Anthony Bloom

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Theology Today 61 (2004): 26-40 THE LIFE OF PRAYER METROPOLITAN ANTHONY BLOOM IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER ... ery often, if not always, a preacher will start a sermon, or a V/ lecturer, speaking in a Christian context, a lecture with the words V "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit." Do we realize, however, the responsibility the preacher or speaker takes and the responsibility those who hear take upon hearing or speaking these words? To speak in the name of Christ means to speak from within the truth that Christ is. It is not to speak from within some theoretical truth or particular point of view, even if doctrinal. Rather, it is to speak from a profound relationship with the Lord Christ, who is the truth, so that our words will convey not only their semantic meaning but become life to those who receive them. To speak in the name of the Spirit means to speak beyond one's own inspiration, speaking words that are God's own words commit- ted to us; these words must be fire, setting hearts and minds aglow. And to speak in the name of the Father means to speak from within that unfath- omable depth of serenity and silence that alone can bring forth a word adequate to the mystery of God and the serene silence of the divinity. Yet this heavy responsibility also implies an equal responsibility to listen in the same way. We must learn, as we listen, to be deeply silent, completely open. We must listen with all our being in order that it should not be words only that we hear, but true communion with God. We should, therefore, reach through-and perhaps, at times, in spite of and beyond certainty-the words that are spoken, words of truth that are beyond words, words of fire that are beyond emotion. And so, during this encoun- ter, let us try to listen to one another, to be open to each other, and beyond the imperfection of words and images to reach out in faith, in worship and veneration to the Lord of truth in the Spirit of truth. Anthony Bloom, Metropolitan of Sourozh and long-time head of the Russian Orthodox Church in Great Britain, had accepted an invitation to contribute to this special issue of Theology Today with an article on the life of prayer. The author of numerous best-selling works on spirituality and prayer. Metropolitan Anthony died on 4 August 2003, at the age of 89. The present article, edited by the Rev'd Dr. John Chryssavgis and based on a meditation delivered in two sessions during a quiet day in Kemble, England, was generously provided by Bloom's archivists, Tatiana and Helen Maidanovitch, through the Rt Rev'd Bishop Basil of Sergievo in Oxford, England. 26

Transcript of Anthony Bloom

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Theology Today 61 (2004): 26-40

THE LIFE OF PRAYERMETROPOLITAN ANTHONY BLOOM

IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER ...

ery often, if not always, a preacher will start a sermon, or aV/ lecturer, speaking in a Christian context, a lecture with the wordsV "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit." Do werealize, however, the responsibility the preacher or speaker takes and theresponsibility those who hear take upon hearing or speaking these words?

To speak in the name of Christ means to speak from within the truth thatChrist is. It is not to speak from within some theoretical truth or particularpoint of view, even if doctrinal. Rather, it is to speak from a profoundrelationship with the Lord Christ, who is the truth, so that our words willconvey not only their semantic meaning but become life to those whoreceive them. To speak in the name of the Spirit means to speak beyondone's own inspiration, speaking words that are God's own words commit-ted to us; these words must be fire, setting hearts and minds aglow. And tospeak in the name of the Father means to speak from within that unfath-omable depth of serenity and silence that alone can bring forth a wordadequate to the mystery of God and the serene silence of the divinity.

Yet this heavy responsibility also implies an equal responsibility tolisten in the same way. We must learn, as we listen, to be deeply silent,completely open. We must listen with all our being in order that it shouldnot be words only that we hear, but true communion with God. We should,therefore, reach through-and perhaps, at times, in spite of and beyondcertainty-the words that are spoken, words of truth that are beyondwords, words of fire that are beyond emotion. And so, during this encoun-ter, let us try to listen to one another, to be open to each other, and beyondthe imperfection of words and images to reach out in faith, in worship andveneration to the Lord of truth in the Spirit of truth.

Anthony Bloom, Metropolitan of Sourozh and long-time head of the Russian OrthodoxChurch in Great Britain, had accepted an invitation to contribute to this special issue ofTheology Today with an article on the life of prayer. The author of numerous best-sellingworks on spirituality and prayer. Metropolitan Anthony died on 4 August 2003, at the ageof 89. The present article, edited by the Rev'd Dr. John Chryssavgis and based on ameditation delivered in two sessions during a quiet day in Kemble, England, was generouslyprovided by Bloom's archivists, Tatiana and Helen Maidanovitch, through the Rt Rev'dBishop Basil of Sergievo in Oxford, England.

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I was asked to speak on the life of prayer, and I would like to ask acertain number of questions, so that in the periods of silence and recol-lecton that we will have, we may ask ourselves individually the samequestions and answer them; and so that, having found an answer, we maytry to live on, using as our starting-point the answer we have discovered.

