of prayer—spontaneous, read, recited, or even silent, with no words at all. I’ve learned that what matters most is not the words or where they come from, but the act of presenting myself before the Lord.

Kathleen Norris, the author of Amazing Grace: A Vocabulary of Faith, writes: “Prayer is not doing, but being. Prayer is not words, but the beyond-words experience of coming into the presence of something much greater than oneself.”

She reminds us that prayer at its heart is communion with God—a connection just as personal and real as if Jesus himself were sitting beside us in the flesh. And sometimes, that communion doesn’t require any words at all. Simply sitting in that presence, seeking and acknowledging that connection, is a kind of prayer.

Frederick Buechner agrees. In his little book, Wishful Thinking: A Seeker’s ABC, he writes that we may also pray in ways that we don’t even think of as prayer. His list includes: “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, [like] a fourth of July crowd when the skyrocket bursts over the water.” 

And writer Anne Lamotte wrote a book titled, Thanks. Help. Wow., in which she asserts that those three words are really what most prayers come down to (though she did later add Amen).

In her poem, “Six Recognitions of the Lord,” Mary Oliver writes about there being no need of using any particular kinds of words. “I know a lot of fancy words,” she writes. “I tear them from my heart and my tongue. Then I pray.” 

And in a poem titled “Praying,” she shares this wisdom:

It doesn’t have to be

the blue iris, it could be

weeds in a vacant lot, or a few

small stones; just

pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don’t try

to make them elaborate, this isn’t

a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which

another voice may speak.

These writers have taught me so much as I’ve journeyed through my faith. And the main thing I have learned is that God desires to be in relationship with us, in conversation or in silence. As mystic Thomas Merton writes: “I believe that the desire to please you [God] does in fact please you.” And any kind of prayer pleases God.

And so we pray, without ceasing, to a God who knows our needs and desires before we speak or even think them. Yet God wants us to bring them, to be in communion with the Spirit.

On September 13, our Women’s Ministry Team—Women at the Well—will lead a retreat at the church, from 10:00 to 4:00. The theme will be Pathways to Prayer. If you’re interested in learning more about different ways to pray, we invite you to be our guests! Watch for more information.

Praise be to our God, who is always ready to meet us—in the silence, in our thoughts, and in any words we choose. 

Blessings as you continue your journey,

Lou Ann