Prayer Pushed

There is a kind of prayer that has become very precious to me. In the German language it is called Stoßgebet, which means “pushed prayer.” In English, it is called ejaculatory prayer, an expression that stems from Saint Augustine. Iaculatorium is a “thrown, flung, hurled prayer”.

Unfortunately, it is not taught much anymore. However, it helps me often and a great deal. Its very characteristics are shortness and fastness. It is hearty and powerful; it “erupts”, so to speak, from the heart. It has the same mechanics as cursing, but it is actually its opposite. It is positive and directed to God. It wants to connect us with God. It is a prayer that breaks forth directly from our soul. It can have any simple content such as, “Bless me, Lord.” “Help me.” “Look at me.” “I love you.” “I need you.” “I trust you.” “Protect me.” You just speak it, not knowing what comes forward.

The Spirit too comes to the aid of our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but the Spirit itself intercedes with inexpressible groanings. (Romans 8:26)

This kind of prayer is very similar to the “Jesus Prayer” or praying the Rosary, which aims to help us pray constantly. They can go on and on in our heart and we can practice them continuously. Instead, ejaculatory prayer can be used at any time, in any situation. It is a one-shot prayer. You can do it while taking a shower, in the metro, before starting the car, before entering a door, before meeting a person. You have only to actively push it out. It needs a little physical effort, a spiritual-physical one, to get the prayer going. St. Peter invites us to cast the prayer.

Cast all your worries upon him because he cares for you. (1 Peter 5:7)

I won’t end this post as usual with a prayer. Rather, I invite you to throw out your own prayer. Whatever comes forth will be right. Even “Lord, I don’t know.” Just utter what is on your heart, push it out, towards God.

I Put My Trust In You

In God we trust, I trust in God… how quickly are we ready to say that? Do we really mean it? To be honest, sometimes trust comes naturally to me, but other times, however, I have difficulty trusting. There are often good reasons not to trust–bad experiences, hurts of the past, knowledge of things and people, realism.

Better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in mortals. (Psalm 118:18)

Sometimes I find myself weak in trusting God. It is not because of God, it is because I trust rather myself, even more–my own intelligence, my experience, the things that give me security. Only when those things are taken away from me, do I realize what trusting God really means. One day, I came across this Psalm verse:

I put my trust in you. (Psalm 55:24)

The slight difference here is that I put my trust in God, which means, I do something. Trusting becomes an activity. I like that. I can do something for it. I am not condemned either to trust and to believe or to not have that trust at all. It is my decision whether I trust or not.

Well, how can I do it? Putting something somewhere means to give it out of my hands and leaving control to somebody else. I give my trust away, to Him. My trust now lies on Him, with Him. This little move makes trusting more concrete and lively for me. When I am distrustful, I try to take all my confidence and place it into God’s hands. We don’t know if God will do exactly what we want him to do, but He will never disappoint our trust. He will never misuse our trust. He will never fool us.

Lord, let me put my trust in you. You are great. You are merciful. You love me. I know you invite me to trust you, in little daily things as well as in the big things of my life. Strengthen my trust in you.

Silent Cry

It is hard to suffer. It is harder when we cannot express our suffering, when the suffering is so strong that we have not even the strength to cry. I learned in emergency assistance courses that if you come to the scene of an accident, you should not necessarily turn first to those who cry the loudest. You should look for the people who don’t cry anymore. They might need your help the most.

During the period in which we meditate the passion of Christ, I feel encouraged to pray for all who silently suffer. Because Christ experienced the same, when he stood before Pontius Pilate, when he was flagellated, when he was mocked – so much so that the evangelist Luke interpreted the situation with the prophet Isaiah:

“Like a lamb led to slaughter or a sheep silent before shearers, he did not open his mouth.” (Acts 8:32; Isaiah 53:7)

What could he have said? The plot was made. Only his friends could see his suffering. It touches my heart that Jesus could not say anything. How much he must have suffered! All the ignorance and injustice as an “answer” to his healing and consoling! Sometimes the silent cry is the loudest. Days before, he still wept over Jerusalem – now he does not even weep.

