Prayer
A New Word for Prayer
“Prayer” is just a word, and the word is not the reality of actually praying. I’m kinda tired of the word to be honest. In my own life it’s just accumulated too much baggage and confusing background noise. I want to pray, but I’m tired of trying to pray. I find myself wanting prayer, but what I need is to pray.
Back in the day, the New Testament most often used a handy compound Greek word for prayer that signified both intimacy and longing. In Hebrew we have the history of an even more amazing word that conveys attachment and self-evaluation. I’m not going to painstakingly link my readings in for you. I usually do, yes, but this time I’ll let you do some Googling and digging if you’re interested.
In English we have a nice latinized word we are all used to, “Pray.” Our good friends Merriam and Webster tell us that the word has two general meanings: 1) to ask for or entreat (the linguistic roots of the word), and 2) to address God (the general historic use of the word for the last bunch of centuries).
But I’m more interested these days in praying than in prayer. I picked up a quote some years ago from my reading of Thomas à Kempis in The Imitation of Christ, “I would rather feel compunction than know how to define it.” Let me to just say “Right freaking on!” to that sentiment. That statement can be made of many things, not just our bigger more complicated terms like compunction. It’s how I feel about prayer. I need to experience something bigger than the word.
So, thinking about the Hebrew roots and the Greek roots and thinking of the way Jesus taught and practiced praying, what is a word for what I’m looking to find and do? What word captures what prayer would be in my life if prayer becomes freed from some of the baggage it’s been carrying?
I think often of a lost word for most of us in the West: meditation. Years ago, as in like over 20 years ago, I heard of “soaking.” Soaking was the practice of laying in bed or sitting in a chair with the lights down and headphones on, letting music guide you into a meditative state for connecting with God. It’s good stuff. Worthy of a try or two.
In Mother Teresa’s “Simple Path” prayer is sandwiched between silence and faith. Hmmmmm. Mahatma Gandhi said, “Prayer is not asking. It is a longing of the soul. It is daily admission of one’s weakness. It is better in prayer to have a heart without words than words without a heart.”
Rumi has an amazing quote about passion, what I will call “passionate swimming“: “With passion pray.
With passion make love. With passion eat and drink and dance and play. Why look like a dead fish in this ocean of God?” But I’m not sure that replacing prayer with passionate swimming will be useful for me in a daily way. He does though capture in a beautiful style the desire to revel in the fully present and enlivening God.
A quick look around shows an affinity we have with linking dance and prayer, and not just among those who follow Christ. Like swimming, I think dancing embraces an immanence that I want to experience in prayer. But I’m not even a bad dancer. I just don’t dance.
I want to have a word like imagining. I want to have a word like creating. I want a prayer experience that is foundational to a constant becoming. I want a word that can include riding my scooter, painting, crying to God in anguish, singing a hymn and journaling. I want a word for the capture and crafting of a soul.
I need a word for at one moment losing and finding myself in God. I need a word for at moment experiencing and re-creating the reality in which I live. I already know that hugging one of my sons is praying. I know that every kiss I give my wife is a prayer.
I’m still looking, and still trying to find it, even if I can’t define it. I am hopeful and expectant, that even a simple blog post becomes prayer, an imagining and a rooting of myself in something unseen and yet present. And for a while, in a moment of time and place, my soul is remade a little closer to the image of God’s heart.
Holy Saturday Waiting, Resting, Loving
This morning I noticed that our daffodils don’t realize it’s still Holy Saturday, they must think it’s already Easter morning! And it got me thinking about Holy Saturday, about waiting, and about the goodness of human beings.
I probably should have blogged about Good Friday yesterday, but it was a full day of work getting things prepared at Church in Bethesda for the evening pilgrimage, and we also ran the boys over to Baltimore for lunch at the nearest Sonic Drive-Through… mmmmm, a family favorite!
