Called to Prayer

March 5, 2006

The Rev. Penny Rather

The Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Laramie

© Penny Rather. All rights reserved.

For years, my home church, the UU Fellowship of Boulder, sang on Sunday mornings from collections of photocopied hymns that were just stapled together in covers made of black construction paper. I remember the excitement when we finally raised enough money to buy a set of the new hymnals published by the Unitarian Universalist Association. Singing the Living Tradition, the same hymnals we have here in Laramie.

As several of us gathered one Saturday to paste the dedication bookplates in the hymnals, I was talking to one of the oldest and most respected members of the church. This member was in his eighties; his heritage was Jewish, but his youth had been spent in a secular Jewish home, and he had been a Unitarian Universalist for many years.

As my friend looked through the hymns and the readings he came upon the page that begins the readings and which lists them by type. The first section is – appropriately enough – “Opening Words.” And that section is followed by “ Chalice Lightings,” “Affirmations, Covenants, and Confessions,” and them “Meditations and Prayers.” When he got to that section I hear him grumble and mumble something.

“What was that?” I asked. “I didn’t hear you.”

“What’s this goddamned section of prayers doing here? That doesn’t belong in a UU hymnal. We don’t pray. Who the hell would we pray to anyway?”

Several people at the table chuckled or murmured assent with varying degrees of enthusiasm, and we went on with the task of readying the new hymnals for the next morning’s service. But the more I thought about my friend’s remarks, the more I was intrigued by his reflection of a tendency that is common among Unitarian Universalists – a selective response to traditional religious language.

Why did he object so strenuously to calling some of the readings in our hymnal “prayers,” and yet let phrases like “this goddamned section” and “who the hell” flow off his lips like butter? Have you ever said – either to yourself or out loud – “Damn it!” when you stubbed your toe or “Jesus!” when someone cut you off in traffic? Have you ever thought, “Heaven help me” when faced with a situation that tested your physical or emotional strength? And winced when a friend or relative has said, “I’ll pray for you”? Or cringed when you’ve heard the words sin, salvation, or sacrament? I know I have.

Why are many of us comfortable with using some religious words – understanding that they may mean something different to us than to someone else – but not others? Probably it is mostly just habit. We exclaim words with religious origins in times of stress without even thinking about what they mean. Or maybe it is easier to use the language of the religions we have abandoned in negative ways than in positive ways.

But religious language is powerful language. So we mustn’t take it lightly or use it frivolously. Because religious language is powerful, it behooves us to reclaim it in ways that reflect liberal religion. If we abandon words of faith to the religious right, we give up some powerful resources for our spiritual journeys.

For those of us who came to Unitarian Universalism out of hurtful experiences with other religions – like I did – it is natural to go through a period of rejecting anything that reminds us of our spiritual wounds. But as we mature spiritually, we develop the ability to move beyond narrow definitions of religious words and limiting interpretations of religious experience.

There is a well known Zen dictum that in the beginning a mountain is a mountain, then it is no longer a mountain, then it is a mountain again. So it can be with religious language. In the reading this morning, Rabbi Johnson said that we don’t know we are praying because we have allowed religion to define the word prayer for us.

Perhaps when we were younger, we did let the religion of our youth define prayer for us. And when we outgrew that religion, we thought we had also outgrown prayer. But as we mature spiritually, we can discover a different definition of prayer. In the beginning a prayer is a prayer, then it is no longer a prayer, then it is a prayer again.

Now, I am not advocating for an indiscriminate re-definition of religious words. Just as it would be absurd to call a tree a car, it would be meaningless – and irresponsible – to use religious language arbitrarily. But there are at least two ways that we can come to new understandings of religious words.

For one, we can look at various definitions of those words, and see what they mean from different perspectives. Or we can explore the experiences to which words of faith are pointing. And if either some meaning of a word or the experience it reflects is has meaning for us, we can reclaim it as our own.

Just briefly, let me report that my online and hard copy dictionary search on the word prayer usually – but not always – said something about addressing God. One definition used the phrase “God or some other object of worship.” And if we look at the origin of the word worship, we see that it comes from the Old English woerthscrippen, meaning to ascribe worth. Yet another definition spoke of prayer as connecting with the transcendent. That could mean transcendent of the natural world, or it could mean transcendent of one’s everyday experience.

Could prayer be addressing the mystery that some call God? Or that higher part of our minds and hearts that transcends our everyday experience and that we find of worth? So, just this cursory review of the definition of the word prayer encourages me to take a look at what I think is the more interesting question of the experience of prayer.

For that I look at what various traditions teach about prayer, what people whom I respect say about prayer, and my own response to things that move the spirit of my heart. Since music is an especially evocative form of prayer, I have selected several short hymns from our hymnal that embody various experiences of prayer. When we get to them, please help me deliver this morning’s message by singing together.

First, what some religious traditions teach about prayer. The similarities between Roman Catholic descriptions of the types of prayer and Buddhist descriptions of the types of wisdom surprised me when I noticed them. But in retrospect, it just illustrates one of the universals of human experience.

In the Catholic tradition there are three types of prayer. Discursive prayer is verbal or vocal prayer. This includes reciting the Psalms, singing, and addressing God through liturgy or personal conversation. Meditation, in the Catholic tradition is an active engagement of the intellect and the emotions around a particular subject, a scriptural passage, for instance. And Catholic Contemplation is a practice of emptying the mind so that it can be filled by the spirit of God.

