Musings

Aug

14

Prayer unboxed

My prayer life does not fit in a box. For the past decade, my prayer practices (or lack thereof) have stumped an impressive succession of spiritual directors. “Just sit in silence!” they proclaimed, as I lamented that I didn’t know how to pray, that nothing was working. “Try the Ignatian Examen!” they encouraged, when that failed. Inevitably, these interactions would conclude with my all time favorite conversation stopper: “Just pray the Office!”

 

Of course! Why didn’t I think of that?

 

My inability to have a traditional prayer life is not for lack of trying. To my immense frustration, sitting in silence takes whatever anxiety I have and ratchets it up 65 levels. My mind just does not get still on command, no matter what mantra or image or meditation app I use. More to the point, using force to get my overactive brain to shut up only makes me feel crazy and broken. The Examen sounds nice in theory, but when you already have a guilt-driven conscience and have your confessor on speed dial, a nightly review of your shortcomings is more tortuous than contemplative. And the Office? I would love nothing more than to be one of those magic unicorn people for whom praying morning and evening prayer straight out of the book comes easily. I have tried. I’ve put in the hours. But forcing my way through canticles littered with relentlessly masculine language simply is not life giving for me right now. For me, the Office is not the prayer panacea everyone seems to think this.

 

I am, you might say, a difficult case. And I don’t think I’m the only one.

 

The amount of shame I have felt about my “broken,” “dysfunctional” prayer life over the years is staggering. Christians, especially clergy and seminarians, are really excellent at spiritual one-upmanship when it comes to prayer practices. We all like to think we’re doing it right, that we have, through our virtuous striving, gained access to some secret spiritual knowledge and have a god-given duty to impart it to the unenlightened masses. I have spent too much time wondering what’s wrong with me and searching, desperately, for a magic fix, for the one prayer practice that will just work when I plug it into my life.

 

I have finally come to the conclusion that the magic fix does not exist. More to the point, my prayer life doesn’t need to be fixed at all – because it isn’t broken.

 

I just needed to be ok with breaking the rules.

 

I needed to stop letting other people dictate how I experienced God.

 

The first time I mentioned to someone – hesitantly, timidly – that the hours I spent swimming laps at the pool had become my most valued prayer time, I was told, with chilling condescension, “Oh honey, no. That’s exercise, not prayer.” As though I was a kindergartner who had mixed up my p’s and q’s.

 

We not only diminish each other when we try to put fences around how and when and where we’re allowed to experience the divine, we also diminish God. God doesn’t give a damn about fences. God wants to go where there is need, where there is energy, where there is desire.

 

What if we gave ourselves permission to do like Jesus did and break some rules? What if we gave ourselves permission to let everything be prayer? To take devotion out of the box and stop worrying so much about whether we’re doing it right or what other people might think?

 

I have by no means “figured out” my prayer life. I don’t especially want to, because I want God to keep surprising me. But one thing I have learned is that I can only still my mind if my body is involved. Involved in a much more appreciable way than fingering some prayer beads or shuffling through a labyrinth, which is what the permissible canon of praying with one’s body tends to be. So I pray by moving – by running, swimming, cycling, down dog-ing, and handstand-ing, using physical intensity to find mental release. I take literally the Psalmist’s command to “Taste and see that the Lord is good,” and meet God with joy and gratitude in wild cooking experiments and shared meals with friends. Above all, I pray with my breath, channeling the power of ruach, of Spirit through my own lungs, inviting the divine presence to fill me, to hold me, to cleanse me. God provided me with a body, and I can only deduce that I am supposed to use it as a vessel to experience the divine.

 

You will never hear me tell you how to pray. There are more than enough shoulds, expectations, and shame in our lives without me adding to the pile. But I’ve had enough anguished conversations with fellow seekers who can’t seem to make the prescribed toolkit work for them to know that I’m not the only one who needs an invitation to break the rules. To take prayer out of the box. To set aside our anxiety about getting it right and open up some space for the Spirit to play.

 

If you’re a magic unicorn person who is perfectly content with praying the Office (or any prescribed equivalent) – wonderful! Carry on. But if you, like me, have ever wondered, in shame or silence, what the damn secret is and how to get in on it – you are not broken. Your prayer life is not defunct. Even if you don’t think you’re praying, you are. You just haven’t given yourself permission to call it prayer.

 

So, I dare you: break a rule or two. Take the lid off the God box and throw it away. Throw away your shame while you’re at it. Make some space. Get bigger. Don’t worry so much about what other people think. You already have everything you need.