on prayer

This essay was originally written for the Sacramento News and Review

I first learned to pray when I was 11 years old. My nonreligious, Air Force colonel father came home one day and declared that the family needed to learn to meditate. The six of us piled into the family car and drove to the Transcendental Meditation center in nearby Amherst, Massachusetts. (This was in the early 70’s.) Each member of the family received private instruction and was given a mantra. For the following two years, meditation was part of our family routine. Before dinner Mom would remind us, “Have you meditated yet?” If we hadn’t, we would trot down to the basement and sit in silence for the prescribed 20 minutes.

While the practice didn’t last longer than the two years we lived in Massachusetts, it did open a quiet place in my soul. Years later, when I entered seminary to become an Episcopal priest, I became very grateful for the gift of meditation. Seminary was hard for me. My undergraduate work at West Point focused on engineering mechanics and computer science. I then spent 5 years in the left-brained world of the Army. In seminary I was completely out of my element. My classmates had all majored in philosophy and religion. I remember trying to read a theology text and having to look up every third word in a dictionary.

Then one day, at noonday prayers, I came across this prayer: O God, you will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are fixed on you; for in returning and rest we shall be saved; in quietness and trust shall be our strength. (Isaiah 26.3 30.15) I wrote the words on a post-it and stuck it on my mirror. I returned to my practice of sitting in silence. I regained my center as I listened to the still, small voice of God.

While I have never been consistent in my spiritual disciplines, prayer has been an important part of my spiritual life. Prayer for me is much more than sharing my concerns with God. Prayer is a way of shaping the way I see the world—of being open to the way God sees the world. In addition to silent prayer, one of my favorite ways of praying is to recite words written by other, more spiritually mature people. In the Episcopal Church, much of our worship consists of reciting, as a community, beautiful enlightening prayers.

One of my favorite prayers comes from a nighttime service. Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep. Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your love's sake. Amen.

I have this prayer memorized and recite it as I am going to sleep. It helps me realize my deep connection with those who “work, or watch, or weep this night.” Prayer invites me into a world that is bigger and more whole than my day-to-day existence.

I’m sure I thought my father was crazy back in 1973. But he introduced me to a priceless gift. Let us pray.