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Prayer doesn’t always look how you think it should

Even in his elderly years, Brother Edmund is statuesque. Well over six feet and with his long scraggly beard, he conjures up images of Treebeard from “The Lord of the Rings.”

For the last 20 years, I have been staying at Benedictine monasteries whenever I need a break from the noise to remember how to hear God’s voice again. This past summer, I scheduled a visit to pray over a few decisions I needed to make.

This is where Brother Edmund found me once again.

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He had lingered after our silent meal together to say hello and catch up. We spoke of my writing and family, his health and chickens. As we talked, he seemed to be fiddling with something on his tunic. I thought his belt was loose but realized he had been knotting a rosary at his waist as he talked and listened. I marveled that he could converse so presently, yet also be present to the fingering of the rosary, never losing track of each decade and Glory Be.

Brother Edmund told me of some work he had been doing outside, building a fence around a garden at the nearby priory. That particular day was very hot, and Brother Edmund, in his mid-70’s, had been chopping wood. He confessed he was worn out. I worried aloud about the amount of manual labor he was doing, especially in the heat.

Then he declared in a tone so clear and true it struck me deep in my bones: “There are many forms of prayer.”

To pray without ceasing

Back in my room, I thought about Brother Edmund’s words and what they could mean for my prayer life. I thought about St. Paul’s admonition to pray without ceasing. I’ve never truly understood what this means. I’ve got work and a family and laundry and carpooling. I don’t live in a monastery. It seems that it would be easier to pray all day if I did, but then, St. Paul didn’t say we were all to isolate ourselves from the world to pray. How are we to achieve this unless our understanding of prayer is expansive?

I felt my way through this idea as I prayed the psalms with the monks during the hours throughout the day. Yes, of course, these psalms were prayer, but so, too, was my writing back in my room between the hours. Stories shared over meals were prayer; they told of God’s goodness and faithfulness in our lives.

Yes, prayer is found in words of praise and thanksgiving, of lament and petition, but also in the movement of our hands and feet. I encountered another guest that weekend, an electrician who was visiting the monastery so she could work on some of their outdoor lighting. She donates her time and expertise whenever there is work that needs to be done. Her work, too, is prayer.

On Saturday afternoon, a young man came to help Brother Edmund chop wood. This, too, was prayer, as he gave this time and muscle freely as a gift to God and the Church. Later at dinner, their camaraderie made it apparent that chopping wood was merely a catalyst for rich conversation and mentorship. They had honored one another with the image of God mirrored within each other.

As I mulled over this idea, clarity came from an unlikely source: renowned hip-hop producer, Rick Rubin. On my drive home that weekend, I listened to a podcast featuring Rubin as a guest. I nearly pulled over the car when he told the host, “Everything we make, we are making, as an offering to God.”

Rubin became very emotional saying this, as I did listening. Of course, not everyone has this mindset, but when we do, our actions, thoughts, the work of hands, the art of our hearts become an offering we lay at the feet of our Savior.

C.S. Lewis touched on this when he wrote, “The work of a Beethoven and the work of a charwoman become spiritual on precisely the same condition, that of being offered to God, of being done humbly ‘as to the Lord.’”

I thought of God’s words that we are to “love the Lord, your God, with your whole heart, and with your whole being, and with your whole strength.” He tells us that to do this we are to always have his word before us, so that they will be on your hearts: “Keep repeating them to your children. Recite them when you are at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you get up. Bind them on your arm as a sign and let them be as a pendant on your forehead. Write them on the doorposts of your houses and on your gates” (Dt 6:5-9).

I see that this is how we pray without ceasing. This is how we live a life of constant love, communication, relationship — prayer with God.

A posture of prayer

Sometimes it is difficult to return to “real life” after a weekend with the monks, but this time I was determined to bring this new outlook on prayer to my daily life.

My morning run became a prayer of thanksgiving as I thought about what an honor it is to care for this body, this temple of the Holy Spirit. While I washed the breakfast dishes, I prayed for those hurting or in need in my life. Prayers before meals took on a new dimension as I thanked God for the abundance of food, as there have been times in my life when food was scarce. And in an afternoon walk with a neighbor, I noticed our absolute presence with one another. We were honoring the Imago Dei, the imprint of God’s image within us, making his presence all the more palpable.

That night I dreamt of a friend struggling with anxiety. When I woke in the morning, I realized I had been praying for her in my sleep.

There are many forms of prayer. When the posture of our heart is forever before our Creator, our very lives become prayer.

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