To WHOM Do WE PRAY?

This may be an unexpected question with which to begin, but it is bornfrom what I see and hear around me: In order to pray, one must have a Godto whom one addresses one's prayers. So often people come to see me andask me to teach them how to approach a life of prayer; and when I askthem, "Do you believe in God? Is there within your experience a livingGod to whom you could address the words of your prayer, towards whomyou could turn your heart, whom you could invoke-that is, to call tocome and dwell within you?," so often the answer is, "No, I do not havesuch a God. I believe in a first cause of the universe. I believe that theremust be, beyond or in the depth of things, a power that gives themexistence and shape. I believe, with fear, that one day I will be answerablefor my life to a Being whom I do not even know now." And at this pointI always say, "Do not try to pray. Ask yourself more questions, becausepraying is like speaking to a friend. One does not speak to an imaginaryfriend beneficially. One can speak usefully only to a friend who is real, tosomeone with whom one can be face to face. We can address onlysomeone to whom we can open our hearts, who is listening, before whosejudgment we stand, and who will stand by us whether we are in the rightor in the wrong."

So, this is a first question that I would like to ask, time and again, ofmyself, and now of you. When you go around in silence, when youpray, ask yourself: "Is there in my experience a living God, as concrete,as real as my friends, my relatives, some-one and not some-thing, nota power but a real person? The word "God" comes from an ancientgothic word that means "One before whom one falls in adoration." Thatis the primeval experience of humankind about God; it is not someoneabout whom one has heard. The first people who spoke of God spokeof a presence, a reality that at a certain moment had overwhelmed themby its glory, its splendor, its concreteness. If we are here, it means thateach of us, to a greater or lesser extent, has had an experience, perhapsjust incipient or germinal, of a real God. We must recapture this. Thisleads me to a second point.

WHERE Is MY GALILEE?

An old priest once tried to explain to me the passage at the end of theGospel of St Matthew where, at the empty tomb, Christ commanded MaryMagdalene and the other women to tell his disciples to go to Galilee (Matt28:10). I had asked why Christ should say to them, "Go to Galilee, thereyou shall meet Me," when he was already there, in their presence? What

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was the point of sending his disciples to the other end of the Holy Landwhen they were already actually together? The answer I received was asfollows. Galilee had been the honeymoon of their encounter with Christ.They had discovered him as a companion in their childhood, as a friend intheir youth, as a growing man in whom they gradually discerned saintli-ness, beauty, and a dimension that no one else possessed and that madehim their guide, conscience, and master. In him, then, they discovered theincarnate God, who had come to save the world. Later, however, tragedyhad come upon them; Judaea stood for tragedy. What Christ was saying tothem at the end of the Gospel of Matthew was: "Go to the place whereeverything was still peaceful and joyful, where we enjoyed mutual dis-covery." As this priest observed to me, all of us have within ourselves ourown Galilee. All of us, at some time in our lives-perhaps in childhood orperhaps at some other time-have experienced a moment when Christ,God, became real, a moment when eternity came into our lives. Later, weoften lose this sense of communion with God, but this experience is likethe rivers in the desert, which flow and then disappear under the sand, onlyto reappear again, many miles away. So, we must recapture that Galilee,the moment, perhaps the split second, in which God became real and webecame different people. This, therefore, is a second question we must askourselves: "Am I still in Galilee? Do I still possess this experience of aliving God? Is it a memory, however sweet, or is it a real situation for menow?"

In fact, of course, we meet Christ in a great many ways. I mentionedGalilee because very often we have had an experience of Christ in ouryounger days, when tragedy was not yet present and we were simplytaking in either the richness of the faith of our family or the beauty ofliturgical worship and of the world around us. And so we perceivedsomething of God in all of these. Apart from this, however, we meet Christin Jerusalem; we meet him on the roads of life as so many people did. Iwould add another thing: We also meet Christ in hell. You know, one of thegreat things about Christ is what the Apostles' Creed says: "He descendedinito hell." Many people meet God in the depths of despair or in the gripof evil. This is my experience, and it is something that is infinitelyprecious to me. We have a God who does not remain an outsider, simplybeholding from a distance what happens to us or "helping" us by weaklyoffering just two fingers to get us out of the mire. To have a God who isprepared to go to the very depths of the ugliest recesses of our life, ourperson, our heart, and our destiny is a very remarkable thing. I do not meanto limit to Galilee this experience of meeting God but, at times, it is goodto return to our first discoveries. We cannot relive an experience that ispast, but we can look at it with the new richness that life has given us.Then, with renewed experience, we may say, "Yes, that was real." We canstart anew from our own personal Galilee, consciously reintegrating it intoour life instead of simply leaving it, as it were, like the unseen roots of thetree of our life.

