Forms of Prayer

Rev. Don Owens, former chaplain to St. Anselm of Canterbury Church of Norman, Oklahoma – the Episcopal college ministry for the University of Oklahoma – once broke prayer into four forms: verbal, physical, contemplation, and visualization.

Verbal prayer is the form most familiar to us. The Episcopal Catechism describes seven kinds of prayer, any of which could be verbal. Additionally, St. Augustine of Hippo said that singing is praying twice [paraphrased], which means that when we chant the Psalms or sing the hymns, we are also praying.

The second form is through our physical actions. This could be through whatever liturgical actions (e.g., kneeling or bowing our head) we observe during corporate worship; remembering that the word “liturgy” is Greek, and is translated as “the work FOR the people” or “the work OF the people.”

This holy work could also occur when we serve others. This is exemplified by Dorothy Day, who founded the Catholic Worker’s Movement, which was founded during the Depression, and continues to provide direct aid to the poor and homeless. The Episcopal Church observes her passing into God’s Glory on November 29.

Another physically active style of prayer is the prayer walk, which is best represented by the labyrinth. St. Paul’s is planning a labyrinth walk to take place during Advent. I encourage you to watch for the date, and sample this type of prayer.

Another form of prayer that involves physical action is the use of prayer beads. The two types of prayer beads you’ll find in our bookstore are the Roman Catholic Rosary and the Anglican Chaplet (which goes by several names). You’ll note the Roman Catholic version has a different design, with more beads. This version meditates on a set cycle of scenes from the life of Jesus while alternating between multiple recitations of the Lord’s Prayer and the Hail Mary. By contrast, the Anglican version is very Protestant, in that the person praying determines which prayer(s) are repeated on the beads.

The repetition used with prayer beads could lead to what the Rev. Ron Del Bene calls “breath prayer” – this is the point where whatever prayer you’ve chosen gets written on your heart (to borrow a phrase from the prophet Jeremiah). This type of prayer typically leads to the third type of prayer, contemplation.

This third type of prayer is a prayer beyond words. The author of the fourteenth century English guide The Cloud of Unknowing described this contemplative style of prayer as aiming the heart to God, like an arrow. There are a five kinds of prayer listed in our Catechism which could be contemplative: adoration, praise, thanksgiving, and oblation. You might also be meditate on various types of iconography – from the cross in our sanctuary, or our stained glass windows, or even formal Icons (most from the Orthodox tradition). Be mindful that you are using this iconography as a sort of window to God; you are not worshiping the object – you are using the object as a sort of spiritual technology (to borrow the Dali Lama’s phrase) to lead you to the divine.

The final form is Ignation Contemplation. In his Spiritual Exercises, St. Ignatius of Loyola directed his students to use all five of their senses to contemplate a scene from the life of Jesus. You might apply this version of contemplation to the scenes used in the Roman Catholic Rosary (which are called Mysteries in that context).

Why do we pray? I like the answer given in the book Walk in Love by Scott Gunn and Melody Wilson Shobe: to build our relationship with God. There is no right way to pray. All that is required is to show up, with an intention to focus our attention on the High Holy One.

My Labyrinth Year: Introduction

When I reflect on the past year, the word which immediately comes to mind is “community.” And this seems appropriate, since the modern Christian labyrinth walk has its roots in pilgrimages, when new communities would form among the pilgrims as they traveled to Jerusalem, Santiago, or Canterbury.
In my life’s pilgrimage, there was a time when I thought I could walk a spiritual path alone. But now, I’m suspicious of those who say they are “spiritual but not religious.” These people believe they can live a fully realized spiritual life alone, outside a community. I firmly believe life in a faith community is absolutely necessary for a spiritual life:

• A community is comprised of people dedicated to the ideal of “mutual support”, to borrow a phrase from the marriage ceremony;
• Members of a community may also challenge you:
  the First Letter of John asks how one can claim to love God, whom you have not seen, while hating your neighbor, whom you have (I Jn 4:20).

I. 15.July.2018

As I was training to be a labyrinth facilitator last May, I was already envisioning a presentation for my faith community. The priest in charge had resigned abruptly in April, with an resignation letter which implied that the community had prevented him from fulfilling his mission. I had been through a similar situation at a different church, and felt that community had not directly confronted its wounds, and suffered for it in the following years. I feared the same would happen in this community.

About a month following our training, the new priest in charge requested volunteers to lead a labyrinth experience for our community; this was expressly to give trainees an opportunity to fulfill the Veriditas licensure requirement. I waited for other trainees from our church to accept the invitation; when no one else had within a couple of days, I did.