We did host the pilgrimage, and Jesus is still in the tomb in our sanctuary. The following is the passage we read at the tomb last night…
Luke 23:50-56
Now there was a man named Joseph, a member of the Council, a good and upright man, who had not consented to their decision and action. He came from the Judean town of Arimathea, and he himself was waiting for the kingdom of God. Going to Pilate, he asked for Jesus’ body. Then he took it down, wrapped it in linen cloth and placed it in a tomb cut in the rock, one in which no one had yet been laid. It was Preparation Day, and the Sabbath was about to begin.
The women who had come with Jesus from Galilee followed Joseph and saw the tomb and how his body was laid in it. Then they went home and prepared spices and perfumes. But they rested on the Sabbath in obedience to the commandment.
I didn’t grow up with Good Friday or Holy Saturday. In fact we didn’t have a Holy Week at all and I remember preachers making a clear point to us that Easter was not a “religious” holiday for us, but only a “secular” fun day. After all, we celebrated the death, burial and resurrection every Sunday! We didn’t need these kinds of holidays. So there.
But more than anything else, I think we feared death. We feared an impression of defeat. We feared a hint of weakness to our cause. I don’t think we were brave enough or strong enough to talk of the death of Jesus without immediately moving right to the resurrection. The church of my youth rejected things like crucifixes, because “Jesus is no longer on the cross!”
Really, I can’t recall hearing a sermon on the death without an exhortation to look to the resurrection. Without a Holy Week tradition that included a Good Friday service, I was never told that “Jesus has been killed, now go home and pray and wait.” Today, I struggle every year to place his “body” in our makeshift tomb in the corner of the Sanctuary. Kneeling beside a weeping pilgrim last night I had trouble praying the usual prayers.
Good Friday is such a beautiful time to hit the pressure valve that has been wound so tight throughout the last year. Let it out, drop some defenses, be human. Jesus was human, human enough to die. The people standing at the cross were human, human enough to jeer and laugh, to weep and cry out, to be afraid, to be proud, and to be humbled. And Joseph was human enough to want Jesus’ body to be in a tomb, not disgracefully hanging in the open. The women were human enough to go home and prepare burial spices, working right up to the start of the Sabbath, then resting and waiting. Holy Saturday is a time to rest in that deflated, relaxed and waiting place.
Dang, have you ever thought how hard it was for those women to sit through Saturday looking at the spices they had prepared, imagining the body of their beloved languishing without the tender attention of their care? And yet God says, “Wait. Rest.”
Today, as I wait on Saturday for the coming morning, as I wait for the right time to get that “body” out of our Sanctuary and replace black cloth with bright white, as I rest from yesterday’s long day of work, I love that man and those women who cared for my Lord so long ago, so preciously.
I look around Starbucks where I’m writing, and I love the people I see all around me. They are diverse, loud and beautiful. They are precious. They are human like Jesus was human, human like the man and women were human, and human like I am human. Thank you, Lord, for reminding me, for making me stop and rest and wait and see.
Most days in my later life I have taken wearing a crucifix under my shirt, laying against my chest, or maybe carried in a pocket of my jeans or backpack. It’s usually near enough to touch and hold. Because Jesus is still on the cross? Of course not. Because he was human, and I am human, and I find some deep comfort and hope in that? You bet. I look at the pain, love, sacrifice and humanity of the crucifix and it helps me look with love on the people around me.
I’ve decided it’s ok for my daffodils to bloom and shine today. I look at these flowers and I think of the women watching their fragrant spices throughout the day. I will watch with them and wait with them. I will love them. And when the morning comes, I’ll go to the tomb to give what I can to Jesus.
Selling each other short…
I am more than a little heart-sick at this story. And I’m keep the Clementi family in my prayers. Have you seen the story? The shameful treatment of a college student leads him to take his own life.
Ya know, I understand the drive to have the next big viral video. I see people everyday online trying to capture that magic, that big laugh. Some achieve a certain amount of online notoriety, and some simply tear their own dignity to shreds while hurting others in the attempt.
Think for a second about the news stories asking about the rightness of parents who post pics and vids of their toddlers with bong pipes and firearms… why? Because they want a laugh. Never caught those stories? Google it.
