A Catholic Vision of Prayer, Part II

            In my last post, I briefly touched on the actual practice of “praying without ceasing” that St. Paul wrote specifically in 1 Thessalonians 5:17 and in his epistle to the Ephesians. I want to continue the discussion on that concept, so as to elaborate and meditate on the “how” of constant prayer. Does prayer mean to kneel down in front of a crucifix with hands folded at all times? Does it mean to never to go bed, but pray all night long? Does it mean to never eat or work or play? No, it does not mean any of these things strictly. And, yet, the Church still tells us it is possible to pray without ceasing.

            In Part I, I wrote about how Christian prayer is ultimately an act of humility and of poverty in spirit. We, who are children of God, come before the Father and give our hearts to him, through Christ. Our poverty, our need for God, goes even to the very ability of prayer itself: “We do not know how to pray as we ought,” Romans 8:26 reads. It is the Spirit who prays for us, from within, and with us. He is the one who teaches us how to pray.  For prayer, the Church tells us, is a gift freely received, and its foundation is humility. (CCC, 2559)

            Humility? Well, that’s not natural to most of us, is it! And, yet, the Lord asks us to come before him as children constantly. So, then, the Church knowing that humility is lacking in most humans, along with patient endurance among other virtues, recognizes that prayer is a battle. It’s a battle against our weaknesses, a battle against our selfish desires, a battle against our spiritual enemies, a battle against our use of our time. What it is not, though, is a battle against our duties and our life calling.

There are several elements of the Christian prayer life that are in motion within Catholic theology and spirituality to help win the battle of prayer. The first is that all things (that are not sin) can become an act of prayer. The second is the rhythm of prayer in Catholic life.

            The source of prayer is Christ himself. He is the one who causes all rightful prayer to be possible, and to put us in right relationship with God. All prayer is “through him, in him, and with him,” as the priest sings every Mass; it is possible through Christ’s sacrifice and his cross. In my post “On the Holy Eucharist and Schism,” I wrote that our Christian life has its source and summit in the Eucharist itself, as we read in the Catechism. The Eucharist is the true presence of Christ and his once for all sacrifice on Calvary. So, when the Church says that our prayer life should be an extension of the Liturgy of the Mass, what she is really saying is that prayer should be an outflow of our Christian community, which is the Body of Christ, and in union with Christ’s sacrifice.

            Christ redeemed more than just our souls; he redeemed our lives. He came to bring us life to the full. St. Paul wrote, “I appeal to you, therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. (Rom. 12:1 NRSVCE)” And now we understand that we can offer all our works to the Lord; we can offer ourselves and our lives up to the Lord in prayer. “This is your spiritual worship.” This is not a sadistic mentality. This is about giving ourselves completely to God in every moment.

            All of our works, our joys, even our sufferings can become a part of our prayer, lifted up to God as an offering. It is all made possible through Christ’s sacrifice. By being drawn up into his sacrifice, as members of his Body, we can offer up our entire day. We can offer up each time we go to work. We can offer up the sweeping of the kitchen floor. We can offer up the bathing and cleaning up of our children. We can offer up our rejoicings in our relationships. We can offer up the pain that we suffer in our ailments. We can offer our mourning and our losses in death. We can offer up the persecution and ridicule that others throw on us. Every small thing can be lifted up to the Lord, as well as all great things. St. Therese, the Little Flower, taught us this perfectly.

            In the first Part, I quoted St. Peter, writing that it is a credit to us if, “while being mindful of God,” we endure suffering. Mindfulness of God is prayer enough, and to do it while patiently enduring suffering, we can offer it to God for our own good. First, our mindfulness of God while suffering brings us closer to Christ in his Passion. Second, it causes us to know him and his love. Finally, it causes us to love him more and more each time, because we know that he, too, suffered for us.

Suddenly, all of our tears, our pains and our sufferings become valuable. He can even use them as instruments of merit, to bring grace. We must remember, though, that “without love, I am nothing. (1 Cor. 13)” So, too, if all of our sacrifices or offerings are made without love, they are nothing. On the other hand, “love covers a multitude of sins. (1 Pet. 4:8)” Then we see that Christian love, charity, is the greatest act of self sacrifice. It is the new commandment: “Love one another as I have loved you.”

