A simple way to pray

A vacation posting: re-posting a well-read post from December 2009

Mount Tabor, called in the Gospels “The Mount of Transfiguration,” is a little hill in Galilee. But it figures big in the history of Christian prayer. Jesus leads a few of his followers up the mountain. At the top, Jesus is suddenly transfigured, and is made radiant, clothes “dazzling white”. Moses appears. Elijah too. The great prophets of the Hebrew Scriptures, engaged in conversation with Jesus. One of the followers, Peter, awed by the sight, suggests a building project. He wants to build three shrines to commemorate the moment. Just then a cloud envelopes the mountain. They are rendered blind and dumb, and then a voice comes, “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” (Mark 9.2-8).

Here’s a metaphor for prayer. In prayer, we ascend the heights, our goal, a vision of God. But just when we think we’ve got it, darkness comes. Prayer is a dark path where we must give up all props and pretension, all assumptions and preconceptions. When we think we’ve got a view of God, all will go dark—for God cannot be seen (Exodus 33.23). See for yourself how often in Scripture the encounter with God is in the midst of a cloud (Moses, Elijah, Isaiah, the disciples with Jesus here on Mount Tabor, and again in Acts 1.9).

Peter’s response to his experience on the mountain of prayer was to say something, do something.

You’re tempted to do the same. You want all light and glitter. You want an experience you can take a picture of. Don’t. Sit in stillness until the impulse leaves you. Persevere when darkness comes. The truth is, you’re closer to God now than when all was light.

This practice, based upon the Mount Tabor story, is part of the hesychastic tradition of the Eastern Church. The Jesus Prayer is the chief “technology” for resting in God. Hesychia means “stillness” in Greek. It is the daring obedience of prayer that enters into the unknown, grasps at nothing, and seeks nothing but what the Holy Spirit gives by grace.

My gripe with the history of hesychasm is that the simple beauty and necessity of this prayer’s been essentially the experience of monks. But the Bible repeatedly summons us all into an encounter with God that is stillness, just God, nothing else, in order that we may find out who we really are in God’s presence, naked of our falsehoods.  Trends in spirituality today show that contemporary people seek just this kind of experience, but they’re not finding it in the churches where prayer is wordy and busy and all too certain, despite the clear teaching of Jesus that we are to pray with very few words (Matthew 6.7), and in absolute humility, even emptiness.

After Christmas, I’ll begin to explore the Jesus Prayer in greater detail. Until then, prepare for your encounter with the prayer, by

• sitting in stillness for 5-15 minutes twice a day,

• watching your thoughts like leaves floating along a gentle brook.

• Neither follow them nor fight them.

• Rest in God.

Your heart: a shrine in the midst of the city

One reader explores her own awakening and longing to live in full communion with God. She's begun a solid practice and the practice of this interior prayer is carrying her deeper into this communion. She knows the beauty of simply sitting in God's presence, just being. But she wonders, "Is it possible for that peace to always be there?" I offer this as an answer . . .

That peace is always there. Jesus assures us that the kingdom, the reign or realm of God, is both coming and already among us. What's more, it is within us. So is it always there, within us and among us. The trick is to create such a well-worn path by our practice of prayer that we can quickly find the narrow gate to that inner world of eternity no matter where we are or what we're doing.

We will not always (or perhaps often) live in the bliss of that peace. We live a mixed life (both active and contemplative) and will find ourselves tilting one way or another during the day. But we carry the peace of God within us.

Imagine your heart as a little shrine in the midst of the city, often overlooked by the traffic on the street or sidewalk, mostly ignored by the busy and important people in offices and restaurants around it. But it is always there and you can enter it whenever you wish.

There are times you'll forget it and the narrow gate at its entrance will become overgrown and hidden. But when you awaken again and return to your practice, you can push through the ivy on the gate and clear the path again.

It's no use berating yourselves for forgetting the little shrine that's always so near, or fearing that you'll get too busy to enter it. You will. But you can always return. In fact, every distraction is another opportunity for you to return. And you'll find God always smiling, arms outstretched when you walk back through that gate and down the path.

The wonder of all this is that this shrine isn't out the door and down the street. It's as near as the beating of your heart. The peace of God is enshrined in your heart and goes with you wherever you may go.

What it takes to really see

Continued from the previous post . . . But now I’m learning to see.

It’s taken many miles, many place and faces.  It’s taken a rattling and a shaking I thought would undo me. It’s taken a descent into a darkness that I couldn’t know at the time to be a gift of grace—a mercy, though terribly severe. But what I see now—made possible because of all this—I wouldn’t trade for anything.

It’s taken a long time to open my eyes to this Light, to see the Marvel that’s as near as the beating of my heart.

Sometimes I regret that, and wonder why I was so dull. But regret doesn’t get me anywhere. And wishing only keeps me fixated elsewhere. I’m learning to live where I am—here and now, on the ground, in this place, this body.

When I do, I come face to face with the Mystery that is always right before—indeed, within—us all.

We're not trained to see

Continued from the previous post. . . Some people say we look for love in all the wrong places.

It’s true, our longing can take us into dangerous and destructive places, but there is no place on earth where God is not present, where Love is not as near as our next breath.

In our search for God, our yearning to return to the center, we’re always looking exactly where we can find what we’re looking for. We’re just not trained to see. We have such little schooling in real holiness. We may have heard all about God, our ideas about God may be straight-laced and orthodox, but that doesn’t mean we’d know how to recognize God even if God were standing, in all God’s radiance, right before us.

To be continued . . .

The restlessness that leads nowhere

For most of my years, I’ve wandered the Earth in search of God, longing for a real encounter with divine love. I was a spiritual vagabond, always looking somewhere else for God, over the next hill, in the next book, at the next conference, a different technique, experience, or idea—seeking fulfillment and meaning and happiness in achievement, recognition, influence, even possessions.

I figured God was somewhere other than where-I-was because I didn’t find where-I-was to be all that interesting.

I was perpetually restless. And because I was always looking elsewhere, I was blind to what—or Who—was right before me, beneath me, around me . . . indeed, within me.

To be continued . . .