And amid all the grotesque stories of cyber-bullying, we have this one… a college roommate and his friend hide a camera to live stream a young man’s love life. That young man then commits suicide in shame. And it’s just all too easy. It’s too easy to plant that camera, to laugh at a friend, to Tweet and post and stream a friend for a few laughs, a few glorious moments of viral power. Tyler Clementi was sold short… his life, he himself. He was worth so very much more than the few laughs his antagonists sought.
I hope at least one person with a webcam and a stupid idea for catching an online laugh will stop and ask… “Am I trading my neighbor off for a selfish grab at a laugh or a few more views? What is my fellow human being worth?” And beyond hoping, I pray that when that person looks inside and gropes around for the answers to those questions, they’ll find love.
Oh, God! Help us love each other!
Break our hearts and teach us mercy!
Teach to pursue each other with grace!
And when we’re done praying? Well, then we have to speak and act for love! Speak and act the value and dignity of our neighbors! We have to be love, be the value and be the dignity of everyone around us! For such things our Christ has suffered the cross!
And here’s just a flashback for you 80’s fans… a song I have often sung along with and admired for it’s honest and good questioning of our need to hate…
"People Are People"
- Martin Gore, Depeche Mode
People are people
So why should it be
You and I should get
Along so awfully
People are people
So why should it be
You and I should get
Along so awfully
So we're different colours
And we're different creeds
And different people have different needs
It's obvious you hate me
Though I've done nothing wrong
I've never ever met you so what could I have done
I can't understand
What makes a man
Hate another man
Help me understand
People are people...
Help me understand
Help me understand
Now you're punching
And you're kicking
And you're shouting at me
I'm relying on your common decency
So far it hasn't surfaced
But I'm sure it exists
It just takes a while to travel
From your head to your fists
I can't understand
What makes a man
Hate another man
Help me understand
Praying for the Gulf Coast…
Well, it’s been a while since I shared anything here; life’s been a little busy. But this week the oil spilling into the Gulf Coast has been heavy on my heart. So, I thought I’d try to unpack a little.
I’m going to ask you to suspend your political sensibilities for a short season. As I’ve listened and reflected on the oil spill, I’ve found the political dynamics to be distracting. Truth is, this is moral issue and an issue of empathy for our friends most impacted and for God’s good creation.
My mother-in-law’s family hails from Southern Louisiana, and so my heart is tied to a region that has partly existed for so many millennium just to bring me my wonderful wife. I and my kin hail from the great state of Texas which shares that same gulf with our neighbors in Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Florida, Mexico and Cuba. Though not all the gulf is like the pristine waters I have relished along the coast of East Africa, it’s still part of my home.
We really need to be praying for and listening to our neighbors in the killing, thieving path of this spill. We need to be broken for the destruction that this spill is creating within the coastal animal, bird, fish and vegetative communities. We humans are a species of risk takers, often to our gain and sometimes at great cost. I get it; I’m not immune to the thrill of taking a chance and doing what seems impossible. I marvel at the complexity and seemingly preternatural audacity that makes deep sea drilling a reality. But I’m starting to really hurt that the same energies are not given to a love of our God’s good earth and to being present with our neighbors. Did you mark the 45th day of the oil this week? The forty-fifth day! And now BP finally manages to be able to catch a small percentage of the escaping oil… and I can’t muster much joy at the news.
I’m sick and angry as the stories of the ruined lives and livelihoods begin to seep out of LA as the oil seeps into it. I’m embarrassed by a culture of consumption that creates the need for such risky drilling. And I’m so dependent on and appreciative of the mini van and it’s petroleum munching, combustion engine that will soon carry us around on a road-trip to see our family in other states. *sighs* What shall we say to our neighbors in the Gulf Coast in the coming months and years? What will they say to us?
Have I ever mentioned how much I love alligators? I visited an alligator farm in LA some years ago, and have played with the idea of having my own such farm ever since. Fascinating creatures. I’m incredibly angry that their marshes are in danger.
And I’m having a hard time praying for BP. I know. Just typing the words made my fingers itch.
