On Prayer

One of the words that often trips up the "spiritual but not religious" is:  prayer.  As with "God," many of us have grown up with very specific ideas of what "prayer" is, ideas taught to us in church -- either a specific faith community or the "secular church" of mainstream, popular media.  We've often been told that prayer is all about reaching out to "God" to ask for things (for ourselves or others), to express gratitude, or simply to give voice to our awe.  The wonderful author Anne Lamott summed up these modes of prayer in her book, Help, Thanks, Wow: the three essential prayers.

I've already written at some length about the problematic images many people have of "God," and how, when they reach a point of deciding that they can't believe in those images anymore, they close their eyes, minds, and hearts to any idea of "God" at all.  The same is often true with "prayer" as well.  Over the years I've talked with a great many people who've told me, essentially, "I was taught what prayer is.  What I was taught no longer makes sense to me.  Therefore, prayer no longer makes sense to me, and I don't 'believe' in it."

Yet even when a person discovers a new way of understanding what the word "God" might point to, the (let's call it) indoctrination on the subject of prayer is often extremely deeply rooted.  We don't know what to do with talk about prayer if the "God" we've come to understand is not that "God."

The 19th century historian, philosopher, and author Ernest Ranan offered one way of making a transition to a new understanding with what's come to be known as The Prayer of the Agnostic:  

O God, if there is a God, save my soul, if I have a soul. 

Others have suggested that we could see prayer not so much as talking to someone else, and more as talking to ourselves.  We could think of it as making us more conscious about, for instance, the needs of of another person, or our gratitude for the gifts we've been given.  Prayer is, then, not a means for making sure that some external "God" knows something.  This understanding of prayer is about making sure that we know it.

You could also think of payer as an exercise of our creative, spiritual imagination.  Those of us with pets talk to them all the time, yet we know that they can't really understand what we're saying.  Yet we essentially "pretend" that they can.  (Those of us with adolescent children often pretend that they are listening, too!)  We can think of prayer this way as well -- we can personify that "Sacred Something" and talk as if "it" can understand us.

This is not as ridiculous as it might seem.  Dreams aren't "real," as we usually define reality, yet often we can find in our dreams' imagery important insights that do effect our "real" lives.  And using the pet metaphor, many people can tel stories of how talking to their pet has helped them to work through a difficult decision or discover something they hadn't known.

In 2005 Skinner House Books published Simply Pray:  a modern spiritual practice to deepen your life.  In the next several posts I'll summarize some of what I cover in that book about the nature of prayer, and a practice which many have told me has been very powerful, whatever their beliefs might be.

Paxt tecum,

RevWik

Slowing Down and Doing Less

I hope that anyone who's been reading these reflections has found something helpful in them.  I know I got a lot out of writing them.  There are few things in this life that I find so soul-satisfying as the opportunity to explore ... well ... the myriad pathways of spirit that move in and out of our lives and that we travel even when we don't know it.

At the same time, though, there is a saying that I've always loved that says, in essence, the more you know God, the less you want to talk about God (or, at least, the less you need to).  The first line of the 1st Chapter of the Tao te Ching puts it like this (from the translation by Gia-fu Feng and Jane English):

The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao.

In Chapter 81, the author says:

True words are not beautiful.  Beautiful words are not true.

Of course, in between there are 80 chapters of beautiful words telling about the Tao.  Go figure.

The Trappist monk Fr. Thomas Merton was aware of the paradox of his life -- he was part of a silent order, yet he was also a prolific writer.  This tension was something he danced with from his earliest days as a monk.  The more words, the less quite. The more time and energy he devoted to his conversations with the outer world, the less time and energy he had for his conversations with his inner world.

In our culture we are so concerned with our busy-ness, with our productivity, with what we're doing in our hours and minutes.  Yet the wise ones who have preceded us -- and those living among us now -- have always maintained that it's not in the doing, its not in the noise, that we'll find the deepest truths we seek.  Instead, it's in the spaces, the in-between.  The 11th Chapter of the Tao te Ching puts it like this:

Thirty spokes share the wheel's hub; It is the center hole that makes it useful. Shape clay into a vessel; It is the space within that makes it useful.Cut doors and windows for a room; It is the holes which make it useful. Therefore profit comes from what is there; Usefulness from what is not there.

It was, after all, in the "still, small voice" (or "gentle whisper") that the Prophet Elijah recognized his God.  According to the book of 1 Kings, it wasn't in an earthquake, or a raging fire, or roaring winds, and most definitely not in an extended dissertation.  It was in the quiet, the stillness.

