It Is Time To Pray

Catholics are encouraged to pray for divine guidance for the college of cardinals when they meet to elect a new pope.

It is our hope that the election of the new pope will be the direct choice of the Holy Spirit, but, given papal history, there is no convincing reason to maintain that this is necessarily so.

Pope Benedict was once asked whether the Holy Spirit chooses the pope. His answer was nuanced: "I would say that the Spirit does not exactly take control of the affair, but rather like a good educator, as it were, leaves us much space, much freedom, without entirely abandoning us. Thus the Spirit's role should be understood in a much more elastic way, not that he dictates the candidate for whom one must vote."

Then why pray? If even the Holy Spirit does not necessarily get the candidate she wants, what good is our prayer?

As I wrestle with this question, and indeed with the whole concept of prayers of petition, I begin with the notion that God does not like to do things for us. Rather, God much prefers to do things with us.

Many a grandmother brings her grandchild into the kitchen to bake cookies. Grandma could mix the dough and cut out the cookies more efficiently, more cleanly, by herself, but she willing puts up with the extra mess and misshapen dough in order to bond more closely with her grandchild.

God, I think, does much the same. The Father, prompted by love, prefers to have his children intimately involved in the plan and process of salvation.

There are various kinds of prayer: adoration, thanksgiving, contrition, and petition. Through the prayer of adoration we worship God, acknowledging awesome divinity. In prayers of thanksgiving we express gratitude for heaven's blessings. In contrition we admit our sinfulness and express a spirit of amendment.

But what are we doing in prayers of petition? We are asking God for something: maybe for health or wealth, for success or protection, or for any number of perceived needs.

Are we asking for these things because God is oblivious to our needs? Of course not. Do we pray for the restoration of a loved one's health because we need to earn God's intervention? That makes no sense, since God loves our loved ones more than we do.

If our prayer of petition neither wakens God to our needs nor earns a response, why ask?

Perhaps the first reason we petition God for anything is that such a prayer awakens within us a sense of our dependence upon the Divine One. By such prayer we acknowledge that we are not in control, that we are powerless in many situations of life. We are simply admitting the truth that we need divine providence, that it all depends on God.

A second reason for petition (indeed for all forms of prayer) is that in this exercise of raising our hearts and minds to God we are releasing into the world a force for good!

This reason may seem mystical, but it is not to be ignored.

We know that there is evil in the world. Recall the advice in 1 Peter 5:8, "Be sober and watchful, for your adversary the devil like a roaring lion is prowling about the world seeking someone to devour. Resist him steadfast in the faith..."

When grandmother cooks a pot of cabbage the aroma soon wafts from the kitchen into the rest of the house. In a similar way, when we do evil (when we sin) we release evil into the world. And, conversely, when we do good (when we love) we release goodness, a force that confronts and counterbalances evil.

All our prayers, including petition, release the force of good, and that force can influence the world and the mentality around us.

Since God does not like to do things for us (except in special situations --for God is God, and God does whatever God wants) but rather prefers to do things with us, God patiently waits for us to release goodness into the world, and allows the things of this world to be influenced by either the presence of evil or the force for good.

Our failure to pray does not necessarily shackle God's power nor prevent divine intervention. Nevertheless, if my interpretation of salvation history (including the history of the Church) provides a clue about God's modus operandi, I am persuaded that God often waits for us to do our part.

All prayer, especially petition, is to be couched in an attitude of  "thy will be done."

It may well be, however, that God's will awaits our cooperation.

It is, then, possible that our next pope is not necessarily God's choice. Our encouragement to pray for the guidance of the Spirit at the conclave is found in Luke 11:9: "And I tell you, ask and you will receive; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you."

If our prayer releases a force for good into the world, may that force finds its way into the closed doors  of  the Sistine Chapel. May the "Extra, omnes" of the Master of the Papal Liturgical Celebrations drive out all evil forces from the conclave and let remain only the good ones, blessed by the Holy Spirit.

If we do not ask, we shall not receive. Let us release the good. It is time to pray!

Too Busy To Pray

I've gotten busy again --too busy to pray.

There are Masses in various parishes, talks to various groups, preparations for future parish missions, and of course household chores.

I can find time to "say my prayers" but setting aside time to pray has not been a priority.

There's more to praying than saying prayers. I've come to the conclusion that Catholics say too many prayers and do too little praying.

At least fifty-percent of praying ought to be silence. It's emptying the mind of words and being silent.

Prayer without words is more difficult than reading the divine office (the liturgy of the hours) or saying the rosary.

Prayer without words requires (or at least seeks) full focus on God. It includes a willingness to just be in God's presence, to enjoy God's company, to experience rather than talk about the "otherness" and the "closeness" of God.

When I'm too busy to pray I'm too busy!

It's time to prioritize, to begin spiritual exercise anew, to be rather than do.

Nearly all those who write about prayer insist on silence -quieting the mind so the heart can hear --being silent so God can get a word in edgewise. The more I talk the less I learn.

The daily prayer of the Jew (cf. Deuteronomy 6:4) begins with the word "Listen."

Moses got the people's attention with the simple command, "Be silent, O Israel, and listen!" (cf. Dt. 27:9).

In the midst of Jesus' transfiguration a voice from the cloud was heard to say, "This is my chosen Son; listen to him" (cf. Luke 9:35).

And here I am, doing it again. I sit here multiplying words, filling a blogpost because I think it is expected of me --when in fact I should be listening.

"Shh," my soul says to me. "Be quiet --at least for little while. Hush."

Jesus, It's Hard To Love You

"Jesus, do you know how hard it is to love you?"
Those words, Lord, are Dorothy Day's,
but that sentiment is mine too!
"How hard it is to love you."