God has made a good world, and it’s wonderfully resilient in the face of such catastrophes. But it pains me to say that I’ve heard people, people self-identifying as followers of Christ, use this truth as a license for apathy about the oil spill. As if in making such a wonderful creation our God abdicated the right of wrath and disgust at the carelessness of any one species within it. Let us not be tempted by such a foolish notion.
This may be an unwelcome observation to you (honestly, it is for me, too), but I’m thinking God’s people need to do some soul searching right about now. Dare we toy with the word? Let’s. Change. It’s time to have a discussion about changing some things. I have an overwhelming feeling of need to do some hard penance for the mess we have made… and I’m not sue what to do about it. Any ideas?
“Saving God… I’m sorry. I’m sorry for unthinkingly embracing a life of no limits on my consumption except those imposed on me by my salary and earthly creditors. I repent of it, and ask for wisdom in the coming days as I try to see a better path, a faithful path. Amen.”
Stop, Drop and Paint…
I’ve been working on “Thoughts on Preaching: Part 2,” but this afternoon I just had to stop thinking for a while and do some painting. Painting is prayer, a form of meditation for me. I make no claims to be good at it or have a style I can all my own, but it is one of the most freeing times for me.
I’ve been reading and thinking about St. Francis of Assisi for a few days and I was thinking of doing a self-portrait, so I combined the two and came up with this painting, today… an acrylic meditation on the first line of St. Francis’ formative prayer,
“Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace.”
I worked two hours straight on it from the beginning to completion, and it’s drying now in our bedroom. I have a spot on the wall all picked our for it. Don’t worry, I am under no delusions about the difference between myself and the great saint. I just used a little artistic liberty to focus my efforts.
Practicing Ministry During Worship Services…
I have meant to write something about practicing acts of ministry during worship for a while now. At CiB we like to often use our time together in worship services to bless others… usually we choose the children and families at The Children’s Inn located at the National Institutes for Health. We incorporate two things: 1) our use of prayer stations, and 2) their practice of “thoughtful treasures.”
We always have prayer stations set up during our communion (eucharist) celebration and our folks move around through them after receiving the bread and the cup. These stations are meant to facilitate prayer and action, often helping make the things we are talking about a little more tangible and present.
The Inn has a program called “Thoughtful Treasures” wherein each child gets to open a personal mailbox each morning and starts that day with a special treat before all the routine and often painful medical appointments and regimens of the day get going. Many folks and organizations in our area help supply those treasures.
So this last week we prayerfully put notes of encouragement on candy canes, about 90 in all, at a prayer station. Next week we’ll be assembling jingle bell necklaces while we pray for the kids and their families. The candy canes were simply decorated with a mailing label wrapping around the stem which read, “We’re praying for your holiday!” and included our church family’s logo. Often our efforts are “small,” but intentional and uplifting for the recipient.
Other ministry activities we’ve practiced have included letters to encourage orphans in Sudan and letters and cards to our sick members or friends. We’ve also written notes of appreciation to one another, or maybe a coworker or a family member. Ideas for what we do flow from the pastoral staff as well as others in the congregation. The practice fits with our desire to begin enacting the grace of God in tangible ways at all times. And I’ll tell you from experience… this is not a put-off for visitors! Typically, they join in and love it!
I’m sharing all this because I’d love to know what you folks are doing out there… let’s share ideas and inspirations. I’m only positive of three things: 1) we’re not the first folks to do this, 2) we’re not the only folks doing this, and 3) we won’t be the last folks to do this. Share some ideas and practices you are loving to be a part of!
Christians Being Rude…
I recently threw out a tweet that also went to my facebook expressing my shame at the actions of some Christians a few weeks back who felt it was somehow in the Spirit of Christ to go disturb their Muslim neighbors who had gathered at the National Mall for a day of prayer. While the people tried to pray, some stood to the side with bullhorns and tried to “evangelize” them, and then got in arguments with the DC police. Sheesh.
Really, that’s who we are supposed to be? The persecutors? We somehow have been granted the licence to rudeness? Really?
