“Rising very early before dawn, he left 

and went off to a deserted place, where he prayed.”

Prayer is hard. I do believe there are some people who have a special charism, or gift, for praying or interceding for others. For them, prayer may be like a spring welling up and overflowing from within, requiring expression. It can’t be held back, but it also comes at a cost: sleepless nights, being misunderstood, upholding the burdens of others, the suffering of love. Even for them, prayer isn’t exactly easy. For the rest of us, prayer can seem like a chore, difficult to prioritize when faced with overbooked schedules, immediate communications, on demand entertainment, family relationships and responsibilities, and the economic pressures of high performance. Even in the midst of a pandemic, more time alone, and fewer calendar obligations, I have found that it is still difficult to overcome spiritual inertia to spend more time praying. Likewise, with malaise, insecurity, and tension, sometimes all I seem to be able to muster is following the path of least resistance. Not only that, but prayer is just one part of following Jesus. There is also lifelong education and formation, fellowship, service, and stewarding the resources God has given us. Encountering God in our lives requires prayer, but not just prayer. Discipleship is a way of life that necessarily includes, but is not limited to, prayer. 

As a priest, I have heard the perspective that sees ministry and action as being a sort of prayer. This is sometimes expressed as, “My whole life is a prayer.” It usually implies, “I don’t need to pray because my whole life is a prayer.” That’s poetic and certainly Jesus is encountered in the various areas and relationships of our lives, but it doesn’t really work. It doesn’t take the place of actually praying. As Vicar for Priests, one truth that I have learned is that priests facing difficult behaviors or problems have almost always stopped praying. It may not be a cause, specifically, but it is certainly an indicator of other issues. In a sense, for me, not praying is like not making my bed. When I was going through a difficult time in seminary, a priest shared with me that when he was in seminary an older priest had shared with him that a sure way to know you are called to be a priest is if you make your bed every morning before mass. Of course, that’s not universally true, but before I heard that, I never made my bed before mass and since then I have only failed to do so a handful of times. It’s a simple daily action that serves as a barometer for my vocation. When I don’t make my bed, I can be certain there is something that needs attention in my life or my relationship with God. When I don’t actually pray, I better find out what’s really going on, as well. 

But prayer is also much more than a barometer. St. Thérèse of Lisieux, known as The Little Flower, said, “For me, prayer is a surge of the heart; it is a simple look turned toward heaven, it is a cry of recognition and of love, embracing both trial and joy.” It is not just something we do, but a response to the God who has created us for relationship with him. We were made to pray. While we face obstacles to praying, may feel like our prayer is dry or rote, or wonder if anyone is there, St. Ephrem the Syrian said, “Birds fly, fish swim and human beings pray.” Prayer is how humans were made to breathe. Thomas Keating, a priest and Trappist monk, wrote, “we open our awareness to God whom we know by faith is within us, closer than breathing, closer than thinking, closer than choosing—closer than consciousness itself.” I encourage you to make this coming Lent, in the midst of all our current obstacles, a time of real prayer. See our bulletin, weekly email, or website (www.stpatlou.org/contemplative) for one exciting opportunity to enter more deeply into contemplative prayer during Lent at St. Pats. Don’t let the obstacles stand in the way of who you were made to be. Let your spirit breathe.