"Prayer"

Linda Clark-Borre

Why the quotes? Because this is a practical take on a deeply personal encounter. Even those who "can't, won't pray" question it with a depth that feels, to me, like praying. That's my bias, and the topic comes up enough that I'd like to share a little more of what I think here, what's possible to see. 

When I was nine years old, I went to morning Mass daily before school. I was shocked when during one homily Father W. declared that we must be dignified in prayer before God; though early morning, we must be fully awake to the requirement to worship, and to pray reverently. "After all," he said, "one would never pray to God while laying on their backs in bed!" I still think of the many times I do...have always done.

Today I consider the irony that at my age now, I have been with many who have also prayed, or tried to, confined to bed as they were. There are those praying while prostrate trying comfort themselves to sleep. Is there really any off-limits place from which to express a word or two with the ineffable? As the Psalmist says, "There is no speech or language that is foreign to Him." No iteration of humanity or our position is lost upon Him either, by those lights. 

So however the person I'm with expresses themselves in the rawness of their physical state, whether in grief, supplication, pain, or passion, that to me is prayer. Even if it's just me listening. And if the one calling out believes neither in God nor Divinity, I am there, I hear what they say without judgment. That communion is holiness for me, and perhaps a little sustenance for the other. At least they know that they are not alone, that they are seen and heard.

Praise & Dispraise

Dispraise is an interesting word that means criticism. Any attempts to reach Divinity through praise,  meditation, walks through woods, and so on offer legitimate forms of prayer. "There is no language God can't hear." Prayers are sometimes accompanied by wondering and doubt. "If there's a God, why do I need to be praising "him" always? Does the Lord of all need that?"

Sometimes a spontaneous prayer is accompanied by, "I don't expect an answer, but I feel better having asked." Or, "I don't know what else to do; this is hopeless." And many, many people raise the idea of others suffering even more than they are, so who are they to ask anything for themselves? 

- On the matter of the first question. It's not my job to teach, but to accompany. That aside, I'll share a thought. I find the question regarding a God needing constant praise a good one. What is the type of praise, or worship, that we are supposing God needs to hear? Worship itself is action, an expression. Is a walk, a reflection, the attempt to put one's own heart to rest, action? Many wisdom and faith traditions proclaim the presence of heaven or God within us. Might prayer/worship be communion with a presence already there, and might our prayers represent our own connection to life itself? To our own selves and all we hope for in the fullness of the life experience?

- On the second "dispraise" - can I really expect God will hear me, when others in the world suffer far more? This question feels like more an expression of deep awareness of suffering beyond the self as it signifies personal humility. Why we get answers to some things (apparently) and not others (for sure) is beyond me.  And why do unspeakably horrible things persist that are even beyond our imagining? God only knows. Valid contemplations. 

I also suspect that we know more than we consciously consider, as religion and wisdom traditions - even social discussions - offer lessons surrounding global conundrums. Possible solutions come to mind, but can be easily dismissed. Think about it - traditions present a conformity that we humans, on the whole, resist. Can it be the Psalmist had it right when he expressed that each person has to come to their salvation (or preservation) with fear and trembling? In modern terms we have to figure out for ourselves how we we'll live and leave this life. 

We don't have to all believe the same things to be, to paraphrase another writer, "as a balm for one another's inevitable wounds." Simple goodness, sincerely offered, wherever we are. But not everyone is able to offer simple kindnesses, or even know how to comfort themselves. The life experience is full of paradox and tension. Every effort toward wholeness of self and other is an act of praise.

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A personal experience I'll share leads me to ask: Is worship just another word for love, expressed in the myriad ways of which humans are capable?

Decades ago, I had a little foster child I'd taken from the pediatric intensive care unit of U of I hospital, where he had lived for the first three years of his life. Of many problems, of deepest concern was his cardiopulmonary disease. He had a tracheostomy that needed frequent suctioning, and right-sided heart failure (cor pulmonale). After living with me for about a year, his heart rhythm changed for the worse. He was thoroughly examined by the pediatric cardiologist who had always cared for him. I was gently reminded that he had lived his expected lifetime, and I could choose for him to remain home with me, or put him into a nursing facility. 

Both the doctor and I knew what I would do. I could not give the boy up, because I loved him. At home, I hid his stethoscope so I would not be distracted by fears of the unimaginable, and those days, I cried in secret. My self-comfort was in understanding that the only way I might've avoided the prospect of losing a beloved child is to have never known him at all. I argued with God while showering every morning. 

But through the months ahead the child thrived; so much so that I found my hidden stethoscope and listened. And listened again, so intently he began to giggle and squirm. I called his doctor, who saw him that day. And he said, "Every so often, we see a spontaneous recovery of function, and we are at a loss to explain it," he said, as happy as I was. "So let's both of us be grateful." That sounded like prayer to me.

Miracles are measured in gratitude. Acknowledging them is praise. 

I don't understand why, but in the end, in a world where we're destined to be nothing more than human, and always so vulnerable, gratitude is important. When I personally feel alone, or depressed, I think of times I received something beautiful and realize...such is our lot sometimes, and for this, I'm grateful.

At this time of my life, my losses increase, and my questions persist. Sometimes I feel weighted with sadness, and mourn for people and experiences past.

 I'm also grateful and appreciate that there is no language that goes unheard, or so I believe. Though I may one day lose those long-past fond memories, they exist as part of me forever.

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One more thing, as I consider the topic of "prayer." I have found value in two things related to the idea of prayer: finding a set of words written by others, which resonate with me as "prayer," or writing my own. I'm often asked to say a prayer for someone aloud, often with family. In hospitals, when asked for copies, I try to remember what came spontaneously and write it down for family to pray on their own. Having something written before you is a great help and reminder. (Of course, prayer books according to one's own faith fit here too). 

Whatever language emerges coming from others, or one's own heart, that seems fitting, can be a comfort, a reminder, a nudge, or whatever a person needs it to be. I address the following to myself, to the Great Spirit, God, Divinity, all Nameless; to powers greater than I am:

Prayer for Myself

Help me to escape the feelings of shame, inadequacy, self-judgment, and self-doubt.

Past trainings and experiences have taught me.

May I trust that my love is as needed as any knowledge I have to offer.

May I remember that within myself,

are the limitations common to every human being.

May I be open to know my darkness,

While remaining true to whatever light I possess.

May I be used as a blessing and friend to life