Reading to God
Fr. Tony’s Mid-week Message
September 21, 2016
I think many of us have heard the witticism that describes
Episcopalians and other Anglicans in the tradition of the Book of Common
Prayer: where many Christians talk and
listen to God in prayer, we Episcopalians are people who like to read to
God.
I was raised in a tradition that did not use fixed
prayers. Prayer was supposed to be
opening up our hearts to God, and that meant extemporaneous, on the spot,
expression. One of my Sunday School
teachers explained this to me when I was 8 or so: “Jesus says in the Sermon on the Mount ‘[In
prayer,] do not heap up empty phrases as the Gentiles do; for they think that
they will be heard because of their many words’ (Matt. 6:7). So don’t repeat things in prayer, and don’t
use fixed or written prayers.” I was
an adult before I ever heard of a collect, or knew that the word was pronounced
COLL-ect when it meant a prayer that summarizes or collects the themes of other
prayers and scripture readings by taking one of the names or attributes of God
and then meditating on it with a petition.
I was an adult before I learned about liturgical prayer, in common with
others and using prepared formulas.
Prayers of the People, Intercessions, the Daily Office, Suffrages, and Preces and Responses—all were a complete
mystery to me. I had grown up thinking
that prayer was all about focusing my attention and expressing my heart, not
about using the thoughts and prayers of others as models and templates for my
expression.
But what I experienced in that tradition of fervent
extemporaneous prayer was this: often I
would repeat myself, settling on a few phrases that seemed to work. None of them were particularly elegant or
theologically deep. I was not challenged
by them, since they all grew out of where I already was. I got used to hearing prayers in church that,
while sincere, were often poorly phrased or conceived, vapid, self-focused, and
on occasion downright wrong-headed.
Liturgical prayer has taught me the great truth expressed in
an old Christian Latin phrase: lex
orandi, lex credendi, lex vivendi (the way we pray forms how we believe,
and how we believe forms how we live).
In entering into the very ancient dialogue of all Christians at prayer,
and using many of the same prayers those ancients used, we open ourselves to
ways of thinking about God and the world that are otherwise inaccessible to
us. The discipline of regular recitation
of prayers that are models and examples raises our ways of feeling and
experiencing God.
Our prayers need to be sincere, to be sure. But for me, the intentionality of “reading to
God” actually creates space in my heart for greater sincerity. It is not the “vain repetition of hollow
phrases” that the Sermon on the Mount counsels against. Jesus himself regularly prayed the Psalter
(Psalm 22 and 31 are what he says quietly while on the Cross). And in giving us the “Our Father…” prayer, he
not only gave a model, but also a text that we ourselves can pray.
A corollary of “lex orandi,
lex credendi” is that we learn from our prayer life and do not try
consciously to force it to accommodate us.
The Prayer Book has enough optional and alternate liturgical usage to
allow us to make these prayers our own.
Occasional adaptations and liturgical forays further afield help us
keep our continuing prayer fresh, and using other pray books or authorized
liturgies (with, for example, gender inclusive language) helps us keep our
expression of faith authentic. But a
constant drive to shop for liturgies and new prayers that speak to us in some special
way is actually an act of self-flattery and pride: we cannot say we let prayer inform our belief
if at the first chance we always default to new or untried forms of prayer, or try to teach
the Prayer Book what’s what, and seek to use strange fire in our worship (Lev.
1:10).
Grace and Peace,
Fr. Tony+
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