No matter if our suffering is caused by others or self-inflicted, or if we just don’t know the cause at all, not being able to express our suffering is the worst. Contemplating the passion of Christ gives us consolation. When Jesus is entering Jerusalem together with his disciples, the Pharisees want him to rebuke and silence them. Jesus replied to the Pharisees:  “I tell you, if they keep silent, the stones will cry out!” Jesus encourages us to cry out our suffering. I don’t have to hold back. He invites me to do it in front of him, or in front of a good friend. Jesus hears me. He even hears the silent cry. He sees me. He even sees the smallest tear. And he will answer me.

Lord, I ask you to watch over those who don’t cry anymore, who suffer so deeply that they cannot even cry. And I ask for myself that you help me to express myself, my sufferings and my concerns without fear, with courage, and with hope.

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The Armor of Light

A friend recently shared with me the difficulties he has at work—toxic atmosphere, disrespect of rules, bullying, and filthy relationships—and he was wondering how to deal with it. As we were talking, St. Paul came to mind with his expression “armor of light” (Rom 13:12). In the letter to the Ephesians, he explains:

“Finally, draw your strength from the Lord and from his mighty power. Put on the armor of God so that you may be able to stand firm against the tactics of the devil. For our struggle is not with flesh and blood but with the principalities, with the powers, with the world rulers of this present darkness, with the evil spirits in the heavens. (…) So stand fast with your loins girded in truth, clothed with righteousness as a breastplate, and your feet shod in readiness for the gospel of peace. In all circumstances, hold faith as a shield, to quench all flaming arrows of the evil one. And take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.” (6:10-17)

 When we think of weapons, we usually don’t think of truth, righteousness, faith, salvation, and the word of God. What different kind of weapons! If we fight with the weapons of darkness, the situation will continue to be dark. Wounds on all sides will increase; grief and wish for revenge will grow. Instead, if we fight back with the weapons of light, light will come onto the scene. We are not supposed to not defend ourselves, because it is evil that we encounter. The question is how we defend ourselves.

“Let us then throw off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light.” Rom 13:12

 This is the other way to respond to difficult situations, a way that really helps us to exit the spiral of negativity and violence. Faith, truth, and the word of God is what make us truly strong. This is what protects us. Faith is powerful.

Lord, let me learn to use the weapons of light. I yearn for light and peace. Let me stick with my faith, especially in difficult situations. Let me meditate your word so as to be ready to respond. Let me not be afraid to follow the truth. Let me pursue righteousness. And let me believe that you are the salvation, that you have saved us, that you have already won the battle! On earth as it is in heaven. Amen.

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If You Can!

You seldom see Jesus emotional. There might be some projection on my part when I read this story, however, one little sentence caught my attention recently during the liturgy. In the gospel of Mark, we see Jesus a little annoyed. (Mk 9:14-29) The disciples were not able to drive out a demon and they were discussing why.  “O faithless generation, how long will I be with you? How long will I endure you? Bring him to me, ” Jesus exclaims. We see Jesus often full of patience, tenderness, and mercy, and reminding us not to judge. But, here, he disqualifies the disciples and the whole generation recklessly. He cannot stand them anymore. He is tired of them. Rather, he is tired of their lack of faith.

When he talks with the father about his sick son, the father says: “But if you can do anything, have compassion on us and help us”. Jesus responds: “‘If you can!’” as if to say, what a question. What a stupid question! How can one doubt the power of God and his power to heal? Jesus just does not get it. With these slightly sarcastic words “If you can,” in this terrifying moment for the father, I am reminded of the greatness and power of God. Sometimes we forget how great He is. And, thus, we cannot believe in him. His greatness, instead, is able to trigger our faith. This is what Jesus wants to do here. He does not reply: I am sorry, that you cannot believe yet. I am so sorry, see, faith is a journey, you will get there finally, don’t worry. No, he says: I worry, that you don’t see how great God is. And he adds: “Everything is possible to one who has faith.” With this, he reminds us that we are able to connect with God’s greatness in faith. Then the boy’s father cries out, “I do believe, help my unbelief!” This confrontational therapy helped the father to reactivate his strength: Sure, I believe. And if there is anything lacking in my faith, God – you are great enough, complete it! And, well, Jesus heals the boy.

