Something Happens in Monastic Prayer

The work of the monastic, whether in a monastery or "dispersed" (such as me) is to pray.   We are meant to be living prayers. We keep the Hours or the Office.  I often go to Christ Church Cathedral in Indianapolis in the early morning to offer prayers with  clergy and members from the Book of Common Prayer.  Throughout the day, while cleaning the house, shopping, working in the garden . . . I find myself talking to and, more often, listening to God.

What happens in all of this prayer?  Unlike other activities in our society, there is no "bottom line" outside of prayer itself.  You can't judge the prayer by the notion that you have "gotten through" to God and He has granted some request.  Most often prayer is offered in silence and the re
sult is just more silence.  Most monastics would not see this as bad.  Too much noise anyway in America.

In this blog I  want to witness to one experience that I have had with prayer, especially now that I am becoming more disciplined and stablized in it.  Each day I pray for the other brothers and sisters in the Community of the Gospel, the clergy of Christ Church, different bishops, including the Rt. Rev. Rowan Williams, Archbishop of Canterbury.  I also pray for members of Christ Church by name.  We pray for each person at least once monthly and often more frequently if there are special needs.

But what happens if I have been angry at that person?  Or if I have been hurt by words or actions or inactions of that person?  What if there is something about the clergy person that I just don't get? 

One day last month I was helping with the prayers and was reading out loud the names of the persons in the congregation.  My own name was there.  The very next name was of my ex-wife, with whom I had lots of difficulties.  On the second Sunday in Advent at the Eucharist we prayed for the Archbishop of Canterbury and yet, I have been really angry at him for his attitude towards the U. S. Episcopal Church and for his deafening silence on the "death to gays" movement in Uganda, where a huge population of Anglicans live.  I had a difficult exchange with a member of Christ Church last month and, lo and behold, several days later that person was sitting facing me in the Choir during morning prayers. 

What I have learned from praying for these persons is that it is impossible (for me anyway) to pray for them and retain some level of rancor, disharmony or anger.  By offering them to God in my prayers and intercessions, I somehow also take them into myself.  They are a part of me.  This mitigates my feelings in a significant way.  It seems to me that this is the wonderful logic of Jesus' admonition to pray for your enemies.

Of course, that does not mean that I have to agree with the Archbishop of Canterbury's policies and actions.  Or that I may not keep in mind the obvious boundaries between me and my ex-.  Or that whatever someone does to me is OK  But it does mean that you cannot retain anger or bad feelings for those you pray for.  Put simply, from my experience:  You cannot be angry at someone and pray for them at the same time and expect that you will still be angry after having handed them over to God.  Prayer modifies this process. Rather than focusing on my own hurt or sense of injustice, I try to understand the other person.

Well, then, it looks as though this seemingly non-utilitarian activity mysteriously does have some result:  It creates more harmonious relations between God and me and between others and me.  It is a great silent community builder.