Buddhism teaches that wisdom comes from three practices that are very similar to the Catholic categories of prayer. Wisdom of learning comes from reading or hearing talks of Buddhist masters. That sounds a little like discursive prayer to me. The next two can be a little confusing because the Buddhist expressions is the reverse of the Catholic terminology. In Buddhist contemplation, wisdom comes from thinking about a text or a teaching; turning it over in one’s mind and letting it work on one’s emotions. The wisdom of Buddhist meditation comes from settling the mind so that the ultimate truths of impermanence and no-self can be experienced.

The fact that two such different traditions as Catholicism and Buddhism can describe prayer and wisdom in such a similar way helps me appreciate the limitations of language and softens my resistance to the word prayer.

In his book When Bad Things Happen to Good People, Rabbi Harold Kushner writes:

Prayer, when it is offered in the right way, redeems people from isolation. It assures them that they need not feel alone and abandoned. It lets them know that they are part of a greater reality, with more depth, more hope, more courage, and more of a future than any individual could hove by himself [sic]. One goes to a religious service, one recites the traditional prayers, not in order to find God . . . but to find a congregation, to find people with whom you can share that which means the most to you. (p.121-122)

So prayer connects us to one another. That is something I surely find meaningful. Please stand as you are willing and able and join in singing Hymn #389, “Gathered Here.” Dave will play it through once, and then we will sing it through together once and as a round twice.

Hymn #389, “Gathered Here.”

If prayer connects us to each other in religious community, it also connects us to other things of worth. To our own deepest selves, for one thing. To the best and the most holy parts of ourselves. To those parts of ourselves that transcend our own best interests, our small identities, and our everyday concerns. This can happen when Buddhist meditation or Catholic contemplation helps us slow our minds down to hear the still, small voice within.

The Jewish tradition also teaches various ways to pray. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel’s description of prayer in Man’s Quest for God reminds me of Catholic meditation and Buddhist contemplation. He writes:

To pray is to know how to stand still and to dwell upon a word. . . The worshiper must direct the heart to each and every word, like one who walks in a garden collecting roses and rare flowers, plucking them one by one, in order to weave a garland. So the worshiper moves from letter to letter, from word to word, uniting them in prayer. Every word seized hold of me and cleaves to the soul, and entreats me not to abandon it, not to break their bond, saying: Consider my light, my grace, my splendor. Am I not the word ‘Baruch’ (Blessed)? Hearken to me when you pronounce me. Consider me when you utter me.

These are ways that prayer connects us with our inner wisdom and light. Please stand and join in singing Hymn #391, “Voice Still and Small.”

      Hymn #391 “Voice Still and Small”

Prayer can also connect us with what is good and beautiful in the world. When I heard the anthem this morning, I thought to myself how often experiences in nature cause me to “feel the spirit moving in my heart.” I am partial to sunrises, and I often feel like I am a part of them, in the midst of infinite space and color. The mountains in springtime sets my heart a-flutter. Gazing at the stars on a clear moonless night stops me in my tracks and causes me to contemplate my place in the universe.

These experiences remind me that it is a joy to be alive. That life and beauty are gifts – from no one in particular – that I have not earned; that I do not deserve; but by which I am blessed. They make me want to give praise and thanks. To no one in particular; but the need to give thanks is the need to pray. Please join in singing “Gaudeamus Hodie” (“Let Us Rejoice Today”). This is another round. Dave will play it through once, and then we will sing it through together once and as a round twice. Please stand and sing Hymn #390.

Hymn #390 “Gaudeamus Hodie” (“Let Us Rejoice Today”)

As grateful as we are for the beauty we celebrate when we sing or say prayers of praise and thanks, we must always keep in mind our obligation to make the world a better place. And prayer can connect us also with our purpose on earth. Many of the world’s greatest advocates for peace and justice – Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr., Nelson Mandela, Thich Nhat Hanh – have known the importance of prayer. Not to ask some divine provider to change the situation, but to change the hearts of the people who pray.

This kind of prayer can get a whole chain reaction going for me. When I feel the spirit of compassion moving in my heart I am called to pray for a better world. And when I sing hymns of solidarity, justice, peace, or freedom, I am called to act for a better world. When I act in the world together with my brothers and sisters, I am called to prayers of connection with them. And when I see positive results of our efforts, I am called to pray in thanksgiving.

Our last hymn of prayer this morning is one of commitment to a better world. Please rise as you are willing and able and join in singing the African American hymn “There Is More Love Somewhere,” Hymn #95.

      Hymn #95 “There Is More Love Somewhere”

To pray does not have to mean to pray to someone. The power of prayer resides in the human heart. As a Unitarian Universalist I want to use all the tools at my disposal to enrich my spiritual life, to inspire my ethical action in the world, to tap into my inner resources, and to connect me with my fellow humans and with the rest of the natural world. Prayer is one of those tools, and I am glad when my spirit calls me to prayer.

May it be so. Amen.

Reading    

      from “Spiritual Centering” by Burt Jacobson 

How does one begin to pray? I’m going to let you in on a big secret: you pray every day of your life without knowing it. Why don’t you know that you are praying? Because you’ve allowed religion to define the word prayer for you. But prayer is not primarily and institutional function. It is a natural part of human existence. It is an attempt to link ourselves to the Seed of Light within. And many of the happenings of our lives, which we don’t define as prayers, are, in reality, prayers.

Every cry of agony from a pained heart is a prayer.

Every longing you have had for a better life has been a prayer.

Every dream you’ve ever had for a better world is a prayer.

Every time you look for guidance from the still, small Voice within, you are praying.

Every time you feel a sense of awe of gratitude, you are worshipping.

Every time you celebrate beauty and love, you are worshipping.

Every time you surrender to the flow of life, you are worshipping.

When you realize that you are part of Something greater, that there is an ineffable mystery to existence, then you are worshipping.