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IS OUR PRAYER PERSONAL?

Now, we speak of God as a person. The word "person" indicates a senseof limitation, at least as it is used in modem languages. Nevertheless, theGreek word prosopon, which was used from early times to speak of thethree persons of the Trinity, did not mean a person in the modem sense.Rather, prosopon meant a face. It meant that God could be met face toface, that we can be face to face with the living God. God is not a faceless,eyeless being. He has a beautiful image-of this we are assured in thestory in St John's Gospel of the man bom blind (John 9). This man wasbom blind; he had never seen anything in his life. When Christ gave himhis sight, the first thing he ever saw was the face of God become human,and his eyes met the eyes of divine love and compassion. This is what wemean in saying "God is a person." And so, again, we must ask ourselves:Is our God personal? Have we ever had the experience or the certainty thatfaith gives us that we are face to face with God, with a living God wholistens, who sees, who understands, who is open to us, and who speaks tous?

Let me reflect further on this point. Very often we find it difficult to praybecause when the time comes for prayer we try to find within ourselvesthoughts, feelings, or attitudes that we could present to God, as it were,from within ourselves. And so often we find that we are empty, that we canonly rehearse old words, old stories, old images-that we are like a barrenland. Yet why do we not remember more often that God is the one whotakes the initiative? He is the one who speaks to us first-not in a mysticalsense, not revealing himself in some spectacular way to each of us at anymoment that we may choose to.put ourselves in his presence. No! In theGospel God speaks to us. So why not respond?

IS OUR PRAYER HONEST?

If we take the gospel in our hands-whether we read it systematically oropen it at random-we will be confronted with God in Christ. The livingGod become a living man is addressing himself to us, whether speakingdirectly-giving a commandment, giving advice, explaining some-thing-or simply standing in the glory of his full stature so that we maylook at him and respond. We are called, then, to respond either to hiswords or to the vision of his person. This is something that we can alwaysdo, if we are honest. But honesty is not something that is very easy to findwithin ourselves, because we are so used to being careful; but if we arehonest in a merciless manner, we can ask ourselves, "And what is yourresponse? How do you respond to Christ's actions? You see Christ goingto the sinners, opening his arms to them, speaking to them with reverence,with tendemess, calling out of them all the hidden beauty that was and isthere." So, how do I respond to this? As an inspiration? As a challenge? Ordo I say, "Times have changed, and I am not Christ?" Do I receive themessage or do I tum the message out of my way? The same applies to thewords of Christ. Do they make my heart burn within me? Do they give

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light to my mind? Do they stir me up or do I remain indifferent, saying,"O, I have heard that so often; yes, yes, I know that"? Do I recoil fromsome of these words?

Then, according to each of these reactions, I can respond. I can say tothe Lord, "Thank you! You have touched in me a chord that has begun tosing and that will never stop singing in me." Or, I can say, "How terrible!You speak, my God, and I have nothing to say except to shrug myshoulders." Or else I can say, "How terrible! I am saying no to you in yourwords and in the revelation of your heart and mind and action." If werespond in this manner to the words or to the image presented to us, wewill always be able to elicit from within ourselves something that is aprayer-a sigh, groan, tear, or word of shame, gratitude, joy, or sorrow. Itmay not be a long discourse, but who needs a long discourse? When wespeak to a friend in exhilaration or in shame, misery, or happiness, it is notthe length of what we say that counts-it is the truth that sounds in ourhearts and in our words.

Our feelings of God's absence. . . allow us to gauge whetherGod means a great deal, a little, or perhaps nothing in ourlife-whether he is an old habit, a superstition, a guest or afriend, or even the very light of our life.

This is what it means to look at Christ'as he reveals himself in thegospel. It is important for us to read attentively and not allow ourselves tosay within our minds and hearts, "O, I have already read that; I know thestory!" It is not simply a narrative of a story in the past; the gospel offersa living encounter with the person of Christ in the present. Time and again,we can be amazed at what happens-at the man and at the God who standsbefore us. And, if we are attentive, if we look deeply into this person whoreveals himself both in words and in action, we may learn a great dealabout praying.

There is a short story, "Great Stone Face"' by Nathaniel Hawthorne(1804-64), that runs more or less like this: High in the Andes, on the banksof a deep pond, stood a little village. Opposite the pond, from timeimmemorial, one of the villagers had carved the face of their god, a faceof extreme beauty, a face of greatness and serenity, love and strength,There was a legend in this village that one day their god would come andlive in their midst. Centuries passed, but nothing happened. The villagersworshipped this god of stone, but he remained stone and statue, distant anddead. Then, one day, a child was born in this village. In his childhood, the

'Available online at http://www.classicreadercom/read.php/sid.6/bookid.7 26 / (2 Dec.2003).