I met with the priest in charge a few weeks prior to the presentation, and shared my ideas to confront any wounds within the community. She was not comfortable with the sort of confrontation I had envisioned. She suggested the presentation focus on transition instead, and mentioned her sermon that Sunday would also focus on transition. We discussed themes we might share and emphasize in her sermon and my presentation. She also suggested that I ask participants to meditate on what had brought them to our church, and consider what keeps them returning.

Because no one else had volunteered for the presentation, I thought I was on my own for all parts of the event. It did not occur to me to ask for help until about a week prior to the event. So a few details were forgotten, like whether people would need to remove their shoes prior to walking the labyrinth (only one of our four canvas labyrinths may be walked with shoes on): so there was lack of communication on that point.

From this I learned that I needed the group mind of the community to remember all the details that go into a labyrinth event. It was a successful event, largely because I had sought the counsel of our current priest in charge, and had placed her vision - and her perception of the community’s needs - above my own.

My Labyrinth Year II: 2.Dec.2018

The next event was facilitated by two women who had attended the same training as I.  It’s still not clear to me if either was the primary point person. Regardless, they had chosen to structure the experience around a form of Lectio Divina they were familiar with, and had previously used in other contexts. I was not familiar with that format, and was unclear on the terminology they used.

One woman, J,  had recently changed her email protocol, and was difficult to contact for coordination. So I primarily coordinated with the other woman, K. A third person was responsible for sending progress updates on our plans, but she was unfamiliar with the Lectio Divina format they were using, and transposed a couple of elements.

I’ll confess, this was confusing and frustrating.

Ultimately, J called me, and we talked out some details on the phone. I wish one of us had thought of this earlier.

The theme of the event was the Christian season of Advent. I was asked to serve three functions: guide people into the labyrinth; lead the group in “Light One Candle” by Paul Yarrow of Peter, Paul and Mary; and offer a reflection. As it happened, our event was the morning prior to the Jewish festival of Hanukkah, which is referenced in the song.  Included with this packet is that presentation, which incorporated a reading from Genesis and a reading from the Gospel of John.

All the participants in this experience were women.  I watched at the entrance to the labyrinth as they walked the path. A sense of calm came over me. All frustrations were forgotten.

This taught me the value, once again, of placing the needs of the community above my own ego needs (e.g., that the process follow my sense of order).

My Labyrinth Year III: 2.Feb.2019

My involvement with this event was unofficial, so I have not included support materials for it. Yet, my experience in assisting with the event reinforces what I have learned this past year.

C was the point person for this event. She had gone to the same training as J, K, and I. I was in the process of preparing a different presentation, which I will discuss in the next section. But, as part of that preparation, I had found wooden labyrinths about the size of a half dollar on Etsy. I had already ordered 50 for my presentation, and offered to donate some for hers.

I may have been awkward in my offer, because she heard it as my imposing on her plans. Although she was clearly upset, she still accepted my offer.  Yet, I sensed an uncomfortable energy between us.
I thought it best to support C to the best of my ability while keeping additional ideas to myself.  When the participants walked the labyrinth, I walked the boundary to maintain the energy. As the walk was ending, I prayed for all participants, using a set of Anglican Prayer Beads.  About that time,
C came next to me and asked if I thought a reflection was needed.

I was taken aback that she’d asked - perhaps I had mistaken that uncomfortable energy — but I said I thought it would be useful. She then asked if I would mind leading that.

I reflected on the experience of praying with the prayer beads while the participants prayed on the labyrinth path. I was praying especially for Jo, the last person walking the circuits. She was recently widowed, and walking a canvas her family had donated in her late husband’s name.

After sharing this story, I invited the participants to share their own reflections with each other in small groups. This generated positive energy among all the participants.

I hope I was able to suppress my ego in all this. I do wish I had found a better way to offer the wooden labyrinths, so there would have been no misunderstandings or hurt feelings.  But I put the needs of the community above any hurt feelings or awkwardness; and I believe I grew from it.

My Labyrinth Year IV: 14.Feb.2019

This presentation was for a professional organization, the Midtown Chapter of the American Academy of Professional Coders (AAPC); it would take place on a state college campus; and most of the audience would likely be Southern Baptist, and thus unfamiliar with the labyrinth (and might be suspicious of “Roman influence”). Wishing to be sensitive to these factors, I chose to downplay spiritual benefits, and reference the Roman Catholic Church as little as possible.

To accomplish this, I focused on health benefits, which are similar to the benefits claimed for mindfulness meditation. As I was researching the benefits of mindfulness meditation, I became aware of contrarian views - interestingly, from Tricycle: The Buddhist Review

Since this was an academic setting, I included these critiques, and offered my own responses.

