Praying during the Pandemic

I knew, eventually, I could no longer ignore that persistent little voice within urging me to write a blog about praying. I do not mean writing about praying per se, but about praying during this pandemic. Don’t worry, I am not about to write a dissertation or manual about prayer. People much better equipped than I am have literally written millions of books about prayer.  In my small eclectic collection of prayer books and books about prayer, you can find the writings of Joyce Rupp, Thomas Merton, Margaret Silf, Anne Lamott, Anthony Bloom, Nan Merrill, and others.  I also have a copy of the impressive anthology, Prayers for a Thousand Years.

During my forty-plus years as a Missionary Sister, I have done a fair amount of praying.  Yes, there is a time for everything. There is a time for “doing praying” as we do in formal communal prayer.  People gather and pray in groups in a vast array of different ways. Think of the Sufi Whirling Dervishes who whirl in communal prayer, on the one hand, and the sedate prayer form practiced by those who prefer the Taizé form of prayer or the contemplative prayer of women and men in religious communities, in small groups, and by individuals around the world.

“prayer is not a contest but, “a doorway … into thanks and a silence in which another voice may speak.””

Mostly, we tend to use words when we pray, and therein lies the rub.  I should think all of us have experienced how easily words can be misunderstood.  However, I would think we have also experienced how loudly and clearly silence can speak.  In her poem Praying, the wonderful poet Mary Oliver concludes that when we pray there is no need for elaborate words.  For her, prayer is simply patching a few words together since prayer is not a contest but, “a doorway … into thanks and a silence in which another voice may speak.”

Some might say this is an oversimplification of prayer.  I, however, have come to view her description of prayer as a wonderful invitation to pause and pray as we are, where we are.  It confirms what I discovered long ago; prayer is more listening than speaking with God. While musing and praying during these pandemic times of quarantines and lockdown, I have often thought how apt these words by C. S. Lewis are, “God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”  I would say during this pandemic God is doing a great deal of shouting, a shouting which seems to fall on deaf ears, unless we spend time in “a silence in which another voice may speak.”  God shouting during these days of the pandemic may not only threaten to burst our eardrums; for many this pandemic is more a space to doubt God or prayer.  When we do listen, underneath the “shouts in our pains”, and easily missed, we will hear that small, still voice reaching into our hearts. It is only when we pause in silence and listen attentively, and not turn a deaf ear, that we may hear what God is really saying to us during this graced time of enormous global and personal upheaval.

““God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.” - C. S. Lewis”

None of us is immune to the impact of this dreadful pandemic nor remains untouched by it in every aspect of our lives.  It most certainly has touched and transformed the way I have communed with God during these past six months. Yes, at times these weeks and months have been incredibly challenging, however they have also been surprisingly graced.  In her book on prayer, “Help, Thanks,Wow” Anne Lamott offers us her insight into grace, “I do not understand the mystery of grace -- only that it meets us where we are and does not leave us where it found us.” Indeed, so true.  Whether I sit silently on my balcony bathed in the early morning light or in the glow of a candle at the end of the day, these intimate moments of mostly silent communing with God, these times of prayer are a great source of comfort and strength.  Here, grace has met me and has not left me where I was.

- Sr. Magdalena Vogt, CPS

Praying

It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.

Mary Oliver, Thirst, Beacon Press 2006