Friday, January 10, 2014

On Praying

I prayed with friends today.  We held hands in that unselfconscious way you do when you’ve done this before.  One voice blended into another and when we raised our heads after the last amen, all our eyes were leaking our tears.

The tears of prayer mostly take me by surprise, for they are not evidence of sadness, but of presence – God’s and mine – met in the wellspace of gathering – a grace, somehow, of the God who deigns to show up simply because hands are held and voices raised.

Why do I pray?  In the wish and hope that something will change or more, be changed, of course.  As an act of obedience – God said to and so I do.  Sometimes as an act of desperation, when all my own efforts have failed.  Sometimes as an act of gratitude, a pouring forth as joy oozes out of me.  To catch up with my best friend.

Mostly I pray because there is that thing in me which leans ever into the divine being, wishing to draw nearer, seek more, be more.

Whatever draws me to prayer in the first place, I leave it quieted.  Always.  In a good way, always.  I don’t know how God’s Spirit does that – quiets me – but she does.  And somehow, always, whatever the bringing need or desire, the quietening is my answer and it is enough and more than enough.


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