Here we come back to the point that all prayer should be in union with the community of Christ, his Body, the Church. This is why we pray “Our Father … forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us.” Notice the plural – we. Love is always in communion, never alone or separated from others. Impossible. Our prayer life, then, needs to be an outflow of love for others and for God, if it will be of any use. Otherwise, we sound like the prideful Pharisee Jesus spoke of:

“Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.’ But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his breast and saying, ‘God, be merciful to me, a sinner!’ I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other; for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.” (Luke 18:10-14 NRSVCE)

Finally, the rhythm of prayer is the other element of Catholic spirituality that helps us in our battle to pray without ceasing. The Church picked up its habits of worship from the Jewish people. So, as we read in Acts, the early Christians continued some of the same that they were already doing as Jews previously. They prayed in the Temple three or more times a day. They would pray the Our Father three times a day, at least. They would gather on the same day of the week – Sunday – to break bread and pray together. They prayed and sung the Psalms together, and read the Scriptures. They did this at prescribed times of the day (first hour, third, sixth, ninth).

The Liturgy of the Hours is an extension of the Liturgy of the Mass in its closest form, and consists mostly of the readings of the Psalms, some other prayers and hymns,  said or sung two or more times daily. The Liturgy of the Hours really became the heart of the Church’s prayer life. It is mandatory for priests, deacons, and many religious brothers and sisters. For the laity, it is highly recommended. However, throughout the history of the Church the laity have more commonly used minor version of the hours, or only prayed at the certain times of day. For example, the Angelus was prayed three times daily beginning early in the second millennium. Most lay Catholics that do attempt to pray the Liturgy of the Hours only pray the major hours  -- Morning and Evening.

Add to this daily, monthly and yearly rhythm of the Psalms a yearly cycle of memorials, feasts and solemnities, we have a very forceful prayer of the community. Together, we celebrate major beliefs and events of our faith, like Easter, Christmas, or those of the Virgin Mary, along with many other celebrated Saints we venerate.  Every year we celebrate Lent as a fasting period. And, finally, there is Ordinary time, as a kind of relaxed preparation period of prayer for the Church.

Through this rhythm, we are helped along our day and our year to stay in constant prayer. In between the vocal prayer, we may have mental and contemplative. Perhaps there are times we are just mindful of God. But overall, the rhythm of the prayer life based on the Liturgy creates a flow and a guide, a reminder and an encouragement to pray continually. It is a very, very wonderful help. And it is a bond of our fellowship in worship.

Catholic spirituality, then, affords a great many helps to keep us close to God and his family. Through the Eucharist, our whole lives get drawn up mystically into Christ, and we are able to offer every moment of our day to God for any praise, thanksgiving, supplication or intercession. We are given great graces through the rhythmic prayer of the Church, which draws us up into meditation on the life of Christ and his Church. And in the midst of it all, if we cooperate with the Spirit, we can be carried into a very deep relationship with Love itself, who wills us to share in his life, the fullness of life. Joy upon joy, grace upon grace.

Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on us sinners.

             

            

A Catholic Vision of Prayer, Part I

Before becoming Catholic, I took seriously the call to “pray without ceasing,” that St. Paul wrote. I knew that this meant being in communion with God in our daily lives and about our work. I knew it did not just mean to pray with words. My depth of understanding this was limited to what I could glean from Scripture, in my limited knowledge. Upon becoming Catholic, I have found the treasury of wisdom in the Saints on how to prayer, why to pray and what to pray. They have taken me up on their shoulders and shown me prayer in its true depth.

            St. Maria Faustina once wrote in her diary:

A soul arms itself by prayer for all kinds of combat. In whatever state the soul may be, it ought to pray. A soul which is pure and beautiful must pray, or else it will lose its beauty; a soul which is striving after this purity must pray, or else it will never attain it; a soul which is newly converted must pray, or else it will fall again; a sinful soul, plunged in sins, must pray so that it might rise again. There is no soul which is not bound to pray, for every single grace comes to the soul through prayer.            (145)

All of the Saints have relied deeply on God through fervent prayer throughout their Christian life. They have sought out the grace of God through their prayer, not only for themselves, but especially for others. “Every single grace comes to the soul through prayer,” St. Faustina wrote. This is a very great mystery.

There have been times in my life, (and the battle continues) when I believed God to grant graces without prayer. “He knows my needs, and is a loving Father,” I would tell myself. Yet, the Father, Son and Holy Spirit do not will to operate this way. In fact, Christ himself, the second person of the Most Holy Trinity, prayed. He prayed continually. Sometimes he prayed all night long, as we read in St. Mark’s gospel. In the Gospel of St. Luke, we read that Jesus taught his disciples “their need to pray always and not to lose heart. […] And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? (Luke 18:1,7 NRSVCE)”

At his Passion, he told the disciples in the Garden of Gethsemane, “Pray, lest you enter into temptation.” I believe it was St. Louis de Montfort who wrote that the disciples fell, even though they were in the presence of the Son of God, because they did not take him seriously when he said to pray always. St. Peter later wrote, “For it is a credit to you if, being aware of God, you endure pain while suffering unjustly. (1 Pet. 2:19 NRSVCE)” There is a great call, then, from the Scriptures, to constant prayer and awareness of God. It is for our good. It is for our salvation. What, then, does that look like?