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beauty of the face carved in the rock captivated him. He crawled to thebrink of the abyss and looked, and looked, and looked. When he grew up,he walked to the stone carving, spending hours gazing at it. And as helooked at this face, taking in all its beauty, its greatness, its nobility, andthe serenity that poured from it, as well as the strength that filled thisserenity, his own face gradually began to change. And one day, thevillagers saw him passing along the only street in the village and noticedthat all the expression that they had so loved in the carving of their godwas now on the face of this young man. The miracle had happened; theirgod was in their midst.

There is a way in which we can take in the beauty and greatness of Godin Christ and become like him-through the commandments that revealthe heart and mind of Christ, through his actions, and simply through ourcontemplation of the beauty that shines through the gospel. Then Christ'simage is revived, and our distorted features become harmonized by theinner power of divine beauty working in us. At that point, prayer becomescontemplation, communion, the joy of being at one to such an extent that,according to the word of Christ, he might live in us, and we in him, so thatour "life is hidden with Christ in God" (Col 3:3).

Is GOD "ABSENT" IN PRAYER?Of course, this is not what happens all the time. We cannot always be soperceptive. There is a limit to what we can take in emotionally. There isa limit to what our minds can contain, and there is a limit simply to ourability to contain more than what has filled us at any given moment. So,we must be prepared for the fact that there will be moments when we feelwe have nothing to say, when we can only be with God, unable to have anyemotion or new thought. Perhaps there will be moments when only agesture, and nothing more, can express what we feel. Or, there may bemoments when-and this, in a way, is a delusion-we suddenly feel thatGod is not there. Still, there is another side to what we call the "absence"of God. For one thing, God is never absent; we may not perceive hispresence, but he is there. A story from the life of St Anthony of Egyptillustrates this. After days and days of temptation, trial, and struggle, whenthe pressure of evil had receded from him, Anthony lay exhausted on thebarren earth, and there Christ appeared to him. Unable to stand or evenkneel before Christ, Anthony cried, "Lord! Where were you when I was inthe struggle?" Christ replied, "I was here, Anthony, standing invisibly byyour side, ready to step in if you had given way." We must remember thatthe Lord is there; but we are sent into the world to do his work. Therefore,there are moments when it is for us to struggle, for us to be wounded, forus to be exhausted. Far too easily, however, we tend to say, "To you 0,Lord, the Cross; to me salvation and glory." We may not actually voice thisbecause we believe we are too pious but, by our actions, we declare it. Weexpect God to save us and to reap the fruits ourselves.

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We are sent into the world. But there are, in fact, moments when wehave this sense of the absence of God. Yet, what right have we to hiscontinued presence? If we ask ourselves this question, we often feel forcedinto answering that we could rejoice in God's continued, unceasingpresence. It would, of course, be exhilarating if we were perfectly open tohim; but we are not. Our minds and hearts are cluttered and clotted withall sorts of things that have nothing to do with the Kingdom of God-building the Kingdom, being part of the Kingdom, being citizens of theCity of God. So, we cannot even claim that we have a right; indeed, thisright is not given to us. Moreover, it is so important for us-whetherperiodically or, at times, for extended periods-to be aware that God isfree to come to us and free to allow us to search for him. We should realizethat God's perceived absence does not mean he is not there, but only thathe allows us to perceive what life would be like for us if he actually werenot there. In a way, his absence is like a hunger. Yet, it is a hunger that onlydrives us to strive to find him more determinedly (and perhaps, at times,more desperately). For we all too easily feel content and satisfied witwhat we possess; we become accustomed to possessing. We possessfriends, parents-so many things. It is only when these are taken awayfrom us, or when their loss is threatened, that we begin to value them fully.

WHERE IS OUR TREASURE?

If you ever have perceived, or perhaps now perceive that God is not therefor you, ask yourself how much you need him. Is God a luxury in your lifeor is he of the essence of your life? I remember a man who, years ago,came to see me-a wealthy and powerful man, at least within his owndomain. He said to me, "Father Anthony, I want God." I replied, "Whatfor?" He said, "Because it will be the crown of all that I possess." I toldhim, "You want God like other people want central heating in teir houses,for more comfort." He asked what was wrong with that. Everything iswrong with that! One does not add the pearl of great price to one's otherpossessions; instead, one sells all one possesses to acquire this pearl (Matt13:45-6). Our feelings of God's absence are very important because theyallow us to gauge whether God means a great deal, a little, or perhapsnothing in our life-whether he is an old habit, a superstition, a guest ora friend, or even the very light of our life.

