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Praying by Heart

In July of 1944, our Sister Elizabeth (then Lieutenant Elizabeth Hillmann) was on a ship crossing the English Channel. She was headed for Normandy, where in June, the Allied Forces had begun the liberation of France. Although hammocks had been provided below, these were full of bedbugs, with the result that many of the soldiers were sleeping — or trying to sleep — on the deck.

Out of the dark came the sound of airplanes. As they approached, they flew so low and so close that the soldiers on the deck could see the swastikas on the rudder. The ship was being strafed.
 
Sister Elizabeth remembers the experience as one of stark terror. Other than that, she is not clear on the details. After the planes had flown off into the night and calm was restored, her friend Clare turned to her and asked, “What was that you praying?”

“I don’t know,” Sister Elizabeth replied. “What was I praying?”
 
“You were praying grace before meals,” came the answer.
 
While the words, “Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts which we are about to receive…” may not seem quite fitted to the situation of being shot at, still Sister Elizabeth’s story illustrates two points related to prayer:

1. The benefit of memorized prayers

2. The relative unimportance of the words

lavenderThe benefit of memorized prayers

A better term, perhaps, is learning “by heart,” so that the prayers are not just rote, but are continually present to us whether or not we are consciously aware of them, and available when we need to pray and may not have words of our own. Jesus learned prayers by heart. On the cross he called upon two of them: psalms he had memorized, probably at his mother’s knee:

Psalm 22, which begins, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
Psalm 31:5, “Into your hand I commit my spirit.”

lavenderThe relative unimportance of the words themselves
 
I have spent a good part of my life studying and working with language, so I am not one to denigrate the value of beautifully crafted words. After all, in prayer as in the rest of life, we want to give God our best.
 
Nevertheless, I can’t imagine that God was displeased with Sister Elizabeth’s prayer simply because the words were unsuited to the circumstances. I believe that the simple act of crying out to God was far more important than the words used.

So we must pray, with words or without words, in season and out of season, in crisis or in times of tranquility. And we learn prayers by heart, so that prayer may be always with us and may break through our fear or seep through our sadness, emerging into God’s blessed light.

Rejoice in your hope,
be patient in tribulation,
be constant in prayer.
 
(Romans 12:12 RSV)

Love’s Requirements

When I typed “What does love mean?” into Google, in quotes so that I would get the exact phrase, no less than 111,000 web pages came up.  (I imagine the numbers change from day to day—even hour to hour, as I just tried it again and this time there were 112,000.)  Although I certainly didn’t look at all of them, it was evident that they included love of all sorts: family love, romantic love, friendship, you name it…

But when I typed, “What does love require?” (once again, in quotes), there were only 350 pages listed, and most were in the Christian context.  It’s those requirements that get to us.  So I asked myself what love requires.  Knowing that we can love only because we have been loved (see 1 John), the first is probably not a surprise; and the others follow.

lavender Remembering that I am the beloved of God: frail, fallible sinner though I be;

lavender Remembering that the other is the beloved of God, whether the other is a child, a co-worker, a beggar, or a terrorist planting a roadside bomb;

lavender Prayer: to take on the mind and heart of Jesus, so that we grow in loving with God’s love, and that we become the mercy and compassion of Christ for the people we meet and for the world.

Our practical actions, I believe, flow from these three.  I am sure that you can flesh out this short list, and I would be glad to hear from you with your own additions.

 _____

God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them. Love has been perfected among us in this: that we may have boldness on the day of judgement, because as he is, so are we in this world. There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear; for fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not reached perfection in love. We love because he first loved us.

(1 John 4:16-19)

Mary Undoer of Knots

When I was small, I had a cross that hung on a very fine gold chain. The chain often managed to twist itself into a little knotted mess in my drawer which my mother or father had to undo painstakingly with a straight pen. My long hair also ended up in tangles, and I would yell when my mother tried to comb them out. Undoing knots is a chore with which most parents, I imagine, are familiar.

Now that I am an adult, it is more often my interior life that gets tied up in knots. So I was intrigued when I ran across a name for Mary the Mother of Jesus that I had never heard before: Mary Undoer of Knots, or Mary Untier of Knots.

According to Wikipedia:

The concept of Mary untying knots is derived from St. Irenaeus of Lyons’ book Adversus haereses (Against Heresies). In Book III, Chapter 22, he explains that “… the knot of Eve’s disobedience was loosed by the obedience of Mary. For what the virgin Eve had bound fast through unbelief, this did the virgin Mary set free through faith.”

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_Untier_of_Knots

Eve said no to God. Mary said yes. Mary Untier of Knots

The painting is by Johann George Melchior Schmidtner, from around 1700. It shows Mary, under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit whose dove hovers above her, undoing knots — big ones and small ones — in a long cord, aided by angels who hold either end of the cord. Although the painting itself is not a masterpiece, the idea is appealing, especially because of all that is knotted or tangled in human life. This includes sin, of course, but is not limited to sin.

As I tell Sisters Annette and Elizabeth about the painting, Sister Elizabeth stops me. “If the angels are holding both ends of the cord, how does she untie the knots?”

