Thanks to those who have joined the conversation!
Casey is true to his Catholic roots in this: in order to speak about a living relationship with God, we must speak about the human person, the "sacred ground" where the biblical God is manifests and towards who the biblical God is drawn. Reminds me of that "glorious, unresolved mess" of which Mary spoke in her comment!
In chapter 2 he had me at "Discontent is crucial to the emergence of prayer." The awakening of my own attraction to God was filled with this sense of discontent, the longing for something more. When I first discovered the Psalms, I was thrilled that there was an ancient way to speak bluntly with the Mystery, but even among them I was most drawn to Psalms of longing like Ps 63 ("O God, you are my God...for you my soul is thirsting") and Ps 42 ("When shall I go and enter the presence of God?")
And yet, beginning with stumbling steps to walk a path that hopefully led to that God did little to slake that sense of discontent; rather it grew. As the years have gone on, I have "made friends" with that sense of discontent and let it guide my days and prayer, rather than treat it like a problem to be solved. Makes me wonder how many people sense that dissatisfaction in their lives and, rather than let it draw them within and without in a God-search, allow the culture to convince them to treat it like a symptom to be medicated? What think--what role does discontent play in a life lived in the divine dance?
Casey goes on with handy "bullets" to flesh out his presentation of the "human basis":
1) Prayer is growth in truth
2) Prayer is petition
3) Prayer always leaves us not fully satisfied
4) Prayer is a school of self-forgetfulness
What I find both healing and deeply challenging in Casey is his quiet insistence that we "keep it real", that authentic prayer is never a flight from our human truth nor is it taking refuge in dogmatic certitudes and spiritual "warm fuzzies." There's an echo for me here of Scott Peck, who defines mental health as an "unrelentling commitment to reality no matter what the cost." Casey invites us and challenges us to explore, accept, and embrace our reality as the only path to a meaningful relationship with a living God.
What practices help us "keep prayer real", allow us to pray from that ground where we are incomplete, in need, reliant, without our own resources? Does this enable us, as Casey says, to "grow in compassion for others" which is part of that self-forgetfulness which Casey cites. A parishioner recently quoted liberation theologian Leonardo Boff who said, and I paraphrase, that we are untimately not to find God in our prayer, meditation, Biblical study, and other spiritual practices. We are ultimately to find God where Jesus himself did, "in the faces of the humiliated." Quite a pre-Lenten thought! As a person who has long been attracted to the practice and culture of Christian spirituality--contemplation, Daily Office and all--I find that statement deeply challenging. But it makes more strange sense the longer I go about this pilgrim project. Makes me think of the increasingly-familiar poem of John of the Cross: "In the evening, we shall all be examined on love." What think?
3 comments:
Prayer, for me, is hard to describe, but some recent events have gotten me thinking a lot about it.
A friend (unchurched and probably an agnostic though I've never asked) asked me about a report he heard of people praying for hours for Huckabee before the Iowa primary.
He wanted to know what prayer was. He'd done some research - but this use was confusing him.
I sympathized with him, and didn't have much to say.
So, this has been occupying some part of my thoughts ever since. Certainly, we make supplications as part of prayer. And, honestly, I don't think it's that important what we ask for, if we ask for anything at all. Ask for a car, go ahead. Ask for your candidate to get elected. Ask for world peace, for justice, for mercy.
Because, ultimately, I don't think the content of our prayers matters, at least not the words we use. It's the surrendering of our own selves, the asking out, that seems key to me. And if we were to wait until we're "selfless enough" to pray "well", none of us would.
But, it's almost sure that we're not going to get what we ask for, at least what the words ask for. I pray for answers, and I get more questions, more often than not.
The ways that prayer effects us are subtle, and often backwards, and confusing, and generally not what we expect. More and more, I find the practice of my faith resists my intellectual analysis. A voice that resists any definition, a voice that shouts at me when I want silence, and one that is silent when I want it to speak.
The other thing that this reminds me is my relationships. When you engage with another person, you take a risk that they won't behave. Whatever I'm connecting with is like that. It's a risk. It's a relationship. It's dangerous and scary and surprising and at times wonderful. And sometimes boring, or frustrating, or just stupid. But it's not something I can define.
My thanks to Malcolm and Kurt for their good thoughts and their even better questions. I wish I had answers. Sigh.
As I read Casey I realize that the more I think about prayer, the less I know. And thus have fewer words to describe it. This is probably a good thing. I worry about people who say they understand it, or know how to pray. All I know for myself is that it has been a crucial piece of my spiritual growth and that I want others to have this same experience. But how to respond when we see others in their discontent...maybe only encourage them to keep up the search. That the path back to God is worth the struggle. At least that's what I tell myself on those days when it all seems stupid.
I was intrigued by Casey's thoughts on discontent. Lately I've been praying for moments or even days of feeling content -- since my level of discontent often drives me crazy. And I wonder if it's possible to feel content and yet want something more. Seems like an especially Episcopalian way of holding both truths at the same time.
Casey encourages me again, reminding me that this search for "home" is only for the brave. Since prayer slowly forces me to face the truth of myself and my environment (and thus transforming me), well, who in their right mind would do such a thing? Especially when we live in a world that encourages us to do anything BUT face our truth.
I think there must be something hard-wired in us that God is always touching, always inviting us into relationship. Why else would we go through all this searching if not for that remembrance of "home".
I liked this chapter especially for its section on prayer as petition. It begins with discontent, which Casey calls a realistic response to our situation, which lacks perfection. He says “...we seem to have a memory of something better.” That certainly fits my personal feelings. He goes on to say that as we pray we acknowledge the truth that “we are resourceless.” Again, this is my experience.
When he goes on to speak of prayer as petition, I found the most resonance. I have found my “desire to receive from God what [I] cannot supply” to be one of the greatest impulses to prayer. I especially liked his little story about praying for a parking space. I, too, have done that—and found that I usually do find one within a reasonable distance from my destination. As Casey says, “My requests are often foolish, as I am, but God is well able to cope.” Another thought concerning this sort of petition that I have had (I don’t think this is original, but don’t remember who I heard say or write it) is that if we say that we shouldn’t (or don’t want to) bother God with our petty concerns, such as a convenient parking space, which of our concerns aren’t rather petty by God’s perspective? And after all, God says that He cares about the sparrows, and knows the number of hairs on our head. Personally I feel perfectly free to pray about finding just the items I need at the grocery store on sale when I’m short of money in one sentence, and then pray for peace in Kenya in the next. As Casey says, I am unable to personally help in either situation.
Finally I was interested in the quote from Saint Gregory about not finding the road more enjoyable than our destination. Casey speaks about not hating the world, but still looking forward to the perfect world of heaven. I have found these two concepts to be full of tension for myself. On the one hand I enjoy the present world (i.e. the creation which God declared, “very good”) and the on the other I am enjoined by St. John (I John 2:15-17) to “not love the world or the things in the world” (i.e. this world system of culture, government, etc.). So while I am looking forward (not too soon, I hope!) to the life with God in heaven, I also enjoy and praise Him for this present world.
In response to Kurt’s question about where we find God, I think that I have found Him in many different places. I have found that the experiences I have had—in prayer, meditation, Bible study, “charismatic” highs—have been important parts of my growth toward God. But they do need to be fleshed out in love extended to others. This can be either in face-to-face contacts where we give physical help of some sort (food to the hungry, firewood to the cold), emotional support (visiting the sick, listening to a friend who is hurting), or it can be in prayer for those for whom we have no resources in ourselves to help.
May all of our journeys continue!
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