Therefore, prayer is addressed to him who alone is able to gratify ourdeepest longings and desires. This is a frightening thought, but it meansthat we cannot reduce praying to pious expressions. We cannot reduceprayer to what we think is right with regard to God, to ourselves, to ourneighbor, or to the world in which we live. We must ask ourselves, "Howmuch am I at one with the words I pronounce and how much do I wish myprayer would not be heard?" There is a famous prayer in which StAugustine (354-430), after he began to understand that his ways werewrong, turned to God and said, "Lord, grant me chastity-but not yet!"(Conf.). He was an honest man-a great deal more honest than most of us

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are. What he was saying to God, in all honesty was, "I know that this isthe right thing. I have made a basic choice. Yet, my flesh, my heart, myhabits, and my longings cannot adhere to this intention of mine." So, it isimportant for us to ask ourselves, time and again: "How much does myprayer, or the words I use when I turn to God, express my whole being?Or, how much effort am I making to pray for the right thing, while I stilllong for the wrong one?"

At different moments, different people will assess their situations dif-ferently, but we all are divided within ourselves. St Paul, a much greatersaint than any one of us, tells of two laws at war inside him: the law of thespirit and the law of corruption (Rom 7:14-23). In all of us, the same twolaws are at war. Does this mean that, when we pray for the right thing yetlong for the wrong thing, we are hypocritical or untrue? No! Much, if notall, in our spiritual life depends on the choices we make, more than on ouractual achievements. At the moment we choose God, our prayer becomesa cry addressed to God for freedom, liberation, and healing-but it mustbe a genuine prayer. We must first of all realize that we need healing andliberation; then, we must cry for it from the deep, even if we have reachedrock-bottom, however much we are tossed and beguiled. We may well bein the grip of temptation and yet hate it; we may honestly cry for salvation.However, we must not be deluded that, because we have used the rightwords, we are already at the point where these words should lead us.

It is enormously important for us to be true, which means to seeourselves as we are, at least to the extent to which we are capable of doingthis. One of our spiritual guides from the turn of twentieth century, St Johnof Kronstadt, was a priest in Russia, near St Petersburg. St John said thatGod allows us to see ourselves as he sees us, but only to the extent towhich he recognizes in us enough faith and enough hope that we will notbe crushed by our own vision of the darkness within us. So, we should nottry to see more than God reveals. Yet, we must always be prepared to looksquarely at what God is indeed revealing to us and, in turn, to offer thesevery things-this darkness, this twilight-back to God so that he may healus. God can save the sinner we are; he cannot save the saint we are not.When we recognize honestly who we are, we establish the kind ofrelationship with Christ for which the Son of God became the Son ofMan-we become the object of God's salvation. The moment we close oureyes to our need for salvation and try to imagine ourselves already ascitizens of heaven, we are beyond the reach of the outstretched arms ofGod and refuse to accept his salvation.

WHAT OF THE LENGTH OF OUR PRAYER?

It is important to be true to prayer in our motivations. It is also veryimportant to be true in the concrete moment. Whether we come to prayerin the morning or in the evening, one question we can ask ourselves is this:"Am I in a hurry to finish praying? Am I too busy with something else? Or,is life pressing so hard on me that I am torn away from the joy of praying

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and forced into doing instead of being with God, rejoicing in his pres-ence?" When the day begins, do I take my stand before God and say to theLord, "I have come out of this night's sleep, as Lazarus came out of thegrave. As far as my awareness-or my consciousness-was concerned, Iwas not there at all. I was as good as dead, and you have called me backto awareness, consciousness, and life. Before me now, there stretches awhole day-a day that is new, a day that has never existed before. And Iam called to walk into it in your name; it stretches before me like a vastplain covered with snow; let my footsteps be straight, let me not pollute itswhiteness, let me only mark a path in it that is a right path." Then we cango into the new day. So, are we longing for God's presence? Do I feel, atthe end of my prayer, that it would be so wonderful if, instead of hurriedlywalking into the new day, I could stay with the Lord a longer time?

It is also a good question to ask about the length of prayer: Why do wenot have more time? In a way, praying is very much like bird-watching. Iam not a bird-watcher, but I have leamed the mechanism of this pastimefrom others. If you want to watch birds, you must get up before the birdsawaken; if you wait until they are gone, it is too late. So, the bird-watcherarises earlier than the birds, goes into the field or the wood, and settlesabsolutely still and alert, utterly quiet and immobile, and yet intenselyalive to all that may happen. Bird-watchers must not prejudge or predictwhat they will see or hear; if they expect to hear one thing, they will missthe thing that actually happens. Or, if they expect to see one animal, theymay well miss the other that appears. So there is intense alertness,complete stillness, and complete openness.