It was a rough day at the Catholic Worker House.
Dorothy had dealt with a litany of problems --
breaking up fights among her "guests,"
preparing enough food to feed them,
trying to rid the house of lice,
welcoming another alcoholic who returned her kindness
by throwing up on her shoes.

It was a rough day at the Catholic Worker House.
And when evening came, when finally she found some quiet time
to pray, to bring her troubles before you,
her usual calm and patience gave way,
and from her troubled heart and anxious soul, Lord,
came those most honest words,
"Jesus, do you know how hard it is to love you?"

Dorothy knew:
you measure our love for you by our love for others:
"Truly I tell you,
just as you did it to the least of these
who are members of my family,
you did to me."

The Beloved Disciple put it boldly:
"Those who say, 'I love God,"
and hate their brothers and sisters, are liars;
for those who do not love a brother or sister
whom they have seen,
cannot love God
whom they have not seen."

I come to the conclusion, Lord,
that love for my neighbor
is the horizontal bar in the cross.

You just won't allow a "me and Jesus relationship."
It would be so much easier,
so much neater, so much more focused --
a vertical relationship,
a stairway to heaven,
peaceful, holier, so very consoling!
But "No!" --you won't allow it.
You insist on bringing other people into the equation.

I can understand why the philosopher Jean Paul Sartre said,
"Hell is other people."
I know what Lucy Van Pelt meant:
"I love humanity; it's people I can't stand."
I feel the same as Dorothy Day:
"Jesus, do you know how hard it is to love you?"

The two great commandments:
"Love God and love your neighbor"
allow no separation.
You can't do the first without the second.

When I have to deal with somebody I don't like,
when a stranger causes me inconvenience,
when someone dear to me gets on my nerves,
I have to remember:
God loves that person,
and so must I.

If Dorothy found it hard to love you, Lord,
at least she never stopped trying.
She never stopped looking for you in the face of others.
She never gave up because your image stunk
or was drunk or mentally ill.
She never quit trying to love you
no matter how hard it was.

What welcome she must have had in heaven,
when she was met by all those marginal,
rejected, and forgotten reflections of yourself.

All the time she had been entertaining angels,
and never knew.

Jesus, how hard it is to love you!

The Reluctant Mystic

Mysticism is making a come-back.

There are scores of new books describing this ancient but often negelected phenomenon, and most of them are urging us to be open to it in our spiritual lives.

Theologian Karl Rahner is often quoted: "The Christian of the future will be a mystic or he will not exist at all."

By mysticism, Rahner meant "a genuine experience of God emerging from the very heart of our existence."

Having read the stories of mystics like Bernard of Clairvaux, Francis of Assisi, Catherine of Siena, Teresa of Avila, John of the Cross, Therese of Lisieux, Thomas Merton, and more, I am intrigued by their experience but also frightened by the possible consequences if it should happen to me.

Mystical experiences are personal encounters with God. They render a person vulnerable. They are life-changing. And there's the rub for me. I am afraid of the potential change. I cannot predict what God will ask nor whether I will want to respond.

Yet I believe mystical experiences are real, that they are necessary for spiritual growth. I urge congregations to be open to them. I preach of them often. I have come to believe that openness to a mystical experience is the second step in everyone's spiritual life.

The first step (a relatively safe one) is accepting the rules and rituals of religion. As a child I knew the catechism answers, I attended Mass, I prayed the rosary, I gave up candy during Lent. I understood that these made me a practicing Catholic. And for most of my adult life I stayed firmly on that first step.

Now, however, I recognize that there is more --more to one's spiritual life, more to religion, more to being Catholic. The second step is to turn my religion into relationship.

I am to move from method (the many practices of my religion) to mysticism (openness to a personal experience of God).

There is no one definition of mysticism; it can only be described. I think the common denominator in most descriptions is "experience." Chief Leon Shenandoah, chief of the Onondaga nation, who died in 1996, once explained, "Everything is laid out for you. Your path is straight ahead of you. Sometimes it's invisible but it's there. You may not know where it's going, but you have to follow that path. It's the path to the Creator; it's the only path there is."

(Christians do not have a monopoly on mysticism. It is clearly present in the religions and cultures of Native Americans, of Hindus, of Buddhists, of ancient peoples as well.)

Like Chief Leon, St. Paul found the path for his life through a mystical experience on the road to Damascus. And it is reasonable to conclude that this incident was not his only one. He wrote, "I know someone in Christ who, fourteen years ago (whether in the body or out of the body I do not know, God knows), was caught up to the third heaven...and heard ineffable things, which no one may utter" (cf. 2 Corinthians 12:2,4).

Some people out of curiosity, pride, or simply a spirit of adventure want a mystical experience, but these motivations lead to a pseudo-mysticism. Genuine mysticism is motivated by a desire for truth. I think that's why Simone Weil could say, "If I had to make a choice between Jesus and truth, I'd choose truth -for before he was Jesus he was truth."

Part of my fear of mysticism may stem from my awareness that a mystical experience is primarily a right-brain phenomenon. As I understand it, the left lobe accomplishes analytical, judgmental and verbal tasks, while the right lobe processes the sensual, creative and emotional experinces. In a mystical moment the mystic is less in control, less able to analyze, and less able to find the words. I fear being drunk in the Lord.

In addition mystics are often misunderstood. Mystical insights challenge the non-mystical person, and mystical language may be deemed paradoxical or nonsensical. Meister Eckhart was charged with heresy in the 14th century; Thomas Merton has been suspect in our time. (Critics of mysticism like to say, "It begins with mist and ends in schism.")

Now, at this stage of my life, I am once more caught in the trap all preachers face --having to practice what I preach.

Even as I take cautious, fearful baby-steps into being open to mysticism (that is, a personal experience of God), I am convinced it is what God wants for all of us.

It is not enough to know about God; we must come to know him --personally.