As you’ll see in the presentation, I also incorporated the health benefits of walking, which are less controversial.

The room the Midtown Chapter uses for their meetings would not accommodate the labyrinth I had available (60 x 60), so I made arrangements to place the labyrinth in an atrium on the same floor, several yards away from the meeting room. The meeting takes place at lunch, and most members are expected to be back at their jobs in a little over an hour, so only a handful walked the labyrinth.
I compensated for this by bringing the wooden labyrinths and sheets of paper with labyrinth patterns and instructions for making your own labyrinth.  I talked the participants through a simple meditation using the wooden labyrinths.

I had planned my presentation while considering  the needs of this unique community, and “The Health Benefits of Walking Around in Circles” was warmly received.

My Labyrinth Year: V. A Poetic Reflection

The way we tell our story tends to set our fate:
I have shared my story with my community;
I have heard others share their story.
We share our story as we share our path;
we make a new story as we circle into
the divine center which unites us all.
The space between us is holy;
the circle is holy;
the time is holy.
Do not our hearts burn?

The Holy One is here.
She whispers, but we do not listen.
He walks beside us, but we do not recognize him.
The Holy One speaks the name
we had before we were born.
The High Holy One is a circle;
in the center of a Venn Diagram
which overlaps the circle of you & the circle of me.
The Holy One brings us together;
She unites us at the center of the labyrinth.
He speaks counsel at the center of the center.
Do not our hearts burn?

You and I, we judge people from the outside in;
But Mr. God judges people from inside out —
Thus spake the young prophet. And I believe —
I believe it’s true:
the heart is weighed on the scale of love.
Each heart that has loved,
even in small measure,
is welcome.
Your heart is blessed, as is mine.
Even my enemy’s heart may be blessed –
For only the Creator of 10,000 things
is qualified to judge.
So let us walk in love
as the Holy One loves us.
Do not our hearts burn?

Labyrinth Variaton II

It's the way we tell our stories that can tend to set our fate
But we walk a labyrinth of a simple fisherman's faith:
We are the Hero and the Villain of our sacred path
We walk with Jesus
We walk with Cain
We are the children of 100,000 names
We are the Blessed
We are the Blamed
We walk the circle where the blessings cannot be named
Blessed be the Name
Blessed be the Son
Blessed be the Spirit

---

Free write within the circuits of a labyrinth.

How We Tell Our Stories

1. It's the way we tell our stories that tends to set our fate
2. We speak of heroes and villains
3. We speak of winners and losers
4. How we tell the story forms the mask we will wear
5. The word on our lips
6. The breath exhaled
7. The air taken in
8. All part of the mysterious stew
9. It's the way we tell our story, the length of each line - longer than the palmist's reckoning
10. We speak of our role, but
11. We are always the hero of our own saga
12. We speak of winning and losing,
13. But each new breath is a victory
14. How we decorate the hours,
15. How we honor the day,
16. How we dream the night
17. How we limn the path determines where we go
18. It's how we tell our stories that tends to set our fate

Finding Humility After a Sacred Walk

St. Jerome, that great holy crank, is often pictured with a lion. The Desert Fathers welcomed cats to their loosely aligned communities. It's likely the cat was useful for reducing vermin, but I think those felines great and small were also prized for another reason: humility. A cat teaches its human companion humility better than any other creature I know.

Living in community can also be humbling. If done with honesty, clear self-assessment, and integrity, it can be a spiritual discipline. Always I find myself balancing my needs against those of others. The goal, on the sacred path, is to put the needs of others first. But this is balanced by recognizing my own needs. For example, my need for alone time with God — just as Jesus would often step away for private prayer.

As an introvert, it's quite challenging to strike that balance. I'm most comfortable alone, with my own thoughts. The delusion of my perceptions, the delusion of self.

This is part of what I brought with me when I went to walk the labyrinth last Saturday at a Quiet Day at St. Paul's.

I had actually been on the fence as to whether to participate. I had, after all, walked the Healing Path just a few months ago. The deciding factor came on Ash Wednesday. No acolytes had been scheduled for the 7:00 p.m. service, so the Eucharistic Ministers were pressed into service. When I arrived — about 10 minutes before service — I was informed that I had been volunteered to carry the Gospel book.

I don't think I've ever carried the Gospel before; if I have, it was when I was a teenager, over forty years ago. Carrying the Gospel involves bearing it in procession — both at the beginning & end of the service — and holding it for the deacon as s/he reads from it. The Gospel book used at St. Paul's Cathedral is oversized — about as big as the average coffee-table book — and bound by an engraved metal cover. It's surprisingly heavy.