Now, there is one thing that differentiates us from the bird-watcher. Towatch birds, the bird-watcher is prepared to get up earlier than the birds.We are not prepared to get up earlier than is convenient for us to get ourbreakfast and be gone in order to meet the Lord. And yet, I remember aJapanese man once saying to me, "I understand in the Christian faith theFather and the Son; what I simply cannot understand is the HonorableBird." Well, we should be able to watch the "Honorable Bird," to be readyfor the Spirit of God to meet us. However, we cannot do that simply oncommand. We cannot say, "Lord, I have had my bath, I have had mybreakfast, I am dressed. My umbrella stands here in the comer, I must starton my way; come, give me a quick blessing!" Yet, this is what we do veryoften. By contrast, if we want to see someone whom we really love, wecannot even sleep! Yet, how well we sleep in view of meeting the Lord!We love him, of course; but not the way we feel excited about the thoughtof someone we love arriving from abroad, or simply coming from the nexttown to stay with us again. Another question, then, that we can askourselves, is what we mean by saying, "I love the Lord, and therefore Ipray?" What kind of love is this? How much do I want to pray? How muchtime do we spend talking to one another, and how much do we enjoysitting together silently by the hearth! Is there any such relationshipbetween us and God?

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And then evening comes. Evening is another problem: We are tired, wehave spent the entire day doing something and now it is time to pray. Yet,in what disposition do we pray? If we have been preoccupied all day withthings that have nothing to do with praying, if we have been immersed ina secular activity, we may shut our doors and begin to be silent, saying toGod, "How wonderful! At last, we are alone together" Or, we may pourout our hearts to him, sharing the day's events, concerns, worries, and joys.And this being done, we may say, "Yes, this is the work that we have donetogether, and now let us be together again; let me think of you now."

There is a brief but beautiful poem by Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926)entitled "You, Neighbor God." 2 Here the poet writes, "Lord! The night hascome! All alone in your Heaven; I can hear you stir. You may feel lonely:I want you to know that I remember you!" These simple, brief linesconvey a living sense that God and I are connected. This is not atheological statement; it is a lyrical sense of the poet's attitude towardGod. There is loneliness in God, in the sense that God offers all of us hislove, yet so few of us are open to receive it. To taste of it, yes; to snatchsomething of it, perhaps; to use it, certainly. But not just to share quietlyor rest contentedly as one does with a person whom one loves.

WHY Do WE PRAY?

We have a certain longing to be with God. But there are so many otherreasons why we begin to pray: We may be troubled about something.Having found no solution either in friends or in ourselves, in the lastresort, we turn to God. We share our problem and ask God to do somethingabout it. There is, of course, the power of intercession on behalf of others,which I shall consider below. But, for the moment, what I want to say isthat we share our problems and worries with God in the hope that he willdo something. Nevertheless, we must ask ourselves what God is to do. Isour prayer to God very often a way of saying, "My will be done, 0, Lord,not yours!"? Again, we may feel ourselves too polite or too pious to saythis in so many words and so crudely, but how many of our prayers amountto telling God what he really should do, if only he were as wise as we are?

And then, there is another attitude I have encountered-a sort ofsuperstitious fear that, if I do not pray, then somehow things will not be allright. The ceiling may fall on me, the floor collapse under me, or a mousemay creep into my bed, depending upon your own particular terror. I knowthat from experience. I remember many years ago my spiritual fatherasking me, "Do you enjoy praying?" I replied, "Yes." He continued, "Doyou pray a lot?" I said, "Yes." "What happens to you," he asked, "if youhave had a very hard day and feel so tired that you simply can't pray anymore?" I responded, "I feel very uneasy." "Hmm," he said, "the ceilingmay fall on you if it is not supported by your prayers?" So, quite

2Available on line in the Geranan original at http://rainer-maria-rilke.de/05aO06nachbargott.htmil (2Dec. 2003). The following quotation was freely rendered by the author.

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reluctantly, I said, "Yes, yes." And he said, "You know what that means?It means simply that it is not in God's love or concern or providence thatyou trust; it's in your prayers. You think that you can give him so muchpraying and he will pay you back with so much care."

I did not feel happy about what he said, but I had nothing much to sayin response. What he added was even worse. He said, "Well, you mustlearn to trust God." What a rewarding thought! "And to do that," he said,"I forbid you to pray at all. Before going to bed you will say five times,together with five prostrations to the ground, 'At the prayers of those wholove me, save me.' And then you will go to bed, and not one prayer more.But you should then begin to ask yourself, who are the people who loveyou? Into whose care and under whose wings or protection are you saferthan through your own begging? And when a face emerges, a name comesto mind, thank God for them, thank them for their love and rejoice in thefact that you are secure in their love."

