
Living on a prayer
The day is set out like the libretto of a psalm.
I wake up tired, dream-weary…

The day is set out like the libretto of a psalm.
I wake up tired, dream-weary…

A still, small voice might whisper,
“Peace, now, for I have answered the owl
and satisfied the winged thing.“

As Lent began, we read from the Gospel according to Matthew the advice to, “whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you” (Matthew 6:6). Oh, but what about those things that “our Father who is in secret” will see? And what will be their just reward?

I hear, strangely far away, the alarm, still shrill. It reminds me of myself, demanding attention, seeking juice for my tired spirit, new life for my depleted soul. It reminds me of this prayer.

For the incantation of
all creation contained in the call
to the stewardship of a cat,
I give thanks;

The offending phrase appears to be, “as we discover your will for our country,” which some object promotes the view that the General Election will be directly decided by the will of God

There may be a fever of prayerful activity, “raging against the dying of the light,” trying to stave off the coldness to come. They are symptoms of the southerning sun. Soon, some of us know, our prayers will be those of sleepwalkers, slow to respond to the promptings and proddings of the Spirit, fumbling and in danger of falling.

Without prayer, words usurp God, creating worlds of their own imagination; But when words and prayer collide …

When our saviour was humanity incarnate, there must have been moments when he was unable to move, or shout, or sneeze for fear of waking a cat that had taken up residence in his lap. These things happen.

The Reverend Thomas Keating, the Catholic priest who spent years working on the devotion of centering prayer, has died at the age of 95 in the monastery where he once served as abbot.