Some contemporary Christian theologians propose that traditional ideas about God’s omnipotence are incorrect. God must therefore rely upon human cooperation to accomplish God’s purposes on earth. God abhors evil and suffering, but both persist, even after we persevere in collective prayer, because you and I fail to act as God’s hands, feet, and voice.
Originally orthodoxy meant the lived experience of being on the right track (orthos) in giving glory (that’s what doxa means) to God, in worshipping and adoring God, in community. And what these pioneers of Christian orthodoxy insisted on was the utter impossibility of capturing God in words and images, or grasping God in even the most sublime spiritual experience.
Prayer is a paradoxical activity. It requires leisure to be opened up by unplugging from the pressures of everyday demands. But it isn’t itself leisurely; it isn’t a pious version of stress management that temporarily recharges the batteries for a return to the fray. It is itself a kind of inner work.
As I contemplated in awe the beauty of the little girl’s innocence, a horrifying thought suddenly came to my mind: “where are her parents?” I was not the only one to wonder where they were; within seconds the little child also realized that she was alone in the midst of strangers. Immediately the smile was erased from her face, and I she began to yell “Mommy, Mommy!”
Much of our religious language speaks of an “up there” – words that have now become an anachronism. Can the metaphor hold our religious imagination? I suppose that there is no need for location when it comes to God and prayer, but it helps my praying to think of a direction.
I’m not just resolving to “be healthy”, I’m resolving some specific things: to buy organic food whenever possible, to buy local food whenever possible, to eat my five servings of fruits and veggies daily, and to exercise at least three times a week. So far so good, but now—what about my spiritual health? Doesn’t it require just as much nurture as my physical health?
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Recently, browsing on the internet, I came across—serendipitously!—the intriguing account of the origin of the famous “Prayer of St. Francis,” which is now in our prayer book. It is known and loved the world over: “Lord, make me an instrument of your peace…” The story illustrates how grace works through odd, accidental ways and surfs the waves of human error.
As media hubbub and heightened rhetoric converge on New Orleans, humming and swarming around the House of Bishops and the Archbishop of Canterbury like so many gadflies, I invite us to recall and recollect the Ember Days. It is time to pray for seeds, for growth, and for a bountiful harvest. It is time to pray for the faithful, the ordained, and the consecrated. Truly—it is a time to pray for the Church.