According to the love that both God and other people giveme gratuitously, I can hope-madly perhaps-for salvation.

The first time I went to bed after the exercise, I felt extremely bad. Ilooked at the ceiling, and then I began to ask myself, "Now, who? Who arethe people who love me?" It was quite easy in fact: There was my mother,my grandmother, my father, this or that person, and more-my spiritualfather, among others! That night, I never reached more than a small circleof people, because I fell sleep. But gradually, as I went day after dayremembering those under whose wings I was safe, it even occurred to methat God loves us! The first days I concentrated on people, but then Irealized: The Lord Jesus Christ loves me. "Our Father who is in Heaven"loves me. The Mother of God loves me. My guardian angel loves me. Thesaint whose name I bear loves me. And so I began to feel safe and, in theprocess, I discovered something about the communion of saints: I am safebecause I am loved. According to what I deserve, I am damned because Iam no good. But according to the love that both God and other people giveme gratuitously, I can hope-madly perhaps-for salvation. Therefore, ina sense, the whole of my prayer and the whole of my life can come underthe heading of gratitude! I can be grateful for the divine love and humanlove that are my salvation, although I do not in any way deserve this love.The gratuitousness of this love was and remains so wonderful! Whatbegan as a prayer that resulted from superstition-because I was preventedfrom praying and subsequently forced to concentrate on the love of Godand of other people-now shifted from superstitious fear to joyful prayer.And joyful prayer does not require many words; it requires only this

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certainty of a gratuitous love to which I can merely respond, and not theother way round.

Moreover, there are moments when our minds are occupied by otherdesires than prayer-not because we are so tired but because the momentI finish praying I can do something much more enticing! If I were honest,I might say, "Lord, I will be as quick as I can. You know all my misdeeds,so I don't need to relate them in detail." I can say, "I regret all my wrongs.You know that I am grateful; you know the people who need my prayers;so, wholesale, here they are, bless all those whom I carry in my heart, andbless me to go to bed quickly because there is such an exciting detectivenovel on my bedside!" Now, don't tell me it has never happened to you!Again, perhaps not with the same crudeness that I describe; after all, I ama crude person. It may have happened in a more surreptitious manner; youmay have said all your prayers, but with an eye toward your bedside tableand an Agatha Christie novel. I think that one of the best things we can dobefore praying is to place ourselves in the presence of God and askourselves, "What is my disposibon? Why am I here? Is it because I wastrained that way? Because I have some fear, perhaps superstition? BecauseI must go through the narrow gate of praying before I can go to the vastspace of the detective novel? Or is it because I really want to be with God,because it is so good to be with him? Again, this is a way of being true.If you are confronted with the first situation, then, indeed, it is quite easyto tum to God and say, "I am ashamed of myself I don't trust your love.I really want to support the ceiling with my prayers. I am not very willingto stay with you long because there is something more attractive in mylife," and so forth. From there can develop a real prayer of contrition, ofrepentance-with a little broken-heartedness and quite a lot of healthyshame. Having honestly said it all, we can gratefully turn to God and behappy that, in spite of it all, he continues to love us faithfully, because heis the one who is always faithful.

WHAT IS A RULE OF PRAYER?People ask about the varieties of prayer: petition, thanksgiving, praise, andintercession. Usually petition is placed at the very bottom of the list, as faras quality is concemed. Writers always seem to consider petition as alower form of prayer because it is a way of stretching out one's hand andsaying, "Please, give." Have you ever thought that it requires a great dealmore faith to ask God for something with an inner certainty that you willbe heard, if not always satisfied-more than it takes to praise God or tothank God? We may thank God after the event; that is not difficult. If weare not even capable of thanking someone for what they have done, wesimply have very little social courtesy; it is neither mystical nor superiorAgain, to praise God for what he is at moments when we are aware of hisholiness, his greatness, and his beauty is not a problem. To praise himbecause we know that he is all these things is quite simple. Yet to ask, withthe certainty of being heard, is so much more difficult. It is not enough to

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say at the end of a petition, "And this we ask for Christ's sake," becauseto attach this kind of praise at the end of a prayer is not a magic trick. Thename of Christ is not an amulet. It simply means that, if I ask in Christ'sname or for Christ's sake, then my prayer must be such that Christ couldhave prayed it in my stead. Or, if you prefer, by saying this, I am sayingthat it is Christ praying in me; it is the Holy Spirit praying in me thatpronounces these words of prayer.

