Sister Wendy on Prayer

One The Practice of Prayer Do You Want to Pray? One year--I forget the details--the Lenten sermons at Saint Patrick's in New York were given by a famous Jesuit who took prayer for his theme. He was much admired, but the compliment that stuck in his memory was that of an old priest who seemed to regard the very number and length of his sermons as constituting, per se, a sort of brilliant tour de force. "Because as you know, Father," he said, dropping his voice conspiratorially, "prayer's the simplest thing out." I hope the famous Jesuit did know, because the simplicity of prayer, its sheer, terrifying uncomplicatedness, seems to be the last thing most of us either know or want to know. It is not difficult to intellectualize about prayer. Like love, beauty and motherhood, it quickly sets our eloquence aflow. It is not difficult, but it is perfectly futile. In fact, those glowing pages on prayer are worse than futile; they can be positively harmful. Writing about prayer, reading about prayer, talking about prayer, thinking about prayer, longing for prayer and wrapping myself more and more in these great cloudy sublimities can make me feel so aware of the spiritual--anything rather than actually praying. What am I doing but erecting a screen behind which I can safely maintain my self-esteem and hide away from God? Ask yourself: what do I really want when I pray? Do you want to be possessed by God? Or to put the same question more honestly, do you want to want it? Then you have it. The one point Jesus stressed and repeated and brought up again is, "Whatever you ask the Father, He will grant it to you." His insistence on faith and perseverance are surely other ways of saying the same thing: you must really want, it must engross you. Wants that are passing, faint emotional desires that you do not press with burning conviction, these are things you do not ask "in Jesus' name"; how could you? But what you really want, "with all your heart and soul and mind and strength," that Jesus pledges himself to see that you are granted. He is not talking only, probably not even primarily, of prayer of petition, but of prayer. When you set yourself down to pray, what do you want? If you want God to take possession of you, then you are praying. That is all prayer is. The astonishing thing about prayer is our inability to accept that if we have need of it, as we do, then because of God's goodness, it cannot be something that is difficult. Accept that God is good and that your relationship with Him is prayer, and you must conclude that prayer is an act of the utmost simplicity. Yet so many people seem to feel that there is some mysterious method, some way in that others know, but they do not. "Knock and it shall be opened to you," but they seem to believe that it needs some sort of Masonic knock and their own humble tapping will go unnoticed. What kind of God thinks of tricks, lays down arcane rules, makes things difficult? God wants to love us and to give Himself. He wants to draw us to Himself, strengthen us, and infuse His peace. The humblest, most modest, almost imperceptible rubbing of our fingers on the door, and it flies open. Prayer is the last thing we should feel discouraged about. It concerns nobody except God--always longing only to give Himself to us in love--and our own decision. And that, too, is God's, "who works in us to will and to effect." In a very true sense, there is nothing more to say about prayer, "the simplest thing out." God's Business Some artists seem to me, whether consciously or not, to use images that speak of the mystery of God. Craigie Aitchison is one. A favorite theme is the holy island of Lindisfarne seen across water, but here we feel the waters are not geographical (figure 1). This boat sails on no specific sea, but on those mythic waters that have always been ourBeckett, Wendy is the author of 'Sister Wendy on Prayer ', published 2007 under ISBN 9780307393814 and ISBN 030739381X.