“Good point,” I say.

My first thought is that the artist was not much acquainted with knots. But when I look more closely, I see that the angels are not holding tightly to the cord. I also realize that our human tangles sometimes do get mysteriously untied, even though we ourselves are, figuratively speaking, holding tightly to the ends. (Or perhaps God has gently pried them from our fists.)

So I pray:

O God, who inspired your servant Mary to say yes,
may my heart also be an unreserved yes
at every moment of every day.
May I not withhold from you
even the dark mazes of my mind
or the tangled complexities of my heart.
When I get lost in a web of fears,
pull me out again into the wide spaces of your peace.

Untie the knots and confusion that immobilize me
when I try to sort out the jumble of my motives,
instead of entrusting the unraveling to you.

Preserve me from snarled reasonings
that snag on wrongdoing,
that twist into a mode of violent righteousness,
that keep me from the simple truth of loving you
and my neighbor
and the stranger at my gate.

Mary, undoer of knots, pray for us.

The following is by Sister Elizabeth Hillmann.  It was originally presented as a talk to the Christian Meditation group which meets at the Cenacle in Gainesville.  You can view the video here: “The Consolation and the Challenge of the Holy Spirit Praying in Us,” or on YouTube.

. . . . . . . . . .

 

We know from Romans 8:26-27 that the Holy Spirit of God prays in us, with groans and sighs:

Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.

However we are praying, in our weakness or our blindness or our selfishness, the Holy Spirit is praying In us according to the will of God.

 

This is a great consolation. What matters is that we pray, whether it be a groaning prayer, a rote prayer, any way of praying. We can trust that our prayer is transformed by the Spirit to be in accord with the will of God.

 

I love the words in Psalm 86:

Teach me your way, O Lord,
that I may walk in your truth;
give me an undivided heart to revere your name.
I give thanks to you, O Lord my God, with my whole heart,
and I will glorify your name for ever.
For great is your steadfast love towards me;
you have delivered my soul from the depths of Sheol.
(11-13)

There is also a challenge to us to open our hearts and minds to let God heal our divided hearts. We can spend some time each day praying without an agenda, without seeking to achieve anything, without intending to look good in our own eyes. We sit and say a simple prayer quietly, even repeating it slowly, so that we are open to what God wants to do with us. We accept the mystery that God is truth and beauty and goodness and we entrust our whole being into the hands of God for this short prayer time.

 

Let us pray.

REFLECTIONS ON THE FEAST OF THE CENACLE

[The following was presented as a talk at Saint Augustine Parish in Gainesville, Florida.  For an abbreviated version, see "Waiting in the Cenacle."]

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After the Ascension and before Pentecost, there is another mystery worthy of honor, but which most of us just pass right over on our way to Pentecost. The Sisters of the Cenacle, however, don’t let it go unnoticed, because it is called the Mystery of the Cenacle and is celebrated as the Feast of Our Lady of the Cenacle. But it is not a mystery just for the Cenacle Sisters. It is a mystery important for the whole Church, because it prepares for the birth of the Church at Pentecost. The feast day of Our Lady of the Cenacle — for Mary was there — is the Saturday after Ascension Pentecost (anonymous)Thursday.

We read in the book of Acts:

Then they returned to Jerusalem from the mount called Olivet, which is near Jerusalem, a sabbath day’s journey away; and when they had entered, they went up to the upper room, where they were staying, Peter and John and James and Andrew, Philip and Thomas, Bartholomew and Matthew, James the son of Alphaeus and Simon the Zealot and Judas the son of James. All these with one accord devoted themselves to prayer, together with the women and Mary the mother of Jesus, and with his brothers.  (Acts 1:12-14 RSV)

The word Cenacle comes from the Latin word coenaculum, which means the supper room (or in this case the upper room).  Now tradition tells us that this cenacle was the same place where Jesus celebrated the last supper with his apostles and the same place where his friends and family were gathered when the Holy Spirit was poured out upon them at Pentecost.

But what about this in-between feast? What were Mary and the friends of Jesus doing in the Upper Room – in the Cenacle – after Jesus had ascended into heaven? Well, we are told that they were praying.

“Is that all?” we ask.

Most of the other New Testament mysteries are mysteries of presence and of the breaking forth of something obviously new into the world. That is certainly true about the Last Supper and Pentecost. But the mystery of the little group gathered in the Upper Room is, first, an in-between mystery, sandwiched in between more spectacular ones of which it is a part. And secondly it is a mystery of absence: Jesus has departed from them. He has been taken into heaven. And third, it is a mystery where nothing much seems to be happening. What were Jesus’ friends and family doing in the Cenacle? Why were they gathered there?

As yet they had no ministry, strictly speaking. It is possible that Peter went out to fish each day and that others went out to work or carried out tasks in the Cenacle itself. After all, the necessities of life didn’t stop, no matter how timid and uncertain the group was feeling after Jesus had left them. But as far as we know, helping with the work was not the purpose of their being together. They may have sat around telling stories about Jesus, remembering.  But the only thing we know for sure is that they were praying — a useless activity in the pragmatic eyes of the world.

