On Prayer, Pt. Three:
Physical Prayer
Note: This presentation was given in an Episcopal Church, and thus will reflect that tradition and its prejudices.
It's ironic: in the Episcopal Church, we are accustomed to using our bodies in worship. Perhaps more so than many modern Christian traditions. Those of us raised in the church are familiar with the formula:
Sit for instructionYet, a recent sit-com reminded me that Episcopalians are perceived as stiff and stodgy. So much so, they can't use the technical terms for certain below-the-belt body parts.
Stand for praise
Kneel to pray
How is it possible for us to use our bodies in worship so often, yet still be out of touch with them? I suspect this has much to do with these actions having become rote; we perform them without reflecting on their meaning.
For example, many of our liturgical actions reflect a monarchial view of the deity. We geneflect when entering the pew,
just as our British cousins reverence the king or queen. In this way, we are Sunday monarchists and weekday democrats.
So, I first echo the advice Jane Vennard gives in her book Praying With Body & Soul (1998, Augsburg): pay attention to the physical posture you currently assume when praying, then change it. If you normally kneel to pray, try standing. And before you start saying words, pay attention to your body: how does standing alter your relationship with the divine?
When you feel ill, or at other times, you may pray while lying in bed. Indeed, the psalmist speaks of lying in bed and
calling on God. Perhaps you may perceive yourself to be cradled in God's arms even as Mary cradled the infant Jesus.
In her book, Ms. Vennard discusses how anything may become prayer. This happens through intention and attention. Intention is why we do something: we may, for example, choose to walk for our health. Or, we may chose to walk as a form of prayer, seeing Christ as our companion. Walking may be a way to slow ourselves down, so we may be more attentive to creation.
This last point, of seeing the creator through creation, directs us to how our attention may be "seized" by external stimuli. It may be 'the flower in the snow', or it may be the friend who holds you as you weep. Any moment, any brightness, any darkness, may surprise us — and awaken us to God's presence.
This relates to the Eastern Orthodox tradition Fr. Ron del Bene calls "breath prayer". The best known is described in the
spiritual classic The Way of the Pilgrim: "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner." My personal breath prayer is more brief: "Lord Jesus, make me whole." The mechanics of this are that I mentally say the first half of the phrase as I inhale, and the second half as I exhale.
There is no particular magic to this phrase; I would recommend a phrase 8–10 syllables long, simply because this is equivalent ot the average human breath. Address the divine in the way most comfortable and meaningful for you, then make a simple request which reflects where you currently are in your spiritual journey.
When I attended a series on breath prayer several years ago, the teacher gave us small sticky dots. The idea was to put dots places we normally look during the day: our wristwatche, our dashboard, our mirror, etc. This "cue" will remind you to say your breath prayer. You may want to consider other cues: waiting on line, or in traffic, etc.
What you may discover, through this constant repition, is that the words begin to lose their literal meaning. That's ok. As this happens, the rhythm of the words write themselves on your heart, enter your psyche, re-shape your soul.
Our group then did a prayer walk, to more fully experience our physical bodies at prayer. This is related to walking a
labyrinth, a tradition which began in the Middle Ages as a substitute for those who could not make the pilgrimage to
Jerusalem. A labyrinth may look like a maze, but it has an important difference: one cannot get lost in a labyrinth, for the path in is also the path out.
For the purpose of our exercise, we walked the regions of the St. Nicholas Chapel, a space about as big as the average suburban living room. We began at the baptismal font, at the rear of the chapel, walked down the alley between the two sets of pews, up around the altar, back down the alley, around a little bend, then back to the baptismal font and our pews. I led this procession, each step being about half the length of my foot (~2-3 inches). I instructed our group to be very aware of the muscles used, the weight shifting from the back of the foot to the ball, and any sense of imbalance.
Afterwards, participants shared their experiences. One lady told us she prayed for God's protection over our group as we walked. A gentleman was reminded of his time serving as an acolyte, how those dignified processions also seemed prayerful. A couple of members shared how walking disturbed their sense of physical balance. Another gentleman shared his realization that human beliefs are ever shifting.
Next week: Contemplative Prayer.
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