After about two weeks of spending a certain time each morning in prayer, sometimes getting nice feelings, sometimes getting a bit of enlightenment, sometimes just being there peacefully ... this morning I was in full revolt.
It probably was the first time I've ever come to prayer feeling as like a rebellious kid about to have a tantrum. Oh, I've been mad at God before but this was different. I didn't even have anything in particular that I'd rather have been doing, except anything but be there.
I thought of Fr. Dubay in his series on contemplation which I just finished yesterday. He said that those who practice deep prayer want to spend more and more time with the Beloved. As if I needed the confirmation, but obviously I could check any "deep prayer" off my list.
I'd start a prayer and then stop and look at all the books in the bookcase that I could be reading instead. I'd look at the morning psalm in my recently purchased Christian Prayer, read it through, flip around in a desultory fashion, and think about something (anything) else. Usually I care that I'm being distracted, catch myself and go back to meditation, but this was a seeking out of distractions. Aaargh.
I flipped around the Bible and came to passage after passage that I had marked during my CHRP discernment to be Lay Director. I remembered that glorious time when prayer was so easy, when I could almost actually hear Jesus' voice in the little thoughts that would float in unasked ... that came up with comments in a tone I'd never have used on myself. Well guess what. I didn't care about that now. (Yep, I was in a mood.)
I thought of the many wise people who have pointed out that we need relationship with God and just as you treasure time with your husband you will treasure this time with God. You know what? Sometimes I don't feel like being with Tom. And, sometimes he doesn't feel like being with me.
Yes, I know that God is bigger than all that. Obviously I was much, much smaller than all that ... and I knew it. In the back of my mind, intellectually, I knew it. But I didn't even have enough feelings about it to feel embarrassed or ashamed. It was a fact. I knew it. But I didn't feel it.
And then, in all my flipping, I read this, written by today's saint, Elizabeth Ann Seton:
O Father, the first rule of our dear Savior's life was to do your will. Let his will of the present moment be the first rule of our daily life and work, with no other desire but for its most full and compete accomplishment. Help us to follow it faithfully, so that doing what you wish we will be pleasing to you.I paused.
The present moment.
I thought back to this article the first part of which was in last week's bulletin ... about meditating, ruminating on God's word.
I thought about relationship.
I thought about the present moment ... talking to God.
I thought about Jesus in my mind's eye. And I started talking. Not to him as God but to him as my brother, as a person, in relationship. I said, "Listen, I'm sorry because I know I've got a lousy attitude and I'm wasting your time here."
Into my head floated the thought, "But you showed up."
"Oh, right," I thought. "How like me to start making excuses right off the bat. Sheez, I am hopeless."
I continued, "Jesus, I know I don't have to feel anything but I am really sorry that I don't even care that I don't care. But there you go, that's where I'm at."
Again the thought, "But you showed up."
Again I dismissed my easy propensity to deflect blame.
I did have the grace to offer prayer for others, especially those most on my heart (and y'all know who you are), figuring that I didn't need to waste all my time.
The timer beeped and I bounded out of there.
Later, washing dishes, making lunches, getting dressed, I kept thinking about that stray thought. "But you showed up."
I suddenly thought of something I'd read (can't remember where or who) that said that we are much harder on ourselves sometimes than our friends would be or that God would ever be.
"But you showed up."
Finally, I got it. I did show up. Before, I wouldn't have bothered spending time at prayer. I'd have said that I had too much to do, didn't have the time, and that I'd make that prayer time up later (famous last words, right?).
However, that option hadn't crossed my mind. I'd been rebellious and snarky as all get out. But I had been there. Even simply going through the motion, I had been there.
That little bit of progress was head and shoulders above anything I've attempted in prayer for the past year, folks. (Yes, I'm baring all, that's for sure.)
It could have been with a better attitude. It could have been with a more open heart. But I was there. Giving God the time to work on me, regardless of my mood, and what's more ... He actually did it.
He did it.
I know that no time at prayer is ever wasted, but this is the first time I've ever thought about the fact that in spite of myself and my best efforts to rebel, God uses that time anyway. Fruitfully.
But he's ever faithful. And all it took was the slightest bit of faithfulness on my part to give him the chance he needed.
How do I feel now?
Grateful.
UPDATE
This morning when I showed up and had that mental moment of quieting my mind down before I began what we would formally recognize as prayer, I got this sense of underlying humor, laughter, and a dig in the ribs. "Oh so nice to see you! And how are we feeling today, missie?"
I am telling you, it was a definite change to begin that time in a fit of giggles.
No comments:
Post a Comment