Some of you know that for about three years I have been carrying on an e-mail correspondence with an ex-christian — a former preacher who is now preaching fervently against faith.  One of his latest missives claims that there is no evidence for anything spiritual at all.  And as for prayer, he says, “Believers may talk with their god all they want, but he never responds to them.  And if they say he does, that constitutes a form of mental illness.”

And answered prayer is just an illusion, he writes.  (He has no concept of prayer as relationship or communion, just as asking for things — and not getting them.)  Now most of his rants against religion I ignore, but occasionally I do feel I have to respond.  So I wrote back,

If you write off all communication with God as mental illness, you are doing that by faith alone [i.e., his own materialistic faith]. There is absolutely no evidence that the majority of religious people are mentally ill.  Yes, some are, as are some non-religious people. 

But we Christians can also buy into the idea that prayer is a wasteful way to spend time.  It’s seems better to be accomplishing something.  The sense of absence and lack of purposeful activity in the Upper Room after the Ascension may be one reason this time when Jesus’ friends and family are gathered in prayer is so hard to deal with as an event – or a non-event – and why it seems easier to skip over this mystery and move on to Pentecost.

But I propose to you that something absolutely essential for the church and the world was happening there in the Upper Room. Yes, this is an in-between time: in between the great mysteries of Cross/Resurrection/Ascension and Pentecost. But all gestation periods are in-between times.

In the New Testament we have three times when the Body of Christ is prepared and given.  The first, of course, is the Annunciation and Mary’s time of waiting leading up to the birth of Jesus.

The second takes us to the Cenacle for the Last Supper, followed by the whole of the Paschal mystery of dying and rising — and then the mystery continued and lived after the Resurrection when the followers of Jesus met for what they called the “breaking of the bread” and what we call Eucharist.

The third is this period of waiting between the Ascension and Pentecost; and once again, we will see that, even in the post-Ascension absence, it is the Body of Christ that we are talking about here — even when Jesus seems to be absent to those who love him…

…Because what we have in the first chapter of Acts is a new Annunciation.

Let’s go back for a moment to the Annunciation scene in the first chapter of Luke. It took me a while to notice the similarities between Gabriel’s proclamation to Mary and the words of Jesus to his disciples just before the Ascension. Remember that the Gospel of Luke and the Book of Acts were both written by Luke. Luke is a careful writer, so it is doubtful that the resemblance is accidental.

In Luke 1, in response to Mary’s question, the angel says, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you…”

In Acts 1, right before the Ascension, in response to the questioning of the apostles, Jesus says, “You will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you…”

In both events we hear that the Holy Spirit will come upon you, and there will be an experience of power.  This verbal resemblance is important, because it indicates that what is happening is similar in both cases.

But there is a difference.

One of the major distinctions between the two annunciations is this: at the time of the first Annunciation, the word was spoken to one person, Mary; but the promise on the day of Ascension is made, not to one person, but to the gathered apostles of Jesus. This time, the Spirit is promised to the community. In both events, the power of the Holy Spirit will bring about an embodying, an enfleshing: in the first case, the conception of the infant Jesus; in the second case, the conception of the infant church, the mystical Body of Christ.

Since this is so, the womb is to be prepared this time, not in the body of Mary, but in the body of the community. Gathered there, Pentecost, John of Berrysupporting each other, forgiving each other — and they did have some forgiving to do, didn’t they, for the miserable and cowardly way most of them had acted after Jesus was arrested — assembled in the Cenacle, a hollowing-out is taking place, an emptying, a making room or preparing a womb for the Spirit of Jesus. In fact, there are paintings of Pentecost in which Mary, gathered with the others and representing the church and Mother of the Church, is depicted as pregnant.

The presence of Mary the Mother of Jesus is indispensable to this little community, for Mary is the only person in the world who already knows what it is like to be emptied in such a way as to receive the mystery of Christ within herself.

So is this a time when nothing is happening?

The group gathered in the Upper Room needs this time of prayer where nothing seems to be taking place. The friends and family of Jesus no longer have his physical presence, and what they are left with, for better or for worse, is each other. They must receive the mystery of Christ into themselves; they must be prepared to incarnate the presence of Christ for each other and for the world. Because of this wondrous process, Paul can later say:

“Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it” (1 Corinthians 12:27).

It would seem that not even Pentecost can happen without this strange mystery of waiting and being with and for each other in the Upper Room.  It is only when the presence of Christ is growing (you notice that I do not say “finished”) and nurtured in this little community that they can be entrusted with ministry, because only then can they be the presence of Christ in the world.

Isn’t our own call similar to theirs? These first Christians needed each other.  They couldn’t go it alone as Christians, and neither can we.  Like them, when we pray, we wait — if not in an actual Cenacle, in the Cenacle of our hearts — and often we feel as if little or nothing is being accomplished. However, along with the whole communion of saints, those still living (including the motley crew of sinners that we are here tonight) and those who have gone before us, we wait and pray, allowing God to pour out love on us (whether or not we are even aware of it) and to begin transforming us into the loving presence of Christ for each other and for the whole world.

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