To be sure, there is something that we could call "extrovert spirituality."  Not everyone experiences their most rich encounters with the sacred inwardly; for some, it's in reaching out that they connect most fully.  There is a dearth of attention paid to this type of spirituality.  In fact, Nancy Reeves wrote her 2008 book Spirituality for Extroverts: and tips for those who love them precisely because she'd never seen the topic addressed at all.  I will admit that I still have a lot to learn about this approach to the spiritual quest.  Perhaps someone reading this will share their experiences with me.

For myself, though, I recognize the same paradoxical tension as did Thomas Merton.  I love words, my stock and trade is words, yet I know that I need the silence.  To paraphrase the Psalmist, "As a deer pants for water, so my soul longs for silence."  And perhaps I need to remember advice St. Francis is remembered as telling his companions, "Preach always.  When necessary, use words."


Pax tecum,

RevWik

Talking To Yourself, Part 2

Last week I suggested an exercise in which you imagine an encounter with your younger self, asking how that version of you thinks that this version of you has done with their life.  It is, in essence, an exercise intended to help you to look at the choices you've made along the way, the ways you've stayed true to your earliest visions and ideals (and not done so), the evolution of your visions and ideals ...  In other words, it's a way of looking at where you are now through the lens of how you've gotten here.

Today I'm offering another version of this exercise, although it calls on your imagination to work in the other direction.  Today I'll encourage you to imagine your future self.  Again, as with the previous exercise, try to make your imagining as fully realized as possible; try to picture yourself in the future with your thinking alone.  Image seeing both how you look but also where you are, both in as much detail as possible.  What can you hear?  What fragrances surround you?  How do your clothes feel against your body?  How is it with your spirit?

Once you have a pretty clear picture of your imagined future self, engage in a conversation with them as you did with your younger self.  This time, though, ask them more about them:  How are they feeling?  What are they doing?  What do they think about the stage of life you're in now?  What lessons have they learned on the way from where you are to where they are?

It ultimately doesn't matter if this dialog is "real" or not.  Like a dream, this imagined conversation can offer you material to dance with, open your thinking to the surprising and unanticipated.  On Wednesday I encourage you to try not to over-think the exercise, and that's true again today.  Try to avoid imposing what you think your future self should be telling you, and what lessons you think you should have learned.  Try, even, to avoid insisting that your imagination create the vision of your future self that you hope you'll become.  As much as possible, try to remain open and receptive to whatever your imagination creates ... just as you do in dreams.

If talking with your "younger self" could provide insights into how you've gotten to where you are, talking with your "older self" can help you to see more clearly where the trajectory you are currently on might lead you.  What future is your present preparing you for?

I mentioned in my first post that my ancestors, on one side of my family, were Vikings, and that from what I understand, the ancient Nordic understanding of time was not tripartite as is ours -- past, present, and future.  Instead, as I wrote then, they understood time as a two-fold reality:  That Which Has Been (everything from the beginning of time until this moment), and That Which Will Be (everything from this moment until the end of time).  From this perspective, where you are in your life right now, in this very moment, is the coming together of who you've been and who you're becoming.


Pax tecum,

RevWik

Talking To Yourself

This week I want to offer an exercise.  You can do it once, or several times.  You can do it in your head, out loud, or in a journal.  The only thing you need, really, is the right attitude -- be playful.  If you over-think it, it won't work.  If it does work for you, though, it this can be really illuminating.

Think back to a time when you thought you had a pretty good idea of how you wanted your life to be.  Maybe you were 16 when you had it all figured out; maybe you were 12.  Maybe, for you, it was even a little younger than that, or a little older.  It is certainly possible that at different ages you had it all "figured out" in different ways.  So here's your first chance to avoid over-thinking.  Don't try to come up with the "right" age, the "perfect" age.  Just think back to a time when you thought you had a pretty good idea of how you wanted your life to be.

When you have an age in mind, create a scene for this younger you.  What were your favorite things to wear?  What kind of music would you have been listening to?  Would your room have smelled like incense (or something else)?  Or do you see yourself somewhere else?  Try to imagine yourself, at the age you've chosen, in a setting that makes sense to you, and try to give all of your senses something to play with.

Then imagine you, as you are now, entering the scene.  Introduce yourself to your younger you.  Make whatever small talk comes to you, and then ask the question:  so ... how do you think I've done with your life?

Remember ... don't over-think this.  If a feeling comes up, listen to it.  If words -- whether they surprise you or not -- go with them.  Don't question your younger you's responses, just pay attention to them.  Ask questions, but don't challenge or defend.

It's good to make some kind of record.  Write the "conversation" down in a journal, if that works for you.  Record yourself narrating the encounter, if that's easier.  And -- once more -- don't over-think this.  Be playful.  Be curious.  If you like, think of this as a kind of lucid dream, and see what you might learn from it.

Pax tecum,

RevWik