Man at Prayer, by Fr. Vincent McCorry, S.J.

Remember the Baltimore Catechism’s definition of prayer, the pat definition we learned as children? “Prayer is the lifting of the mind and heart to God.” As children, we saw no special difficulty in reciting prayers. We learned our prayers and said them. It never occurred to us that prayer is apt to be laborious. We had no way of knowing a large and broad truth: that prayer is a matter of serious concern to religious man. “Religious man” here means neither the professional religious nor the man of uncommon piety. It means any man of faith in God, and particularly the Christian.

The committed Christian man knows well that he ought to pray. He could name the reasons. Because of God’s honor, which is acknowledged in prayer. Because of man’s sore need, which is poured out in prayer; because of Christ’s precept and example. Our Lord prayed, and bade us do as much. This, then, is to be your Prayer, Our Father . . .

Moreover, the man of faith has no antecedent objection to prayer. Many a good fellow is painfully reticent on the whole subject of prayer and piety, but anyone who imagines that men object to praying has never seen ordinary men on a weekend retreat. What the honest Christian says about prayer constitutes not a complaint, but a humble admission: “I’m just not very good at it.” What he means and would say, except that he supposes the professionals are good at it, is: prayer is necessary--but difficult. He is right. He is right, and couldn’t be more right, on both counts.

There are evident reasons why prayer is not easy. First, it is because any voluntary attention is demanding. We all love television precisely because it demands nothing of us. Even so, in the middle of a heart-rending melodrama the poor, numbed mind is apt to wander feebly. Second, it is because an apparently one-sided conversation is never easy. In prayer we speak to the invisible, silent and, as it so often seems, distant God. The process can be disheartening. Third, because prayer for the Christian is supposed to be more than an occasional thing; and it is very difficult to persevere faithfully with what involves effort.

Perhaps the major and certainly the primary effort in all prayer must be some present recognition, some sense, some realization, of that Other to whom we are speaking.

Such apperception is a subtle and even delicate business. The question is not one of emotional response to the presence of God, nor is it at all necessary to visualize God with a white beard or of Christ in a flowing robe. The task is simply to know, to know strongly and quietly, that He to whom you speak is here, is attentive, is all love.

If prayer were perfectly natural in the sense of being perfectly easy, there would have been little point in Christ’s repeated imperatives on the subject. Imperatives are given when imperatives are needed. Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, pray for those who persecute and insult you-such lofty commands make sense precisely as commands.

Above and before every other consideration in this weighty matter, prayer must be regard not as therapy, not as satisfaction, not as a panacea, but as a service rendered to God. In short, prayer is not what you get, but what you give. Lifting anything, even the mind and heart to God, is hard work.

On the other hand, Christ does not issue orders for the performance of the impossible. When, in the sorrowful garden, Christ said to His sleepy friends, Watch and pray, they could have done it. They should have done it. He did.

Read other articles of spiritual enlightenment in the February 2001 edition of The San Francisco Charismatics or return to the Main Menu by clicking on the blue.