Without a Prayer

Since most blogs are at least partly confessional, I’ll tell you right now that I find prayer very difficult. Since I've stated in an earlier post that I’m a “practicing” Christian, this revelation may come as something of a surprise to those of you who’ve been following this blog for any length of time.

The truth is, however, that I never prayed as a child. Or, more correctly, the type of prayers to which I was exposed consisted only of the rote variety one spoke (or, rather, mumbled) at Mass, and which were compulsorily prescribed during particular church seasons. But I didn’t pray as such; just muttered words I didn’t understand or care much about.

Oddly enough, it was after I’d become alienated from the church that I prayed - I mean, properly prayed - for the first time in my life. And these were the circumstances: the company by whom I was employed was attempting to force through a shoddy workplace agreement. I and a half-dozen fellow unionists were opposed by an alliance of management hostility and the apathy of our colleagues. On the morning of the staff ballot to determine whether the agreement would be accepted, these words came to me:

I do not know You; I do not know if You exist; or, if you do exist, whether You listen to anyone’s prayers. But if You do exist, and if You do listen to prayers, know that for myself I ask nothing; only that if there is to be any outcome from this ballot, let it be remembered there were at least a few who were prepared to stand against the many, so that the strong could not victimise the helpless with impunity.

I didn’t pray for victory because I knew we couldn’t win. I just wanted there to be something to emerge from what I was sure would be the wreckage of a bad result; and I wanted that something to be bigger than just the cause I had fought for, result in more than just a workplace battle won or lost.

That one moment of despair was one of the few occasions during that period in which I prayed. But the strange thing is, once I started to attend services once again, I still found it difficult to pray. At first, I thought it was simple self-consciousness; but I soon realised the cause of my malaise went much deeper. Eventually, I understood that my problem extended back to what I had been taught about prayer: that prayer was about asking God for stuff. We prayed to be good; we prayed for strength; we prayed for things to happen; we prayed for things to not happen. We wanted God to grant us this or that. In short, prayer was just a wish-list, and God little more than a proxy for Father Christmas.

Of course, this realisation left me with the problem of working out what prayer was about. And while I haven't reached any hard-and-fast conclusions, perhaps some inkling of understanding is starting to emerge. What I now think is that prayer isn't about asking God for things or outcomes; I think prayer is a form of offering, a way we give ourselves - our fears, our weaknesses, our strengths, our hopes, our secrets - to God. Prayer is part of the way we seek to converse with God, not so that we may get a return on our investment, but so that we may know that we have ground other than the inadequacy of our own selves on which to stand.

So - do I pray now? Yes, despite the ongoing difficulty,and at the oddest moments. Like when I’m walking down the street. Or in the shower. Nor are my prayers "structured" in any sense; somehow, the words just come. Except I don't ask God to grant me what I want; I pray to be.

For example, this is the prayer I say every time I head off to the Industrial Relations Commission to argue a case:

Lord of All Things: I pray that may I serve justice and defend the truth.

Of course, that leaves open the possibility that I might lose; but serving justice and defending truth may sometimes mean that losing is precisely how this is achieved.

Talk to you soon,

BB

Quote for the Day: To live is to change; to be perfect is to change often. (Cardinal Newman)