Sometimes, I just stumble across something that makes an impact on me. This post on praying badly was one of those.
We get so used to praying with words that we stop realizing what we are trying to do. One of my class worksheets deals with “vain repetition”. That’s what this author talks about – words that are repeated vainly, without meaning, by rote.
At the end of the day – putting beauty and truth aside – surely there are only so many Ave Marias one can mutter? Surely it’s extremism, to live a life in constant prayer, constant mortification, and constant contemplation of Christ? Surely the Saints get bored of Sainthood?
When I pray my rosary, the repetition of the Hail Mary prayers is like a mantra, calming my mind so that I can contemplate the mysteries of the rosary. It’s like my mind works on two different levels. I can see, however, how it could become easy to just pay lip service to the Virgin and Jesus instead of trying to access a spiritual relationship. When I’m tired, sometimes lip service is all I can manage, but I end up feeling like I’ve shorted myself on something.
As a mediocre Catholic, I understand the complaint all too well. We’ve all been there, when our prayer suddenly curls up and dies like spiders on our lips, when the faith that surround us bores, when Mass is a chore, fasting a pain, obedience to The Church frightfully difficult. There are times when I do get tired of it all, dammit. I am usually made aware of this sad fact when praying my Rosary, and halfway through the third mystery I realize I’ve spent 35 Hail Marys thinking about bacon. (And not even the Father-of-the-English-Renaissance-variety.)
Yeah, sometimes it’s hard to focus.
And, then, there’s this moment of beauty:
When you repeat a word again and again, soon the word is utterly strange on your tongue. Who invented such an obnoxious mouthful such as ‘toast’? What is ‘toast’? It’s this strange, wet tap on the roof of my mouth, a stupid slackening of my jaw and tightening of my cheeks…I have no idea what ‘toast’ is now, but when I re-establish it with slightly-burnt bread, it’s something of a newfound delight. What a marvel, that that awkward mouthful means this crunchy, peanut-butter-coated mouthful.
Wait, we’re getting there….
Or take our fathers. We see them every day for 18 years. We think, surely, this is one of the men I know best. But have you not experienced this moment…when suddenly the who-you-think-he-is falls away, and you realize you don’t know in the least this giant individual who runs your house?
Still getting there…
I hold that the constant prayer of the Saints is not an effort to become good at praying, but a fiery effort to pray for the first time. To speak the words, “My God I believe, I adore, I trust and I love thee,” in somewhat of the same manner we spoke ‘toast’ – that is – to utter them as they are; incredible, virgin, foreign. Truly, to pray well is to pray badly, to allow the words to shock us as strange, to permit the well-worn phrases to be things we can scarcely comprehend…To pray constantly is to seek that shining moment of praying as awfully as a child. (emphasis mine)
Here it is:
Similarly, the Saint gazing at an icon of Christ does not gaze to gaze well, to get used to the Divine Face or to understand it. He gazes to confirm the suspicion that he cannot understand it at all. He gazes for hours to see the face of Christ for one second. He contemplates for years to realize that he has not enough lifetimes to contemplate. The expert would seek an answer. The Saint seeks a mystery. The expert would gaze well. The Saint looks at the face of Christ like an idiot child looks at a bird on his windowsill.
It is left to you to become Saints, to see your God, your faith and your world so awfully that it might be shocked with new life. Do you think I was lying when I told you you must become like little children? I was speaking the truth. Unless you are as wide-eyed and stunned by My grace as a child is by the first robin of Spring, you will not enter the Heavenly Kingdom. This is because to exist as anything but a child is to believe that you know my Heavenly Kingdom, that you know what it is like, that you have it nailed down like a beetle to a card. Only the recognition of the appalling strangeness of my Being, the utter inconceivability of my mercy, and the total mystery of my Grace will prepare your heart for What I Actually Am. Only if you open your eyes to see as I see will you ever experience the fullness of life I have planned for you on this earth. For I am The I Am That I Am: I see everything for the first time.
You should read the rest of the post.
And may all of you pray badly. Very badly.
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