Before I post and make my confession about prayer I just have to say that blogs are funny things. Some blogs come in the middle of the night when the world is its darkest, some people use them as annonymous places to leave their thoughts while never saying who they are. Some use blogs to keep in touch with friends or relatives and others don't even publish or announce the address of their blog to anyone. Some read the blog and tell you about it or comment on it while others have never acknowledged that they read it but seem to know how to answer the questions that I raise, the concerns that I share. In fact, rumor has it, people start blogging because they become addicted through the blog of someone else. Not that reading Campus-Priest's blog, chocolate-friend's blog, Fox-trot-priest's blog, inspiring-friend's blog, music-man's blog, or scrapbooking-goddess' blog got me into blogging or anything... but it is interesting to notice, that's all.
Now about this prayer thing...
I don't know how Anglicans feel about a wonderful man from centuries ago by the name of St. Juan de la Cruz (St. John of the Cross), but growing up in the RC Church this man was looked upon as not only a saint of the Church, but a Doctor of the Church. A great and highly respected mystic, if you have ever read any of his writing it would be no surprise as to why people place him on the pedestal in the realm of theology and a relationship with the Divine.
As I get more and more into the reading of theology and writers such as this, it becomes apparent quite quickly that these "highly regarded people of our day" were normal people in their own day. They lived, breathed, struggled, suffered, prayed, danced, and ate... everything that we could do without batting an eye. St. Teresa of Avila, St. Terese of Lisseux, St. John of the Cross... saints are saints because they shone extravagantly throughout their life - which begins the discussion of how each and every one of us are saints - but that is a discussion for later.
The point of the matter is this: St. John of the Cross has verbalized "the dark night of the soul" which we all experience at some point in our lives. That point which we all wish and pray with such conviction, to avoid.
I remember saying a number of weeks back that after a particular service at Christ Church I was left in a temporary state of shock and felt that I didn’t know where to go, what to do, or worse… what to pray. And I recall the Holy Mitred One specifically asking the question, “how is your prayer” the first time she came to visit.
Well I am pleased to say that the concern of what to pray has now ceased however I am ashamed to admit that it is no longer a problem because, in answering the Holy-Mitred’s question, there is no prayer.
I attended evening prayer at the “home-base” yesterday evening but may not return for a little while. For the first time at contemplative prayer in months (literally), my mouth moved to the shape of the words and a quiet, somewhat squeaky voice generated the words I was attempting… but there was nothing. In the time of silence and contemplative part of the evening, again… nothing. Normally I can picture myself sitting cross legged on the Church floor in front a flame or candle of some sort and sense my homey, JC, parking down on the floor beside me – neither one of us saying anything, but simply “being.” And then being wrapped in the arms of God, the two of us together as if covered by a light but warm blanket. Not “doing” anything other than sitting in one another’s company. Occasionally some words are spoken, but never out loud… they are spoken through the embrace, through the company, through the heart.
It’s hard to describe really… I guess unless you have ever had a similar experience you would think I have lost my mind.
I don't know how Anglicans feel about a wonderful man from centuries ago by the name of St. Juan de la Cruz (St. John of the Cross), but growing up in the RC Church this man was looked upon as not only a saint of the Church, but a Doctor of the Church. A great and highly respected mystic, if you have ever read any of his writing it would be no surprise as to why people place him on the pedestal in the realm of theology and a relationship with the Divine.
As I get more and more into the reading of theology and writers such as this, it becomes apparent quite quickly that these "highly regarded people of our day" were normal people in their own day. They lived, breathed, struggled, suffered, prayed, danced, and ate... everything that we could do without batting an eye. St. Teresa of Avila, St. Terese of Lisseux, St. John of the Cross... saints are saints because they shone extravagantly throughout their life - which begins the discussion of how each and every one of us are saints - but that is a discussion for later.
The point of the matter is this: St. John of the Cross has verbalized "the dark night of the soul" which we all experience at some point in our lives. That point which we all wish and pray with such conviction, to avoid.
I remember saying a number of weeks back that after a particular service at Christ Church I was left in a temporary state of shock and felt that I didn’t know where to go, what to do, or worse… what to pray. And I recall the Holy Mitred One specifically asking the question, “how is your prayer” the first time she came to visit.
Well I am pleased to say that the concern of what to pray has now ceased however I am ashamed to admit that it is no longer a problem because, in answering the Holy-Mitred’s question, there is no prayer.
