APOSTLES, CHRISTOPHER ROBIN, THE PRAYER-BOX AND ME . . .

The Revd. Polly M. Bowen

I took some vacation time this summer, and one of the things I did (besides visiting a number of other churches) was to spend some time considering my own prayer life.  I suspect that there aren’t very many of us who are totally satisfied with the shape of our prayers, and we’re in good company.  Even the apostles didn’t seem to have it all together.  There they were, walking and talking with Jesus, seeing what he did and how he lived, and what did they say?  “Come on, Jesus, teach us to pray.  Give us a magic formula, a shortcut, an easy way to get an instant audience with God.”

So he gave them a formula, and when the going got tough they fell asleep, they ran away, they denied him.  Because underneath it all they were just ordinary people - just folks, sort of like you and me.  But two millennia later we’re still praying that same formula, or at least Matthew’s expanded version of it.   And we still feel like there’s something wrong with our prayer life, and we’re still saying, “Teach us to pray.”  We miss the point that the real formula Jesus gave us wasn’t the words – it was his life.

The apostles lived in a Teacher-Disciple Age.  They expected to be taught.  We live in the age of self-actualization and do-it-yourself, so we like to manage things ourselves.  So we set aside special times for prayer, and we join intercessory prayer groups, and we learn about Benedictine Prayer and Ignatian Exercises, and maybe we try meditation or contemplation of the measured discipline of Daily Office.  There are so many ways to pray, and they’re all good.

But we’re all different, so we don’t all respond in the same way.  And so we experiment, and perhaps we narrow down to one or two that seem to fit – for a while.  And then – well, this is not only the do-it-yourself age; it’s also the age of instant gratification, so we’re not satisfied for very long.  Then we begin to get that vague sense that something’s wrong – that we’re not doing it exactly right.  And at that point we either give up or we dig in deeper.

If we dig in deeper, maybe we discover that we’ve been focusing on prayer and on ourselves – on what method we’re using and how it makes us feel.  And then maybe we begin to realize that what we need to do is to focus on God.  Now we’re finally at a place where authentic prayer can begin. 

Authentic prayer isn’t really something we do.  It’s not saying prayers.  It’s not some kind of exceptional experience.  It’s not convincing God to do something – that would be magic, not prayer.  It’s not even having a conversation with God.  Authentic prayer is not a method at all.  It’s a process.  It’s something the Holy Spirit does in us and through us.  When we talk about praying we’re really talking about being in a relationship.  That’s what the apostles saw – that very special relationship, that Abba-intimacy that Jesus shared with the Father.

Abba-intimacy is ours for the asking.  We can’t force it; it’s a gift.  But we do have to be open to it.  One way to open the way for God to come to us is to begin to pay more attention to his love letters – the Bible.  When we do, we become more and more aware of God’s presence not only in those love letters, but also in our surroundings and in other people.  We become more attuned to listening for him, and we develop such a longing for that relationship that we begin to pray.  Or more precisely, we discover that prayer is happening.

Prayer is the relationship that belongs at the top of our priority list.  It’s not something we do just because we happen to have some free time and we think we “ought” to.  It’s not something we do because we have needs or wants or somebody’s sick or the weather’s all wrong or we need our spiritual batteries recharged.  All those things may enter into prayer, but real prayer means letting go of all the human reasons we can think of to pray.  That’s hard work.

And then there’s all the stuff that gets in the way.  What about the garbage?  Distractions are a very real part of life.  My favorite distraction story is from Winnie the Pooh – that charming picture of Christopher Robin saying his prayers.  “God bless Mommy – I know that’s right.  Wasn’t it fun in the bath tonight?  The cold so cold and the hot so hot – Oh! God bless Daddy, I quite forgot!”  And he goes on to compare his Nanny’s bathrobe to his own, and he finally remembers to ask God to bless his Nanny – and so on.

It’s a precious picture, and it tells us some important things about prayer.  One is that distractions happen – they’re an inevitable part of life, but they don’t have to change a relationship.  When you’re in love with someone you don’t stop being in love and you aren’t any less faithful because the faucet’s dripping or the TV’s too loud.  And what’s more, your lover waits for you while you fix those things.  God waits, too, because he loves us, and he understands.  He honors our intentions, so the thing to do is to persevere.  Like Christopher Robin, we gently acknowledge the distractions and then come back to God.

But don’t let the Christopher Robin stuff fool you.  There’s a big difference between being childlike and being childish.  God wants us to grow up.  He wants us to learn a mature faith, to put aside childish things, as St. Paul said.  That’s a real challenge.  It’s hard work.  It takes courage to let go of our childish beliefs about God and about prayer.  It means sticking to it.  It means allowing that relationship with God to permeate everything we think and do and say, to spill over into our relationships with others.  We’re all very good at compartmentalization – church belongs in this box – business over here – politics in this one (don’t get it near the religion box)  - family matters here – my job over there – a special, pretty, gussied-up box for prayer – and so on.  But when we are in a right relationship with God (that’s the definition of holiness) – when we’re in that right relationship it’s just inevitable that all those boxes will fill up and overflow into one another, and then God is everywhere.  That doesn’t happen overnight; it takes a lifetime.

Authentic prayer is not just words, not just meditation, not just listening, not just feeling.  It’s not even just being – authentic prayer involves action.  It means we have to do something – we have to ask, seek, knock, we have to get involved in those justice and peace issues to do as Jesus did –  to take care of our sisters and brothers.  And authentic prayer involves acceptance.  It means letting go of ourselves and our expectations.  What we’re all looking for – what the apostles were looking for – was some great prayer experience.  But God doesn’t work that way.  He doesn’t report for duty on our orders.  He won’t dance to our tune.  He will not be a “felt presence” on demand.

Does that mean the “felt presence” of God isn’t authentic?  No, of course not.  I’ve felt his presence, too, and sometimes it’s delightful.  Sometimes it’s comforting.  Sometimes it’s disturbing.  But it’s always a surprise, and always when I least expect it.  It’s always God’s initiative, not mine.  And whatever it is, it’s never the aim of prayer.  The real aim, the essence of prayer, is an intimate, life-changing relationship with God.

This special relationship is always in tension.  It’s always paradoxical – it can’t be earned and yet we have to work for it.  God doesn’t impose it on us and yet he causes it.  God can’t be controlled or manipulated, but what he has to offer he offers freely.   When we come to him in our powerlessness, without any pretense, and let God be God, wonderful things begin to happen, and all of life becomes prayer.  Prayer changes things, but it’s not God who is changed.  It’s us.  Not my will, O Lord, but thy will be done.  Amen.