My Lord and my God, let me never think too small of you. Let me admire and acknowledge your greatness and might. Your power will pull me up. Your mercy will take care of my weakness. Let me not further annoy you. Let me trust that you CAN DO IT. How could you not?  Confront me when necessary. Heal me. Heal all those who are entrusted to my care. You can do it. Lord, help my unbelief.

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He rejoices in me—really?

It was a usual Wednesday morning. I was half awake, half asleep while I was saying prayers. All of a sudden, one verse strikes me:

“As a bridegroom rejoices in his bride
so shall your God rejoice in you.” Isaiah 62:5

I think how beautiful that is! I have witnessed bridegrooms rejoicing in their brides and brides rejoicing in their grooms. Such freshness of love! How beautiful it is when somebody rejoices in me, when it gives another joy to see me.

Then I am looking at myself, thinking: it was 33 years ago that I entered the monastery with butterflies in my stomach. But now? Not so much. At least while I am praying, I succeed in lifting up this longing to God, although I feel myself far away from this state. I share with God that I would like to be loved this way again, as the prophet Isaiah says: God rejoices in me. I want to feel it, to experience it, while knowing that all spiritual and mystic traditions say that experiencing and feeling it is not as important as believing in it. I end my prayers by starting my daily work and schedule with a new kind of curiosity: Would I see God today, in fact, rejoicing in me, in my being?

I was surprised how my day changed with this simple prayerful question! I felt peace, I felt joy. I saw good things happening around me. I did not pay too much attention to the bad things. It is a truth: God is happy with me and he rejoices in my being—and that changes everything. Often we don’t like ourselves—and for good reasons. Still, God loves each of us, and is happy to see us, to have us around him, to talk with us.

Lord, don’t let me forget how much you love me. “You did not choose me, but I chose you”, I hear you saying (John 15:16). I don’t know how I merit this kind of love—but it just fills my heart with great joy, serenity, and gratitude.

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I Will Wake the Dawn

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“I will sing and chant praise.  Awake, my soul; awake, lyre and harp!
I will wake the dawn.” Psalm 57:8-9

This is a bold claim—to wake the dawn. As if the dawn would not get up by itself. As if it would not wake me.

How do I feel in the morning? Sometimes full of joy and looking forward to the day’s events; sometimes worried and concerned, often just tired. For some of us the dawn is a relief because we could not sleep well.

In order to wake the dawn, I have to be up before the dawn. I have to be awake before the sun even wakes me. It is bold because as humans, we are part of nature and mother sun is huge and powerful. To be ahead even of her is an amazing thing.

The Psalm seems to point directly to Jesus Christ. The women discovered His rising from the dead “as the day was dawning.” This discovery, the resurrection of the Lord, brought a new light to their life that changed everything. It was truly a dawn of a new life. But when they discovered the empty tomb and the angel sitting there, the Lord was already risen. That means He had risen before the dawn. It means He is greater than the sun and moon; he is even before the sun. He is the true sun. He is the true light.

When we get up very early in the morning, when we wake the dawn – with our praise, with our joy –  we join the Lord. We can sense something of this new, everlasting, imperishable life. We are filled with joy because Jesus is even stronger than day and night, stronger than life and death. In Him all of this was created and finds its fulfillment.

Dear Lord, when I am tired and not motivated to wake up, let me think of you. You are ahead of me. You are ahead of this day, so I know that everything will be good. Let me be close to you. Let me be with you at the place where you have been even before all life was born. You give me a light and a life that cannot be destroyed, by no one and by nothing. Let my singing and chanting be an expression of this joy. Let me get up early. Let me wake the dawn.

Foolish Fears

During the summer months, we Benedictines here at Sant’Anselmo in Rome sometimes change the language of our prayers. We pray in English instead of Latin or Italian as we usually do because we have many international guests. The change of language always brings new discoveries and findings as I pray. Recently at our morning office when we chanted the hymn “As daylight fills the morning sky”, one sentence struck me. It goes:

May angry words and foolish fears
Be exorcised by heartfelt tears.

