When Prayer Gets in the Way of Praying ...

Henri Nouwen, in his journal from his months in a Trappist Monastery, The Genesee Diary, does quite a bit of reflecting on prayer - how it can be a struggle, how much it is  needed, the ways in which it enhances our living. 

However, in the end, perhaps it is simply something we need to do.

We like to explain things, but there is a sense in which prayer is beyond explanation.  Equally, we like to understand things, but there is a sense in which prayer is to be experienced, rather than understood.

Nouwen writes this: "Writing about prayer is often very painful since it makes you so aware of how far away you are from the ideal you write about.  ....  While it is true that in order to pray you have to empty your heart and mind for God, you also have to empty your heart and mind of your feelings and ideas on prayer.  Otherwise, prayer gets in the way of praying.  ....  It is hard not to desire good insights during prayer and not to fall into a long inner discussion with myself."

Of course, it is good to reflect about prayer sometimes - but the really important thing is to pray.

Prayer as a Sneeze

I really like Rowan Williams' image of prayer as a sneeze in his little book that covers the essentials of the Christian faith - "Being Christian".  He writes: "Prayer .. is .. like sneezing - there comes a point when you can't not do it.  The Spirit wells and surges up towards God the Father.  But because of this there will be moments when, precisely because you can't help yourself, it can feel dark and unrewarding, deeply puzzling, hard to speak about."

It is interesting that so many people would admit to struggles in prayer - and yet it is through prayer that we can actively engage with God, listening as well as speaking.  But, yes, it is true - sometimes we just have to pray!

Men Behaving Badly

I have been reading John Goldingay’s ‘Men Behaving Badly’ (Paternoster, 2000) in which he explores the male characters in 1 and 2 Samuel.  The third chapter talks about the Philistines and their god Dagon (1 Samuel 5 – 7).  It points out that politics and religion often get mixed together.  In particular, Goldingay comments on our many attempts to pin God down, trying to enforce a conformity to what we want.  But God is always beyond.  God is not to be bound by our restrictions.  As Goldingay puts it with reference to the desire to restrict God to God’s house: “The nature of a house is to be in a fixed location.  Yahweh liked being flexible, being on the move, able to go off and do new things.  Human beings prefer God to be predictable.  If you can get God to settle down, then you know where you are with God.  ……  When a human being like David wants to build God a house, that implicitly reverses the relationship between God and human beings.  It turns that relationship into one whereby you look after God instead of God looking after you.  It is another aspect of control, of the human desire to domesticate God.” (p. 41/2)
 
We might think that our understanding has moved on from such ideas – but is that really so?  Are we not still just as inclined to want God to do things our way?  So how can we break out of that kind of thinking?

A General Assembly

I have just returned from the bi-annual General Assembly of the United Reformed Church which has been meeting in Cardiff.  We have been thinking a lot about water, its life-giving nature and the need to drink deeply.  We have had a range of interesting, and sometimes challenging discussions, not least a difficult conversation around same-sex marriage.  We have talked about many of the critical issues in society at large, the wider church and our own denomination.  We have learned a lot, felt both pain and joy, but, above all, been aware of the presence of God.

We talked about the future of the denomination and the gifts it offers to the wider church, particularly those of conciliarity and eldership.  We have talked about the riches to be gained from expansive and inclusive language.  We have remembered the 100th anniversary of the outbreak o World War 1, hearing from both a German pastor and a serving forces chaplain.  We considered the education of those training for the ministry and how it is funded.  We have recognised the pain of the people of Scotland, including those not now living there, whatever the result of September's referendum on Scottish independence.  We talked about foodbanks and mental health and the challenges faced in those two very different areas. 

What am I left with?  Perhaps a couple of sentences from the Synod Moderators' report provides a summary: "Confidence in all that God is and all that God promises us through Jesus Christ is at the heart of our discipleship.  The refreshing and renewing of the Holy Spirit received as a gift to individuals and to churches is the key to our renewal."

A Welcoming People

Matthew 10:40 offers us a massive theological statement – whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.  There are fairly strong echoes of Matthew 25 here – for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me.  And the puzzle is how this was so – until Jesus explains: just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.  The big message from Matthew 10:40 and from Matthew 25 is that we serve Christ by serving others. 

In a sense this is one of those obvious things that we have heard so often and that comes through the Biblical account in so many places.  The law in the Old Testament urges on us the care of those who will otherwise struggle.  Jesus, in one of the most famous of the parables, that which we usually refer to as the good Samaritan, encourages us to love our neighbour.

Yet, if we are honest, it, too often, remains as something that we find challenging.  We don’t mind loving nice neighbours.  We don’t mind loving those who do things the same way that we do.  We don’t mind loving those who are our kind of people.  But Jesus doesn’t allow us to put on those kinds of restriction.  As one commentator^[1] says: “Sometimes love is met with crucifixion; yet we are called to love in the midst of hate – even in those times where it appears that hatred has won.”

So one of the main things to draw from this verse, perhaps the main thing is that we are to be a welcoming people.  We are to be people of hospitality.  We could even go further and say that we are called to be people who offer compassionate hospitality.

