SILENT PRAYER TERRIFYING?
Just a few days into Lent, some of us
may already be wearying of the penances we chose. We’re hungry and bored and
not quite through the worst part of caffeine withdrawal. And our brilliant plan
of praying a daily Rosary has left us falling asleep halfway through the second
decade more often than not.
Would it be unreasonable of me to
suggest adding yet another Lenten practice?
Because the Rosary is beautiful and
the Liturgy of the Hours is wonderful
and Lectio Divina is powerful. But the
purpose of every form of prayer is to open our hearts to be still before the
Lord, to approach him in silence and allow him to speak.
The trouble is that silent prayer is
sometimes rather terrifying.
At best, we worry that we won’t know
what to say, that we’ll be distracted and get frustrated and possibly fall
asleep. At worst, we’re afraid to hear what God might have to say, so we keep
him at arm’s length with the very devotions that were designed to help us draw
close to him.
But the beautiful thing about silent
prayer is that you can’t be bad at it. Because you can’t be good at it. Because
it’s not about you.
Nobody is naturally good at
contemplative prayer. It’s only ever a gift. Our job is to make space in our
lives for God to move, not to manufacture prophetic words and flights of
ecstasy. Our job is to show up.
So we choose the right time of day and
the right space, we prepare with a few minutes of Scripture or some other form
of prayer, and then we put aside everything and just make room for God. We talk
to him about the things that we’re wrestling with or delighted by, but, ultimately,
we try to be silent.
For some people, this might be more
frustrating and less obviously fruitful than for others. Being still before the
Lord so easily becomes navel gazing for many of us, or just tuning out and
turning off our mind for a time. It’s important to remember that the goal of
Christian prayer isn’t to be emptied, the goal of Christian prayer is to be
filled with Christ.
So rather than just going to prayer
with the goal of trying to quiet your mind (which sometimes seems impossible), choose
an anchor to cling to, a phrase or image or meditative song. You might slowly
repeat the name of Jesus, or “Lord, have mercy,” or “I trust in you.” You might
hold a holy card with an image of the transfiguration or the Sacred Heart. You
might imagine yourself holding the Christ child or anointing his feet.
The idea isn’t so much to work through
that phrase or image, to ponder and wrestle with it, to come away with a
summary of what you learned. The idea is to be still before the Lord and, when
distractions come, to return to the image or phrase or song rather than
becoming frustrated by your inability to focus.
You may find this approach to prayer
very fruitful. You may find it entirely infuriating. You may find that you go
to prayer for months and get absolutely nothing out of it. If so, praise God
for that. Prayer has nothing to do with feelings. Prayer is a choice, and when
you choose to give God that time each day, even when it comes with no
consolations, you’re offering a beautiful sacrifice to him who first offered
himself to you. There’s a real peace in knowing that whether or not you were as
focused (or as caffeinated) as you ought to have been, you gave God the room to
move in your heart.
Every day I drink some coffee, find a
tabernacle, and sit silently with the Lord. Most days, I spend the whole time
wrestling with distractions and frustration. I fall asleep. I check my watch a
dozen times. I hear nothing. I don’t even necessarily feel much of a sense of
peace. And at the end of 45 minutes, I walk out content, knowing that I showed
up. I made space for the Lord in my life. That’s all he’s asked.
This Lent, consider adding one more
thing: 15 (or however many) minutes a day of silent prayer. Figure out a time
of day and a location that work for you, then sit with Jesus. Just open your
heart and ask him to move. You may find that it’s the most fruitful thing you
do this Lent.
No comments:
Post a Comment