My attention was raised by the “foolish fears”. I was thinking: Yes, fears, for a Christian, are always foolish. Why should we be afraid? Of whom should we be afraid? “What will separate us from the love of Christ? Will anguish, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or the sword?” says St. Paul (Rom 8:35). And he continues: “For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor present things, nor future things, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Rom 8:38-39).

If we look at Christ soberly, calmly, trustingly, there is no reason for us to be afraid. God is with us, he is in us; he has died for us and freed us from the slavery of sin and death. How could he give us more? How could he have proven more that he loves us? So, I tell my fears: “Yes, you fears that creep up once in a while upon me: Know that you are foolish. I don’t need you.” Of course, when we look with concerns on what is going on in the world: we might have some fears. I am not saying that there are no justified fears. Sometimes they function to warn us or to bring us the right energy level, for example, stage fright. Still, in the end, fears are foolish if we deeply trust in God. In his presence, our fears vanish. “If God is for us, who can be against us?” (Rom 8:31)

Lord, I place myself right in the middle of your presence. Let me be bold in trusting you. Fear is not a Christian’s business. Instead courage, freedom in word and deed, and trust are fruits of your spirit. Any other spirits are foolish. Let me always live in this spirit. Let me set my foot on the water, as you have called me to do.

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Embracing the Cross

Sometimes there is a lot on our plate. Sometimes it is just too much what we have to bear. It is then that we realize what Jesus meant when he said everybody has to carry his cross. During my sabbatical time a couple years ago, I had the privilege to visit Glendalough, a 6th century monastery village in Ireland. Nestled in beautiful landscape are ruins of monastery houses and chapels and also a tall cross about twelve feet high. I was told if one was able to wrap one’s arms around the cross while making a wish, the wish would become true. I tried this, along with many others, but to be honest, I forgot the wish I had and I forgot if it later became true. Still it was a nice ritual.

Later somebody showed me the picture taken from the event and suddenly I realized what I actually did: I embraced the cross! This is the meaning of the ritual—if we embrace our cross, which always seems to be big – too big –, if we manage to fully take it on and accept it, our wish will be fulfilled. It means we will be okay. What will happen will be good for us. We will be ourselves instead of running away from ourselves, avoiding our cross. The cross is heavier if we don’t accept it. Instead, the suffering, if voluntarily accepted like Christ did, is a way to redemption. Seen from this perspective, it becomes again true what Jesus said: My yoke is easy, and my burden is light (Mt 11:30). It is difficult to accept our cross; it requires some stretching on our part, but we will be able to do it.

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“My yoke is easy.” (Mt 11:30)

Being contemporaries

I remember the theologian Karl Rahner in an interview speaking about “Zeitgenossenschaft”. Even though Germans are used to long words, I had never heard this particular word before. It means “contemporaneity”, occurring simultaneously or concurrently, having a “contemporary communal presence”. Rahner dropped it in a melancholic kind of way, stating that over the years one develops this sense of contemporaneity together with those whom we share the same time. Living at the same time can create a bond of familiarity and love. Our journeys of life may change; we meet each other, we walk together, and then – for professional, or personal, or whatever reasons – our ways part. But still, we are of one generation and we experience the same world, even when we are at different places. We experience the blessings and the crosses of the same time. I guess one reason for our fear of death is that we don’t want to leave our companions with whom we have walked.

There is a silent tenderness in being contemporaries, in coming from the same time. This is because God has blessed the time by the birth of his Son. God wanted to be our contemporary. We celebrate this at Christmas. God became man and the companion of many. They walked together; He went with them through thick and thin. It is touching to know that God wants to be my contemporary too. He wants to share my time. He wants to walk with me. Over time, the familiarity with Him grows. We don’t have to be in contact every minute, just walking together connects us.

Thank you, Jesus, for being my companion. Thank you for walking with me. Thank you for being interested in my life – my simple, limited life. It is good to know you as my contemporary. You want to grow old together with me. In turn, I want to love and honor all those who are my contemporaries.

Being contemporaries