The Politics of Prayer

The very title of this post is sad. I would say there is no place for politics in prayer, but apparently that may not be true for all. With our bi-polar political climate today, unfortunately even prayer, or alleged prayer, can become a battleground.

Recent case in point. A raging debate is taking place here in Indiana after the ICLU sued the state to stop sectarian prayers to open the Indiana House. Evangelical ministers have not only been praying in the name of Jesus, they have gone so far as to lead gospel songs while doing so. This has led to members of the congress leaving the chambers until the opening prayer is finished. Conservatives point out that rabbi's and Muslim clerics have also led the prayer (on 2 or 3 occasions.)

One side says the prayer should be inclusive and acceptable to all present. The other decries this as censorship and imposing on freedom of religion. I think we need to step back and understand what prayer fundamentally is. In my understanding, it is my personal relationship and communication with God. Or in a group setting, the groups common, united petition addressing God.

I don't think there is any danger of this happening, but if ever I was called to lead the opening prayer of the Indiana House I would have to decline. For one, I could not water down my faith in the name of inclusiveness. I think inclusion and diversity are vital to our society, but that doesn't mean we all meet at the lowest common denominator. It means I am who I am, and you are who you are. I respect your faith and don't attempt to change you, as I hope you offer me the same courtesy. Secondly, I would not pretend to pray when what I actually am being asked to do is make a speech. Is the opening prayer really addressed to God? Then let everyone who feels so inclined to pray in their heart, in their words, to the deity of their choice.

Alas, this isn't the first, nor will it probably be the last of this battlefield. We continue to debate prayer in schools, prayers at football games and graduations, prayers at the flagpole, and everywhere else we can fight for our prayers. What happened to giving Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and to God what belongs to God? What happened to "when you pray, go into your room, close the door, and pray to your Father who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret will reward you."

If you are easily offended by names of specific references to God, please stop reading. "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on us all."

There. This is my blog; I'll pray as I see fit. And I promise not to pray at your blog.

Our lives, our powerful Pentecost

This Sunday is Pentecost on the Orthodox liturgical calendar. Pentecost will always have special meaning for me, in many ways. It is the celebration of the gift of the Holy Spirit, when the Holy Spirit descended on the apostles and empowered them to live in faith and strength. Since the beginning of the 20th century, there has been a Pentecostal or Charismatic movement which seeks to relive these outward displays or gifts of the Holy Spirit.

When I was around 19, I began attending a charismatic type home fellowship. That grew into a non denominational charismatic church, and eventually I began attending an Assemblies of God church. I obtained my BA from Southeastern College of the Assemblies of God. Looking back, it wasn't the speaking in tongues and emotional outbursts that attracted me to these groups. I think it was more the freedom and the emphasis on a real spiritual life. Growing up Presbyterian, I was ready for a change that has some energy and enthusiasm. Pentecostal and Charismatic groups provided that.

The biggest reason the celebration of Pentecost means so much to me, is that 10 years ago this weekend I was chrismated into the Orthodox church. My 5 children were all baptized and chrismated also, and a few month later my wife was received into the Orthodox faith. It wasn't planned to be that way, but how ironic that a former Assemblies of God Evangelical would be received into Orthodoxy on Pentecost Sunday.

Two years ago, I celebrated Pentecost on Kodiak Island in Alaska, at the Cathedral where the relics of St. Herman of Alaska remain. I was there on a missions trip to St. Hermans seminary. I don't think I'll ever forget the 2 hour vigil for the feast, realizing I'm standing in the same place where one of the greatest missionaries ever ministered. St. Herman travelled thousands of miles with a few other young monks to bring Orthodoxy to the native Americans. Instead of siding with the Russian fur traders who brought them over and thought they would help tame the natives, Herman and his peers actually sided with the natives against the oppresion they were facing. I'm sure this act of justice and kindness spoke more to them than all the words the missionaries delivered. For this, he was exiled to an island, and to this day the heritage of Orthodox Alaska remains. His relics and the huge, weighty cross he wore hidden under his cassock were in view. It was a powerful Pentecost indeed.

Pentecost however is not just a remembrance of past history. Merton puts it this way: "Man, the microcosm, the heart of the universe, is the one who is called to bring about the fusion of the cosmic and historic process in the final invocation of God's wisdom and love. In the name of Christ and by his power, man has a work to accomplish-to offer the cosmos to the Father, by the power of the Spirit, in the glory of the Word. Our life is a powerful Pentecost in which the Holy Spirit, ever active in us, seeks to reach through our inspired hands and tongues into the very heart of the material world ."

What an awesome, powerful thought. What purpose that brings to our lives. Whether we are called to be missionaries as St. Herman, to live a life of social justice, to give, to love, to pray, or to simple obscurity, our lives can be a powerful demonstration and means of bringing life to the world.

One word, one thought, one thing needful

God.

Paradox of prayer

To live a life of prayer and contemplation, is to live a life of utter despair, yet at the same time, ultimate joy. It is a life of complete paradox, as opposite ends of a spectrum continually beckon one to and fro. Really, it is patently ridiculous to consider to pray. Consider it: if there is such a person such as God, so powerful, all-knowing, completely beyond any of our comprehension whose ways are so far above us, how could we begin to communicate with Him?

Prayer, as I am told by a Franciscan I know, is a relationship. I must resort to only quoting him about prayer since today is one of those days I don't think I've yet even begun to pray. I'd like to believe it exists, and if I stay persistent in this seeking it, the ludicrous concept that I could commune with an all-mighty, awesome God will probably return to me.

Prayer is not only a relationship with God, it is God. In true prayer, we become one with God. Athanasios the Great had the famous saying "God became man, so that man might become God." Jesus himself prayed "The glory that you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one. I in them, and you in me." Jn 17:22

Prayer to me, to borrow slightly from Teresa of Avila, is like a large majestic castle with many rooms. Soon as I become familiar with one room, and think I have found home, I find a door that leads to yet another long hallway, leading to many other rooms that I have yet to explore, or even knew existed. Some days I think I pray. I talk to God, maybe I'm really talking at God. Some times I think I'm listening, and hearing God's word of love and life in his kingdom. Some times, though never for more than a fleeting instant, I think I may have experienced "the faint, unperceived beginnings of passive contemplation" as Merton calls it.

And some days, like today, I wonder if prayer is beyond me. Not only myself, but any sane rational human. I think I'm praying nothing. I think I'm accomplishing nothing. Again to quote Merton, "there is no such thing as a prayer in which nothing is done, or nothing happens, although there may well be a prayer in which nothing is perceived or felt or thought." Comforting words to a novice like myself.

And while I'm quoting from Mertons "Thoughts in Solitude", it is his fault for causing all this pondering anyway. How could one make sense of a statement like this: "the only thing to seek in contemplative prayer is God; and we seek him successfully when we realize that we cannot find Him unless He shows Himself to us and yet at the same time He would not have inspired us to seek Him unless we had already found Him."

Such is the paradox of prayer. Such is the nature of God. It, or He, is entirely unattainable by human effort. I would be better off counting all the grains of sand on every beach on the planet than to think I can find God by trying. But as Yoda told Luke Skywalker, "do or do not, there is no try." So I meekly, yet confidently, return to pray. I pray with words. I pray at liturgy. I list my litanies. I think and say what is on my mind, to a Being who already knew what was coming. And like Elijah, I wait in sheer silence, for a still, small voice to return my call.