The Saints in union with the whole Church have recognized prayer as more than just vocal prayer. The following are very simplified definitions of three forms of prayer. There is vocal prayer, which is our normal discussion with God from our lips, supplication, intercession and thanksgiving. These could be spoken or sung. There is mental prayer, which is thoughtful meditation and delight in the Lord. Finally, there is contemplation, which is a deep prayer, silent before the Lord in love with him, usually associated with intuitively seeing his Truth. Cor ad cor loquitur. Heart speaks to heart. 

In becoming Catholic, I found a great wealth of understanding of prayer, but most especially a great practice of prayer. And I have discovered that there is a place for each form of prayer. Praying without ceasing is not taken lightly by the Saints. They have all done it in many ways because they recognized the need they have of God. This is how they became Saints. As St. Faustina said, no grace can come except through prayer. St. James wrote the same: “You have not, because you ask not. […] ‘God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble.’ […] Humble yourselves before the Lord, and He will exalt you. (James 4:2, 6, 10 NRSVCE)”

Prayer is ultimately an act of humility. It is our means of relying on God alone. It is our means of recognizing our poverty. It is our means of relation with God. It is our means of coming before the One who gives all good things, the one who corrects and trains, the one who blesses and judges. We must rely on him. We must ask for the things we need, spiritual and physical.  Prayer is for the small things as well as for the large things in life, whether they be the blessing before the meal or the salvation of a soul. We can do nothing without Christ, not even wake up, and especially not save our souls.

Allow me to leave you with a thought on the gift of Our Lady, the Most Holy Rosary. There cannot be enough said about the Rosary, its graces and wondrous effects. Though you may think it overly praised, it is much more valuable than many believe. Our Lady has shown us many ways in which to prayer, simply through the Rosary itself. It is filled with tremendous amounts of wisdom and grace. I cannot express the true depth of the Holy Rosary. Through it, she teaches us to pray with her and with her Son. 

On the smallest of levels, our simple prayers of the lips are lifted up to heaven in a petition before God, through the hands of the Blessed Virgin to help us now. The Lord’s Prayer is the greatest prayer, and is most profound, containing all we need. Through these prayers, we praise God, thank God, petition God for our needs. The Lord’s Prayer, the Hail Mary and the Glory Be are all said in light of the life of Christ. We know love, because he first loved us. In remembering his life, death and resurrection alongside Mary, how can we not trust in him? Sometimes, these simple prayers, with very little meditation are enough to lift me and give me strength, if for no other reason than that Our Lady is praying for me, or for whomever I am praying for. My wife has prayed the Rosary on several occasions for me, and I remotely felt the help. What power! Though, we know many more great, great miracles have been wrought at the request of our Mother through the Holy Rosary.

The mental prayer, the meditation, is the most beneficial to the growth of our souls in virtue, though. By meditating on the life of Jesus and Mary, we come to know true virtue, true holiness and true love. It is very important to meditate often on the life of Christ, especially his Passion. It is the “renewing of the mind” that St. Paul wrote about to the Romans. Without meditation on Christ’s life, there is very little hope to come up against suffering and temptation with preparedness. (Do we think that St. Paul was able to endure his litany of sufferings without constantly meditating on Christ’s sufferings? Far from it! He constantly writes of sharing in Christ’s sufferings, as in Romans 8:16,17).  The Rosary’s most benefit lies in the mediation on each mystery. These mysteries of Christ and his Mother are endless as a source of wisdom, insight, understanding and grace. Through them, we can grow in likeness to Him.

Finally, through meditation on the mysteries of the life of Christ and his Mother, we can be led into silent contemplation. We can be led into a deeper knowledge of Christ, and thus come to love him more and more. This is the ultimate end of prayer. The beginning is humility and poverty of spirit. The end is to be lifted up in love with God himself. To know God is to love God. To love God is to obey God. To obey God is to have eternal life dwelling within us. “And this is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent. (John 17:3)”

St. Maria Faustina, pray for us.

O Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us.