But then, and I find this a little bit surprising, and so interesting, Matthew goes on to say something about the rewards we will get for doing this – whoever welcomes a prophet in the name of a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward .. etc..  We all like rewards, don’t we?  Gold stars on our school papers as children.  Praise from parents and teachers as we get older.  Perhaps a medal or a plaque or a certificate if we do something special.  We all appreciate recognition.

But why does Jesus offer this prospect of rewards in this context?  That’s an interesting question – but perhaps it is the wrong question?  Perhaps the important question is rather about just what Jesus means?  Is it that the kind of reward to which he is referring is something like getting a special certificate – or even like getting a bonus with our pay?  Or is it just possibly the case that Jesus wants to remind us that living the right way, living a life of compassionate hospitality, being a welcoming person, carries rewards within itself.[2] 

Thomas Merton, the American Catholic and mystic, said this: “Love seeks one thing only: the good of the one loved.  It leaves all the other secondary effects to take care of themselves.  Love, therefore, is its own reward.”  And a minister and writer called Hugh Prather similarly said: “To live for results would be to sentence myself to continuous frustration.  My only sure reward is in my actions and not from them.”

If we are in the right place, if we are doing the right thing, then that in itself will provoke a sufficient feeling of wellbeing as to be its own reward.  Let’s look at it another way. 

In Matthew 19:27 Peter says to Jesus: Look, we have left everything and followed you.  What then will we have?  It is the kind of question that any disciple in any situation might ask.  What am I learning?  What does it mean to me and for me to be a disciple?  Although in terms of Matthew’s written Gospel this question comes in a later chapter, the words that we have quoted from Matthew 10, and indeed much of what is in chapter 10, answers such a question.  In this chapter Jesus says lots of things that help the disciples to understand something of what is involved in their discipleship.  Essentially Jesus is saying that God values us and our contribution – and surely that is reward enough.  Earlier in the chapter, and particularly towards the beginning, Jesus has talked about various possibilities for discipleship, some of which will have seemed quite challenging to some of the people.  But in the final three verses of this chapter is a reminder that discipleship is for all, and that there is a role for each one of us.  Here is a description of something we can all do, welcoming people, even if it is just offering a cup of cold water, more likely a cup of tea in our terms. 

And when we welcome as we should, who knows what will happen, what we will discover?  A widow in Zarephath offered to share her last tiny bit of food and discovered she was sharing it with God’s prophet.  A little boy gave his lunch to Jesus and discovered he was sharing it with a crowd of five thousand.  And two people arriving home at Emmaus invited the stranger they had met on the road to stay only to discover, as bread was broken, that they had walked the road with Jesus himself.  As St. Francis reputedly said: “it is in giving that we receive,”

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[1] Emilie Townes in ‘Feasting on the Word’

[2] Some of this thinking was inspired by Alyce McKenzie’s ‘Edgy Exegesis’ which I accessed via www.textweek.com  The two quotes in the next paragraph are re-quoted from there.

Renunciation & Detachment

In The Genesee Diary Henri Nouwen writes:
 
“In the writings of the desert fathers there is much emphasis on renunciation and detachment.  We have to renounce the world, detach ourselves from our possessions, family, friends, own will, and any form of self-content so that all our thoughts and feelings may become free for the Lord.  I find this very hard to realize.  I keep thinking about distracting things and wonder if I ever will be “empty for God.”  Yesterday and today the idea occurred to me that instead of excluding I could include all my thoughts, ideas, plans, projects, worries, and concerns and make them into prayer.  Instead of directing my attention only to God, I might direct my attention to all my attachments and lead them into the all-embracing arms of God.”
 
We live in a society of acquisition.  Getting things is the name of our game.  This reflection on how we empty ourselves for God is timely, as is the suggestion that, rather than getting rid of everything, we give it over to the service of God.

Francis of Assisi

I have just started reading Andy Freeman’s little book of meditations, Francis: Stories and Reflections (Proost, 2014).  He tells something of the story of Francis, but then uses that to encourage us to reflect on what is involved in effectively being the church today.
 
For example, he suggests we think about the church buildings of the community where we live and how they are used – but then prayerfully asks the question as to whether we have reduced the church to bricks and mortar.  As has been well said, ‘We don’t go to church – we are the church!’
 
In his introduction he reflects on how Francis provides us with a model for living and ministry:

̴   Francis is something of a pioneer minister.  “He got something started, from scratch and appropriate to his context.”  Where might God be calling us to do some pioneering?

̴   Francis is an artist – in the widest possible sense.  How do we communicate our faith.  Do we paint good pictures, whether using words or other mediums?

̴   Francis provides us with a model of pilgrimage.  He was ready to be on the move for God.  Are we ready to go where God wants us to go, whether that is across the street or across the world?

̴   Francis provides us with a prophetic model.  He was ready to proclaim God’s message for his day.  Are we ready to do the same for ours?

̴   Francis was a disciple of Jesus.  What does 21^st century Christian discipleship look like for you and for me?