I attended evening prayer at the “home-base” yesterday evening but may not return for a little while. For the first time at contemplative prayer in months (literally), my mouth moved to the shape of the words and a quiet, somewhat squeaky voice generated the words I was attempting… but there was nothing. In the time of silence and contemplative part of the evening, again… nothing. Normally I can picture myself sitting cross legged on the Church floor in front a flame or candle of some sort and sense my homey, JC, parking down on the floor beside me – neither one of us saying anything, but simply “being.” And then being wrapped in the arms of God, the two of us together as if covered by a light but warm blanket. Not “doing” anything other than sitting in one another’s company. Occasionally some words are spoken, but never out loud… they are spoken through the embrace, through the company, through the heart.
It’s hard to describe really… I guess unless you have ever had a similar experience you would think I have lost my mind.
Maybe I have.
Yesterday there was even a candle as we celebrated the Service of Light at evening prayer, but believe me when I say that there was no candle. There was no flame, no company, no feeling of that warm embrace. (Not that I am doubting it was there, I just couldn’t feel it anymore!) In fact, as horrible as this sounds, the thoughts of wishing for the priest to wrap it up – actually crossed my mind. Or the feeling of speaking the words of the Lord’s Prayer or Hear, O Israel or the Apostle’s Creed but having them as nothing more than words. It is the oddest feeling in the world.
And unfortunately, I am upset to say that I actually understand the void and feeling of darkness in the soul that St. John of the Cross seemed to so clearly articulate. I am not defeated, I really am not… but prayer and Church is what has gotten me through every other rough spot or climb in my life thus far.
So why can’t I pray now when it matters the most?
I spent more than an hour at the “home-base” on Monday, missing out on that all important interview, but couldn’t verbalize anything – and even then, meant nothing more than sitting in an empty church with the lights off, staring blankly at the stained glass windows.
Hmmm… maybe just don’t tell the Holy-Mitred one or any of the Priestly types that although we may embark the discernment process at some point in the future, I have come to a log jam in prayer.
PEANUTBUTTER-SHMAKLE!
Yesterday there was even a candle as we celebrated the Service of Light at evening prayer, but believe me when I say that there was no candle. There was no flame, no company, no feeling of that warm embrace. (Not that I am doubting it was there, I just couldn’t feel it anymore!) In fact, as horrible as this sounds, the thoughts of wishing for the priest to wrap it up – actually crossed my mind. Or the feeling of speaking the words of the Lord’s Prayer or Hear, O Israel or the Apostle’s Creed but having them as nothing more than words. It is the oddest feeling in the world.
And unfortunately, I am upset to say that I actually understand the void and feeling of darkness in the soul that St. John of the Cross seemed to so clearly articulate. I am not defeated, I really am not… but prayer and Church is what has gotten me through every other rough spot or climb in my life thus far.
So why can’t I pray now when it matters the most?
I spent more than an hour at the “home-base” on Monday, missing out on that all important interview, but couldn’t verbalize anything – and even then, meant nothing more than sitting in an empty church with the lights off, staring blankly at the stained glass windows.
Hmmm… maybe just don’t tell the Holy-Mitred one or any of the Priestly types that although we may embark the discernment process at some point in the future, I have come to a log jam in prayer.
PEANUTBUTTER-SHMAKLE!
5 comments:
I'm not surprised.
One of my own spiritual heroes, C.S. Lewis, experienced the same thing when his wife Joy died. Just when he needed the help most, he felt the door shut and bolted in his face.
It's not unusual. Everyone experiences it sooner or later. I sure have.
The only thing I can do when it happens is to open the book and say the words. Even if I feel nothing, I still say the words.
Don't worry about the priestly types -- you might be surprised at how many of us are nodding along with your post. If this isn't at all helpful now, just trust me on this one and file it somewhere for future reference: this WILL leave you a better priest and a more mature Christian, with a powerful story of grace.
I'm with Tim -- Just. Keep. Walking. And remember what he said earlier about the dozens of us praying for you.
In fact, don't think of us as 'priestly types' at all, Angela. Honestly, we're just ordinary struggling Christians. The only difference is that we might have a few more scars from having fallen down a few more times.
I'll join Tim and Stephanie. In fact I like Stephanie's thought:
Just. Keep. Walking.
And offer something I use myself and teach my youth. Forget about "prayer", and just talk. I call it the "Hey God" exercise.
But the reality is that sometimes I just don't have anything to say or I don't want to talk with him.
And that's cool too. God's feelings are amazingly hard to dent, especially by his beloved.
Peace
Jay
I love what both Tim and Stephanie have said here -- sorry if this is too-o-o simplistic, but I think that maybe the more we aspire to a "holy" life, the more obstacles are placed in front of us. ... Scarred from falling down a few more times -- perfect!!
Hang in there, Kid -- you are being called to a great journey of transformation.
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