On the Holy Eucharist and Schism

            In a letter written to his son, J.R.R. Tolkien once wrote that he believed the Reformation, which he called “the revolt,” was really launched against the Eucharist itself, against “’the blasphemous fable of the Mass’ – and faith/ works a mere red herring.”¹ For us Catholics who believe in the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist, under the species of bread and wine, we know that it is the source of our unity. The Eucharist is what draws us up into Christ’s one body. To make any sort of separation or fracture of that one body is to tragically sin against and wound Christ. Tolkien knew this fact. He called the Reformation a revolt, precisely, because he knew that it was a rebellion, intentional or not, against our source of unity – Christ himself, present in bread and wine.

            “The cup of blessing, which we bless, is it not a participation in the blood of Christ? The bread, which we break, is it not a participation in the body of Christ? Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of the one bread. Consider the people of Israel; are not those who eat the sacrifices partners in the altar?” (1 Cor. 10:16-18 NRSV) St. Paul in these last verses shows us exactly the matter so clearly. He goes so far as to say that the blessed bread and wine are a participation in Christ and his sacrifice.

            The Eucharist, the Church tells us, is the source and summit of our Christian life. Why? Because it is a participation in the sacrifice of Christ. What else is the body and blood of Christ, but that which was broken, that which was poured out for us? The Sacrifice of the Mass is our highest form of worship, because it is with him, in him and through him that we make our worship, any worship. This is why it is called the summit of our Christian life. All worship is made possible through Christ and his cross, and that mystery is made present in the consecrated bread and wine. This is why it is called the source of our Christian life. This is also why the Church says that all other worship is (and should be) just an extension of the liturgy of the Mass. “Without Me, you can do nothing.” Mother Church truly realizes the reality and depth of the revealed truth of the Eucharistic Presence.

            The words of the common, Catholic prayer of morning offering are so clear in light of this: “O my Jesus, … I offer to you all my prayers, works, joys and sufferings in union with the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.…” The Sacrifice of the Mass is the one bread, the one and only bread. It is the one Sacrifice that happened in history 2,000 years ago and is made available to us each day in the Mass. And by it, we are caught up into the unity of the Spirit, and become participants in Christ’s redeeming work.

            In Ephesians 1:20-23, St. Paul tells us that the Father has made Christ to sit at his right hand, after having raised him up, far above all rule and authority. He goes on to write that the Father “put all things under [Christ’s] feet and has made him the head over all things for the church, which is his body, the fullness of him who fills all in all” (22, 23 NRSV). Two things are impressed upon me in this passage. The first is that Christ, as the Church tells us, was raised in his glorified flesh and then seated at the right hand of the Father. He is still in the flesh, glorified nonetheless. Let me repeat: Christ is still in the flesh, a human being. The second is that the church is his body, even the fullness of the Son of God.

            In light of these, can we ever really say again, having known the Real Presence, that Christ, still living in the flesh, wills his people to be separated all over the face of the earth in disagreement and division on teachings that were handed down by himself? “I will not leave you orphan.” Can we really say that he who is in heaven, in the flesh, and will return again does not “mind” (or worse, even wills it) that some of those members of his body have torn it into pieces by division? Or, instead, would we say with St. Paul, “any one who eats and drinks without discerning the body eats and drinks judgment upon himself” (1 Cor. 11:29). Some Christians seem to act, as I did at one time, like Christ died and went away in spirit for a really long time, and has nothing to do with shepherding his Church: “Alright, guys, you’re on your own. Don’t make too much mess, and try to remember the things I told you as best you can.”

            No, instead, we know that he left us the apostles. They in turn left us those whom they chose to faithfully continue the ministry of Christ, down to our own age, keeping the continuity of his authority. And Christ is still in control. Christ is still living in the flesh. He did not leave us orphan. He is not separated from us. He is very close to us, and even in our midst. His authority is still on this earth, and his unity is in his one holy, catholic, and apostolic Church. We are one body only because we have one bread, one communion, one Lord. Let us not break communion with that one body. Let us, instead, honor and adore the source and summit of our Christian life, our salvation – the Most Holy Eucharist – and remain wherever that one Bread is.

            Let us pray, too, that we may recognize with our Catholic brother, Tolkien, the indivisibility between the Eucharist and Christ’s Church: “… but I now know enough about myself to be aware that I should not leave the Church for any such reasons [of scandal]: I should leave because I did not believe, and should not believe anymore … I should deny the Blessed Sacrament, that is: call Our Lord a fraud to His face.”¹

¹ Tolkien, J. R. R. The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien: A Selection. Ed. Humphrey Carpenter. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2000. 338-39. Print.