So, I went to my Sunni next-door neighbor and apologized, even though he wasn’t there that day. He was so great. He said something like, “We know all Christians aren’t like that.” He then looked over my shoulder to the view of my church building down the street, and he looked at the Presbyterian church across the street, and turned back and said something to the tune of, “My wife and I are so happy to have the churches here so close, we feel it is a sign of peace for us.” Sorry, it wasn’t a news interview so I have to do some paraphrasing.
I also spent some time trying to find an email for the fella who planned the whole prayer event at the Mall. I finally found one and sent him an apology, as a local Christian Pastor who was embarrassed by the angry, rude Christians. I wanted to share the reply I received yesterday, because I thought it was very gracious…
“Dear Reverend Thomas,
Thank you very much for your kind words and prayers. We did receive opposition from Christians but it didn’t prevent us from having a most wonderful prayer service on Capitol Hill. We prayed for the good of America, for all people of all races, religions, etc. Many of us who participated were born in America. We deeply care for and love America.
Take good care and may the peace of God (the one creator) be with you always.
Peace and blessings,
Sayydah”
There’s no doubt that there are Muslims in the world who don’t love America. Heck, there are Christians in the world who don’t love America. And I’m not going to jump onto a bandwagon of condemnation for the Christians with bullhorns… as I recently heard the late, great Rich Mullins say in video, “I’m not saying they’re bad, they’re just wrong.” Scripture directs us to be the righteous ones, so that observers have no true basis to make derisive remakes about our behavior. Scripture also says that our anger does not accomplish the will of God. And common sense says that interrupting someone else’s prayer does nothing to help my prayer.
So, I’ll just close with sincere apologies to the artist of the icon with which I took certain liberties when trying to do something visually clever for this post. Sorry, my friend.
it’s a time to pray…
August was a long month for Senator Larry Craig. If you’ve watched the national news, or local in Idaho, you’ve undoubtedly heard it all. Of course, you and I won’t ever know exactly what happed that day in an airport bathroom. We have accusations from a peace officer and we have a plea of guilty to lesser charges… and we have the national circus that comes to town when there’s the smell of fresh blood.
My question is for us of faith… for we who should never be caught viewing a human being as anything other than a beloved of our God, regardless of seen and unseen brokenness. Where do our concerns and priorities lie? Do we value the political spectacle of Senator Craig’s situation over the obvious brokenness in his own life and the life of his family? Are we Republicans and Democrats, Libertarians and Moderates, Communists and Anarchists, and all the political spectrum therein, before we are disciples of Christ? I don’t mean this as a rhetorical question. I mean it as a serious “this really needs some attention” question, because the answer to the question will determine how we respond. Some of us are immediately drawn to the political feast and others may be scared into silence and shame.
Will we respond with prayer for a man and his family, or respond with ridicule and malice, or silence and apathy? I’m not debating guilt here, I’m wondering about healing. I’m not asking if he should or shouldn’t have made his resignation, I’m asking about hope. I’m wondering if we have any role in the healing and hope, or if we only interact with this particular human being in the political arena. Under what circumstances do we cease to have spiritual obligations to our fellow, broken beings? When do we stop carrying obligations of forgiveness, words of life and peace, and humbled service?
So, Sunday morning we raised Senator Craig before God’s throne, along with his family, for healing and help. That in this time of undeniable pain and hurt, God would do the needed work of peace, making whole, and giving joy.
The world doesn’t need another Democrat. The world doesn’t need another Republican. The world can’t really do much with another howl of “hypocrite!” or bout of snide laughter, or silent judgment.
The world could use some folks on their knees in prayer and on their feet in love… the world could use a fresh perspective on things.
Prayers…
So I’ve been trying to be faithful this year to the Orthodox Lenten fast as well as practicing daily Orthodox prayers. I found a little bookstore and got me a chokti to practice the Jesus Prayer, and seem to have lost it. I dug out one I tied myself a few months ago and have been using it instead.
And here’s my favorite line from the trisagion prayers that I am trying to hold faith with on a daily basis… “Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal, have mercy on us.” At one point I am instructed to say this thrice, and it’s a high point of my prayers. I think it’s the stir I feel in my soul when I say the words, Holy Mighty.
Peace.
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