Editor’s Note: This the third part of a three part essay drawn from talks given at a men’s retreat. The first and second parts may be found here and here.
Part III
The Bible and the Liturgy
I want to point out that the Bible and the liturgy of the Church are the wellspring of all prayer, both in general and in all of prayer’s particulars. Reading the Psalms is a central aspect of my prayer life, and the psalms are a repository of adoration, confession, thanksgiving, and supplication. They’re all in the Eucharist too. And the focus of the Eucharist is the body of Jesus crucified. The Eucharist represents (re-presents) that body to the Father. The rhythm and grammar of its prayers suggest that all of our psychic energy, all of our prayer, is being focused on that sublime offering — an offering that we know God the Father finds acceptable. The implication is that all of our prayers find acceptance before God the Father in the Eucharist, by being united to the offering of Christ’s body.
I want to draw your attention to the prayer book too. The reason it exists is to provide the faithful with a treasure house for all of this. It embodies all of this, and contains all the forms of prayer I’ve mentioned. But not just in the sense of “Oh, here is a prayer for a birthday; here’s a handy one for thanksgiving; here’s a form for confession.” It has all of that, and that’s great. But the prayer book is more fundamentally a system. It propounds a system. It suggests a way to live, and especially with its calendar and schedule of Scripture readings (lectionary), which sync with each other. And the Daily Office is a particularly rich form of prayer, enmeshed with the calendar, tied inextricably to the Eucharist, and usable by anyone who can read. It’s best said in community, but it can be prayed by anyone, anytime, anywhere.
So what is the Daily Office? It’s a fundamental part of the genius of the prayer book devotional system. At its core it is the regular praying of the Psalms, all of them, once a month (or regularly — there are two schemes), combined with the regular reading of Scripture, and the offering of prayers linked to the Church calendar. Morning and Evening. Every day. World without end.
Gallons of ink have been spilled exploring every facet of the prayer book Office. I will just say that I think of it as a form of meditation, or at least a gateway that can lead to meditation. And meditation is something I haven’t talked about yet, even though I think that it is, in a sense, the most important kind of prayer.
Meditation
Meditation (sometimes called mental prayer) is, in brief, praying with Scripture. Most great teachers of Christian prayer through the centuries distinguish meditation from contemplation, which is perhaps an even higher kind of prayer, and one to which meditation may lead; but the highest kind of prayer, most great teachers agree, is not really something that can be taught or even explained fully.
I’ll quote what some have said about the highest degrees of prayer: St. Nilus calls it “an intercourse of the spirit with God.” St. John of Damascus calls it “an elevation of the soul to God.” St. Teresa of Avila says it is “a friendly intercourse in which the soul converses alone with Him by Whom she knows that she is loved.” It’s something that “places our understanding in the Divine Light, and exposes our will to the warmth of heavenly love,” according to St. Francis de Sales. This is, in the final analysis, a gift that comes from God, not something you can reach by your own effort.
But you can prepare your heart to receive this gift from God. And two things, taken together, prepare your heart for it: regular participation in the sacramental life of the Church, and Scriptural meditation.
So what is prayer as meditation, in its Christian sense? It’s communion with Jesus. Not with my idea of Jesus, but with Jesus. The living Jesus, who John says revealed himself to his disciples in Scripture and the breaking of bread: the Bible and the liturgy.
There are a million forms of Christian meditation. Lots of saints have taught different methods. They’re all good, but they’re not all suitable to every person. I can only tell you what I have found helpful. One thing is a practice suggested by St. Ignatius Loyola, and that is to read a passage of Scripture, and then to close your eyes and walk through that passage in your imagination, lingering over it, noticing details. For example, if it’s a passage in the gospels about Jesus performing some miracle — imagining it as though you were there in the crowds, witnessing it. And then paying attention to yourself, and to the implications of the vignette for you and your life, and finally perhaps making a resolution that comes out of that implication — resolving to do something, to act in some way, as the Holy Spirit moves you.
Another form of meditation I have found useful is the rosary. Fundamentally the rosary is a form of Scriptural meditation, not just the repetition of Hail Marys. The Hail Marys are incidental. The main point is to meditate on specific aspects of Jesus’ life as they are portrayed in the gospels as you pray each decade. It’s similar to the Ignatian method: it’s an engagement of your imagination and your will with Jesus as he is revealed in the gospels.
Lectio Divina is another category of meditation. It’s not something I have practiced much, unless I practice it accidentally, so I won’t say much about it. There are many books written on it. It is a venerable practice, and many Christians have found it fruitful.
The main thing to say, though, is that meditation is essential — scriptural meditation that is focused on the living Christ. The kind of prayer that engages the heart, by which I mean the center of your imagination and desire. A lot of Christians go to church all their lives and never make any progress in sanctity. I suspect that very often the reason is that they neglect this aspect of the spiritual life.
And to reiterate: the prayer book Daily Office can be a seedbed for this kind of prayer, especially the psalms and the Scripture readings. You don’t have to follow the rubrics slavishly and precisely. (Unless you’re a priest — in which case you should be particular about the rubrics.) But you can take elements from the prayer book and use them as they’re helpful. Read the daily selection of psalmody, and one or two of the lectionary readings, then use the collect appointed for the week. Maybe have a brief but deliberate examination of conscience right before going to bed, and use a form of confession from the prayer book as an act of penitence. Keep a list of people who need prayer in your community and use the Great Litany to pray for them on Wednesdays during the lunch hour.
Lastly, there was an English abbot during the 20th century named John Chapman. He was a great teacher of prayer. He famously said, “Pray as you can, not as you can’t.” In other words: you’re not a hermit. You’re not a monk. You’re not a priest. You have duties and responsibilities that prevent you from getting up at 3 a.m. and chanting Matins in Latin every day. Pray as you can, not as you can’t. But pray. Become a man of prayer.
If I could suggest just three things to do, they would be these: First, make a deliberate and firm commitment to worship in community, at the Eucharist. Be regular in this worship, at least every Sunday, unless you’re sick or traveling. And even if you’re traveling, try to worship at the Eucharist at some church on Sunday. Second, keep the traditional times of fasting and abstinence: Fridays, Ash Wednesday, Lent, and so forth. Jesus expected his disciples to fast, but in my experience, it is sorely neglected by most contemporary Christians.
And finally, pray. Pray daily, in a spirit of meditation, in a recollected sort of way, a way that is saturated in Scripture, and especially in the words and deeds of Jesus. Don’t pray haphazardly, but have a plan. Follow a lectionary, but don’t trust yourself to make it up as you go along. Have a plan. Don’t be overly ambitious.
Become a man of prayer.
Fr. Will Brown serves as rector of All Saints’, Thomasville. He is a priest of the Society of the Holy Cross, and a disciple of René Girard. He enjoys spending time with his wife and son, and is an avid hunter and fisherman.