Swimming the Tiber: A Response

“Port William repaid watching. I was always on the lookout for what would be revealed. Sometimes nothing would be, but sometimes I beheld astonishing sights.” - Wendell Berry

- See more at: http://mereorthodoxy.com/church-membership-theological-disagreement/

A Response to "On Church Membership and Theological Difference" at the blog, Mere Orthodoxy:

           Making a home out of any place or tradition is something that takes a very long time, patience and endurance, especially in light of negative aspects of that “home.” I know, because I am a convert to the Catholic Church of about tens years now. I was one of those college students, coming from an Evangelical Protestant background, studying and finding myself suddenly in the Catholic world without a sense of direction or place. I was studying to become an Evangelical (Conservative Baptist) Pastor, and ended up a lay Catholic, wandering around trying to figure out what “home” meant now for me; for my previous home had been destroyed by others and turned to rubble, though I loved it greatly. So, I do understand Berry’s line dearly, very dearly.

            I must, though, comment on the thoughts concerning converts to Catholicism and their alleged “methodological modernism.” I cannot disagree more with the observation of methodology. Despite that there may be those out there that convert for superficial reasons, the majority of converts that I know, including myself, only did so after much deliberation, silent internal torture, much bewilderedness, and intense supplication.

            I became a Catholic, after being staunchly anti-Catholic, living in densely-populated Catholic New England. After being intimately involved in my home Evangelical church and family, I decided to leave it. I decided to leave all that I loved behind. It was extremely painful. It was even more painful to lose that family and that home, when that family and that home decided that I was going down the Evil Way.

            Why, then, did I do it? Why did I leave behind the Protestant world, which I loved (and still do, as a first lover)? Why did I abandon the only Christian life I understood and knew how to live, and to live well? Obedience.

            Meador makes a wonderful observation that to try to see the good in one’s home, to find the holy, the grace, the love in one’s home despite scandal, despite sin, despite foolishness is a glorious duty. I believe this is a Christian thing to do. To humbly resign oneself to the authority of another, to which God has put over us, is precisely a New Testament thought. It is also a Catholic thing to do.

            Most converts to Catholicism that I am aware of did so on grounds that were a matter of simple obedience, humbling oneself like a child. This was despite their feelings, their affections, their individualistic thoughts, and even their tendency to remain in “the comfort of their own home.”

            Most of those converts I know studied hard to find out what their predecessors of Protestantism believed before they could gather the courage to make the “Crossing.” Some of them even tried to prove the Catholic faith wrong, with ammunition from the Reformers themselves. In their battle, they found out that the Catholic Church wasn’t Goliath; it was a bunch of sheep in perceived wolves clothing. (Forgive the reverse analogy).

            For one to say that Christian truth-seekers should deeply know, though, the Reformers and their writings and thoughts, even if they are highly valuable, distorts the idea of what Truth is. We do not need to window-shop (or “church-shop”) all the great theological sources in order to recognize the Christ within us, who is the Way, the Truth and the Life. And when we hear the Gospel, we must obey it, as the Scriptures put it plainly. The Kingdom of Heaven belongs to children, and we should not hinder them. I mean we should not leave seeking of truth, and especially finding truth, only up to those who have theological degrees and scholarly background. He has chosen the things of this world to confound the wise.

            On the other hand, many great thinkers and scholars have gone on to become Catholic, despite being seriously well established and rooted in Reformation Theology. So, we know it works both ways. Some perfect examples of the scholarly would be Richard Henry Neuhaus, the founder of First Things, A. David Anders, PhD, a Protestant historian, Dr. Scott Hahn, a former Gordon-Conwell seminarian and Presbyterian pastor, and last but not least, Cardinal John Henry Newman, 19^th century Anglican priest and convert to Catholicism, author of “An Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine” and Pro Vita Sua. All of these men, many other Protestant pastors, female scholars, and people of faith have become Catholic despite all of their consequential suffering and sorrow, as well as their previous dislike, distaste, and even disgust at the Catholic faith and its “religion.” Just as God said to Abram, “Leave your country and your relatives to go to a land I will show you,” and again, “And everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or fields, for my name’s sake, will receive a hundredfold, and will inherit eternal life,” so we must humbly obey, when necessary. (Acts 7:3, Matt. 19:29)

            For myself, as I am sure is true for many other converts, I still am here trying to understand my new home. I am still “becoming Catholic,” even after ten years. I did not choose this home out of methodological modernism, but by fidelity to Truth, to Christ, and to his authority. “Your will be done. My Father … not what I want, but what you want.” I couldn’t have found more joy, more peace or more beauty than this, in my new home, to which God has brought me as through fire. So, you see, that we haven’t left our previous homes for lack of love, nor lack of knowledge, but out of the ancient methodologies of the Church, the body of Christ.