Simply simple prayer

Spiritual Life, Winter 1999 by Matthews, William R

LIKE THE PSALMIST, I AM OFTEN TERRIFIED of the mere eventuality of meeting God face to face. The psalmist, however, also describes God as shepherd of his lost human sheep, people like me with no notion where the wolves are, how to return to the flock, or how to "baa" for aid. "God takes the initiative," writes John Dalrymple in his book Simple Prayer, "he loves us first" (p. 115). Before I call, I am searched for. I don't have to do a blessed or unblessed thing.

Unfortunately, prayer in our overcomplicated society has become an intricate art. Books pour from the religious press-full of must do's: adopt this sort of posture and language; ask for this but not for that; worship so many times daily; face north, south, east, or west. All of these are far from the Christian's central symbol of prayer: Christ in the Garden, a single soul sitting in the arms of the God who adores children, who wants the very best for those who adore him. Trouble is coming, but the communion of this moment will keep the son safe.

I have read much about praying in search of a method that leads out of the wilderness into God's garden-presence. I tried meditation, found a mantra, wrote essays on the subject, asserted that well-done work itself was prayer, led a small prayer group, and taught about the mystics (but never followed their disciplines).

Centuries ago, asked by a peasant member of his congregation how to approach God, Martin Luther responded with a brief essay, "A Simple Way to Pray." He suggested that the Lord's Prayer, the creed, and the ten commandments were the roots of prayer and advised devotions first thing in the morning, last thing at night, and recognition that he who does his daily work well prays twice. These few hundred words were sufficient for a lifetime, indeed, a deathtime, of thought and meditation.

But instead of sitting quietly with God, pondering the first commandment, we write long enigmatic commentaries on clear Biblical matters: the lost sheep, the forgiven prodigal, the widow's coin, prayer without ceasing. The preschool child has a better sense of Christ's birth in a manger than we sophisticated adults whose penchant is to make the plain complicated. A baby's smile is more precious than a rich man's wealth. In our labyrinthine modern world, even cars are "nicely loaded."

The Bible employs but a few thousand different common English words to express its profound meanings. Like my computer, which offers at least four distinct ways of doing the same thing, books on prayer suggest many more ways in much foggier language. I own a volume that identifies and gives directions for twenty-one kinds of prayer. As in recipes for French cooking, each has its lists of ingredients and ways of proceeding. Not in my lifetime could I employ them all. College students seldom appreciate- that words found in a thesaurus are often obstacles to clear communication. While God yearns for the simple outcry of the human soul, we use language to shield ourselves from him.

We pretend prayer is a complicated act. Simple is a gift, says the old Shaker hymn (as is Shaker furniture, solid and beautiful in its design and construction):

It's a gift to be simple

It's a gift to be free

It's a gift to come down

Where you ought to be

And when you see yourself in a way that is right

You will live in a valley of love and delight!

I am no Mother Ann, Luther, Teresa, or Julian of Norwich, but I too have found a prayer life to share with others. To live plainly, says Tilden Edwards in Living Simply Through the Day, takes "a clear commitment" to such a holy life, "acceptance of ourselves," and an entrance to "each day with a naked confidence" (pp. 49-50).

My current prayer life is anchored in three one-syllable words: Yes, Help, Thanks. I have no idea of the source of this language, but the words enable me to involve God in each experience of my daily life, which is what Jesus' admonition to "pray without ceasing" essentially means.

My first thought on awakening each morning is Yes. Ron DelBene suggests the root of this affirmation in his book The Breath of Life: A Simple Way to Pray: we live in God's presence when we "develop the sense that where we are is where we are supposed to be .... There is no place to get to; there is only a life to live" (p. 66). God, then, is profoundly more than "a very present help in time of trouble." He is intimately involved in every facet of our lives. Gerhard Frost's poem "The Key" describes a pastor, asked what he has learned from his years in the ministry, pausing and then saying, "I'm good at holding babies." What a strange and awful God we have to say Yes to. He creates myriad universes but still holds us tenderly as his babies.

My Yes echoes the psalmist's "This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it." I struggle throughout my waking hours to continue saying Yes, to accept everything that happens to me-good and apparent evil-as God-given gifts to wrest into shape and sanctify and return to him sevenfold. "Don't try for perfection: just for deep acceptance of what is given," advises Tilden Edwards (p. 135).