As preached by Sister Rebecca
Holy Wisdom Church
In today’s Gospel, Luke writes about
the disciples who are asking Jesus, “Lord, teach us to pray.” Implicit in that
request is their admission that there are things that they don’t understand
about prayer. I wonder if the disciples, while observing Jesus in prayer, were
drawn to imitate him.
Jesus responds: When you pray, say “Our Father in heaven,”
meaning that God is infinite, mysterious, and beyond human comprehension. Yet,
this transcendence of God doesn’t mean that God is remote or unknowable. C. S.
Lewis writes that as humans we need “limping metaphors” to express our
relationship with God in his “magnetic mercy” which draws us to himself. There
is no need to stress or strain, to grope in the darkness, for God has created us;
he is near to each one of us, as close as breath itself. Jesus indicates that
God is not only “in heaven” but is also near and dear as a loving father to
every person. God is infinite, yes, but he’s also intimate. And so, of the
first two words of the Lord’s Prayer, “Our Father,” Paul says the same thing in
the Epistle to the Romans. We shouldn’t relate to God as a slave who fears a
master, but as a child who feels safe with a parent: “Abba, Father” (Romans
8:15, Galatians 4:6). “Abba,” the Aramaic word that Jesus used, means something
like “Papa.” The word is used only three times in the New Testament, and it conveys
a startling sense of human intimacy with the divine Infinite. It was a word
that little children first learning to speak used for their father, and that
Jesus himself used to pray to God in the Garden of Gethsemane.
Because God is like a tender loving
father, Jesus invites us to pray, to keep asking, keep seeking, keep knocking,
he tells us. “And when a child asks for food, like a fish or an egg, no parent
would ever give him a poisonous snake or scorpion. How much more will God give
good gifts to his children: how much more shall your heavenly Father give the
Holy Spirit to them that ask?” says Jesus.
So
prayer at its deepest level is not about getting something, solving a problem,
or resolving issues. Rather, all prayer is a radical receptivity to the Holy
Spirit, which itself is inspired by that same Holy Spirit! We will come to
know that it is God who creates within us the desire to pray for whatever we
need or want. But we need to surrender to the Divine Spirit, letting go of
our small minds, and embracing contemplative practice.
It
is here that we experience moments of awe and wonder. Returning to Jesus’ prayer to the Father:
“hallowed be your name”: the word “to hallow” is in old English term for “to
sanctify,” to make holy, sacred. When we experience moments of awe, we are
allowing God to be hallowed in us—and in the midst of this sacred presence we
know we are forgiven and loved unconditionally.
At the same time, all is forgiven. We hold no grudges, negativity toward
others or any of creation. This is a sheer gift of the Spirit. But in order to live in this sacred
atmosphere we need daily nourishment—not just for our bodies, but soul food—the
manna. This bread is received in many
ways, especially in the Eucharist, but is available also whenever we need it.
It comes in many forms: grace, guidance, trust, consolation, moments of
enlightenment, friendships, loving kindness. This latter, in unexpected ways: a
smile, someone holding a door for us when we happen to need it, and even in
little silly ways that bring a bit of humor into our frustrations: What comes to my mind right now: I was
shopping at Hannaford and picked up a little netted bag of tomatoes. As I was pushing my cart down an aisle, several
little tomatoes escaped through a hole in the net, and they went sailing down
the aisle! I was very worried someone
might step on one, slide, and fall! As I went after them a tall, lanky 16-year-old
came from behind me, looked at the tomatoes rolling down the aisle, turned to
me and said: “Lady! That sucks!” And I couldn’t help laughing. Small stuff! But many such things like this can
cut through our over-seriousness and worry.
In the Sayings of the Desert
Fathers, there’s a story about Macarius the Great (born c. 300), a former camel
driver. One day someone asked him how to pray. “There is no need at all to make
long discourses,” he advised. “It is enough to stretch out one’s hands and say,
‘Lord, as you will, and as you know, have mercy.’ And if the conflict grows
fiercer say, ‘Lord, help!’ He knows very well what we need and he shows us his
mercy.”
“Western culture today and in our times presents us
with an incredible challenge: it tends to be an extroverted culture and a ‘can-do’
culture. Prayer too easily has become an attempt to change God and
aggrandize ourselves instead of what it was meant to be—an interior practice to change
the one who is praying. This interior
transformation will happen if we sit calmly before this uncanny and utterly
safe Presence, and allow the Divine Gaze to invade and heal our unconscious,
the place where 95 percent of our motivations and mindless reactions come from.”
(Paraphrased from a quote by Fr. Richard
Rohr.)
We need to stand back:
go to that space of loving Presence, be open to God’s gaze and return the gaze. Then, as Meister Eckhart so
perfectly said, “the eye with which we look back at God will be the same eye
that first looked at us.” We just complete the circuit!
I’d like to end these reflections with a poem by
Edwina Gateley, entitled “Silent Prayer.”
This
is my prayer—
That,
though I may not see,
I
be aware
Of
the Silent God
Who
stands by me.
That,
though I may not feel, I be aware
Of
the Mighty Love
Which doggedly follows me.
That,
though I may not respond,
I
be aware
That
God—my Silent, Mighty God,
Waits
each day.
Quietly,
hopefully, persistently.
Waits
each day and through each night
For
me.
For
me—alone.