Finally, a brief word about a rule of prayer. This is a question that is noteasy to address in a universal way because it depends on both the lengthof your rule of prayer and also on the kind of work you are doing. But Ithink that, if we know how to use time, we can have a great deal more ofit than we imagine. There is a Russian divine who says that half an hourof deep communion with God in prayer can replace several hours of sleep.So, if we could leam to pray deeply, we could economize on our sleep andhave more time. In regard, however, to a rule, it is not for me to give anykind of guidepost, for a rule of prayer is a school in which we try tooutgrow our own experience, our own knowledge of God, our ownresponses, and our whole stature. We do this by entering into communionwith the knowledge of God, with the experience and with the stature ofmen and women greater than we are. And so, by reading the prayers ofsaints, wise elders, or heroes of the spirit, we are doing two things. To acertain extent-to the extent, that is, to which we already share what theseprayers express-it is our own prayer that we are offering in their words.To the extent, however, to which we do not yet share either the experienceor the knowledge, we receive these in faith, and we bring them forth as anact of faith to God. What in fact matters, humanly speaking, is the messagewe receive that allows us to enter into this experience and gain theknowledge of God that gradually opens us up, so that slowly we under-stand more and begin to outgrow our old selves.

There is one special advantage when we have a rule of prayer Byincluding the prayers of saints, we have the opportunity to spend sometime-and I do not mean daily, but in the course of our life-reflecting asdeeply as we can over what these prayers tell us. By reflecting, I do notmean abstract meditation. I simply mean taking a passage and askingourselves what this passage in a given prayer is actually saying (we can dothe same with the Scriptures). Not what can I read into it, but what is infact there? Then, we may ask ourselves, "Do I know anything along theselines?" And so, I can collect all that I know along this line so that itcrystallizes with these words and phrases. At the end, we may askourselves, "What is there that this saint or this writer knew that I do notyet know, that is still the future in my discoveries?" And when we cometo use these prayers, then, what has crystallized around these words willcome to life in us all of a sudden. The rest will stand before us as an openfield of mystery that we accept with reverence. Indeed, if we believe inChrist's words that, for God, there are no dead people but everyone is alive(Luke 20:38), then we also can pray to the saint or the author of the prayer,

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"You expressed your experience in these words, but I cannot share themcompletely. Bring them to God for me!"

This method will lead us to a moment when we no longer need to plodfrom word to word but can respond immediately with all our soul to everyphrase. When I was in my late teens, I used to read the lections in one ofthe churches in Paris during the services. One evening I had completed myreading alongside a very old Russian deacon, who had lost all his teeth andmost of his voice, so he was not exceedingly clear in his reading orsinging. Indeed, in addition to this, he was so quick in his reading that evenmy eyes could not follow the lines. When he had finished, I addressed himwith the arrogance of youth, "Well, Father Eftimiy, you have stolen thewhole service from me. And, what is worse, you have missed it yourself."The elderly deacon looked at me and, with tears in his eyes, said, "Forgiveme! But you know, I was an orphan and was sent to a monastery by myfamily when I was just seven because there was no money and no food inthe house. That is where I was brought up. Since then, for more thanseventy-five years, I have heard and read these words, and now my soulhas become like a harp. The moment that I see the words, it is as thougha hand touches the cords and all my soul begins to sing."

That was a profound lesson to me. His experience is far greater and farmore beautiful than plodding along, from word to word, with deepknowledge and moving understanding of the words. Here was a man wholooked at these words, and it was as though a hand were playing on thecords of his soul, and he sang. He sang, he sang, his entire soul sang. Thisexperience is something toward which we can gradually move. There is noneed, then, to be in a hurry to get through the words of a service. Instead,we should identify with them in such a way-receiving their message sodeeply in us-that we may at a glance take them in and come to life beforeGod as a living hymn.

This is why we must learn silence, the way of praying so deeply, sointensely that it is beyond words, that all we can do is to commune silently.If we are confronted with the words of a rule of prayer, we read the firstwords and afterward drown in silence for the length of time we would giveto reading what is our regular rule. Then, we can say that we have read ourrule, because the aim of the rule is to bring us into God's presence, and thishas already happened. To abandon God for the sake of a written text wouldnot be very wise. This is what I would say from my angle about a rule ofprayer. Of course, I cannot speak for someone-say a monastic-who hasa rule to perform, and I cannot say the same to someone for whom I haveno spiritual responsibility.

ABSTRACT

This article comprises a spiritual exploration into the life of prayer from aChristian Orthodox perspective. The author, a well-known writer on spiritu-

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ality, describes the importance and power of prayer, as well as the livingtrinitarian God whom we address in prayer. Here, he underlines the personaland authentic elements of the praying person, while clarifying issues such the"presence" or "absence" of God in prayer. Emphasis is placed on the heart asthe sacred treasury and point of encounter with the living God. Finally, theauthor also examines such matters as the length and rule in the practice ofprayer.

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TITLE: The Life of PrayerSOURCE: Theol Today 61 no1 Ap 2004

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