The Gospel expresses an ideal of human living. The life story of Jesus is a plumb line, against which the faithful measure their own manner of living. It calls the listener to judgment. This is why, in our faith tradition, we stand when the Gospel is read.

A hymn is traditionally sung as the Gospel is brought into the midst of the congregation. The crucifix and a pair of torches proceed the deacon and Gospel. The book is presented to the deacon, who finds her place then hands the book back to the acolyte. The acolyte holds the book as the hymn is sung. On this occasion, the hymn seemed especially long, at least six verses.

I stood there, facing the deacon, as the Book grew increasingly heavy. And I was struck by what an honor it is to carry this particular book. How I so often fall short of the ideal, yet am still worthy to hold and carry it in religious ceremony. It was a prayerful moment.

That feeling of prayer was a thin place; a moment when I was aware of the divine. I longed to return to that place, and knew the labyrinth was a way to enter a similar thin place.

I was one of the last ones to enter the labyrinth Saturday morning. I was taking my time. I was praying an Anglican rosary, using a prayer a friend had shared on Facebook: “Keep darkness out, keep light within; keep fear without, keep peace within; keep hatred without, keep love within.” I was two-thirds through the rosary when I noticed I was among the last pilgrims, and decided to complete the rosary as I walked the labyrinth's circuits.

As I've said before, one often meets the companions one needs on the Path. On this day, the first person I met was John, a Viet Nam vet who, I believe, suffers from PTSD. I stepped to one side so he could pass; we bowed to each other as he walked by: “The sacred in me recognizes the sacred in you,” to paraphrase the Hindu prayer.

This stepping to one side to let others pass was something I frequently did that day, mostly as a courtesy. It was also a way to honor my sense of personal space — to allow a bit of breathing room between my body and all those other bodies. The lanes were narrow, and only once did I turn to one side to walk the same circuit as another person — who was walking the opposite direction.

In time, I was the last person in the labyrinth. In time, most of the other pilgrims were heading downstairs for lunch. There were three facilitators walking at the edges of the labyrinth to support our prayer with their own. In time, I came to believe people were waiting for me – possibly my fellow pilgrims, certainly those three facilitators. There was also the possibility I'd be late for lunch, and would not know where it was being served. I was very near the entrance; no more than two or three circuits to go. I was at point where I could easily step over one border and enter the lane leading out.

So I did. I walked back to my chair, quickly jotted down a few notes, and put my shoes back on. I started to join the others, but as I walked down the stairs, I was aware the noise was painful. I had to admit I needed a few more minutes to transition from the sacred to the mundane.

I didn't think much one way or the other about my actions. I wasn't consciously thinking, “Man, I'm a really spiritual person. I've spent all this time in prayer, and I've been so considerate of my fellow pilgrims!”

I suppose that element of pride was there though, lurking in my subconscious.

I drove straight from church to the grocery store. It didn't take long to collect and purchase my paltry supplies — no more than 15-20 minutes. Returned to the car, put the bag in the trunk, started the car.

I couldn't pull out because another car was directly behind me. The driver, a woman with a young child, was waiting for a car on the opposite side to pull out. I wasn't really feeling impatient. I was listening to This American Life as my car ran, and was relatively content. I looked in the rear-view every so often to see if the woman had moved yet.

Our interaction became a silent movie, with each of us projecting dark voices (I suppose) onto the other. At some point the woman saw my eyes reflected in my rearview. I didn't think I was looking that often, but perhaps she thought I was getting impatient. She might have in my place, as I had no way of leaving (there was a car parked in front of me).

I don't know why she didn't pull back so I could exit; then she could have pulled into my former parking space. There was no way to communicate that option.

I was aware of her looking back at me, noticing my eyes in the rear view. I tried to think of a way to communicate I was in no hurry. So I drummed my fingers. Mistake — she read that as greater impatience. I could see her lips move; she was gesticulating to the space she'd been waiting for. Her lips moved some more.

I can't read lips, and that's the point I which I did become impatient. I unbuckled my belt and left the car, hoping we could speak like adults. However, she wouldn't roll down her window. All I could do is say, almost at a shout, “I'm just waiting, like you. What's your problem? There's no problem.” Felt altogether impotent and silly. I returned to my car.

Clearly, I had not made a full return from the mountain top. I was not ready to deal with other people. It's well and good to be courteous to people in your faith community, people you've come to know and care for. But the real test is how you treat the stranger.

I'm not sure I earned a passing grade as I confronted that woman in the grocery store parking lot. I went home, so my cat could teach me greater humility.