Posted By Christina M on February 23, 2009
(Or I believe… in fact, both.)
I don’t think we pray enough. I know I don’t, and I suspect you, gentle reader, would benefit from more prayer time. Who couldn’t? Every week I pray along with these prayers that I’ve known since childhood, but the words flash by so quickly that it is difficult to give them the attention they deserve, to really stop and mean them.
So, for the next few weeks, I hope to offer some reflections on our common prayers, line by line or phrase by phrase, in the hopes that it may help our prayer life. I begin with the Nicene Creed, because I see it as the cornerstone of my faith as a Catholic Christian, and also because it is so rich in content that I frequently find it hard to absorb the entire thing when I pray it.
We believe (or I believe):
I really don’t see it making much difference, at least in this context, which version we use. What I, at least, need to focus on is the “believe” part. What does it mean to believe? How strongly do I believe? Most importantly, does my belief influence how I live my life?
That last question is my stumbling block. I am a worrier, a worrier of Olympic status. When a bill is late, I worry so heartily that I freeze myself into a state of not being able to deal with it. Whether or not I sleep at night often has a direct correlation to whether I have a worry on my mind.
And it affects my prayers. I believe that God exists, and that He loves me. I believe that He hears and sees me, and that my prayers mean something; yet when it comes to my worries, they are not “ours” but “mine.” It is so hard for me to let go and know that God cares. I find myself arguing with my own faith.
“God loves me. He won’t let anything bad happen to me.”
“Yeah? Then why were you homeless before?”
“Well, that was my own doing. And I never had to sleep on the street, and the kids never went hungry.”
“But now things are going well. Blessed are the people who suffer in all those ways mentioned in the Beatitudes, but now you have a wonderful husband and 8 younger blessings… so maybe God figures you’ve been blessed enough.”
“Now come on, God isn’t limited. His love isn’t finite.”
“So you keep saying. But why doesn’t he answer your prayers for Curtain Climber to sleep through the night?”
(Sigh) “I don’t know.”
“And why hasn’t He made things easier after all these years of struggle?”
“I don’t know.”
“And why is your health getting worse, and your husband forgets to kiss you when he leaves, and your kids keep fighting, and you’re still too tired to think straight, when you keep asking for His help?”
“I wish I knew.”
“So maybe He does hear your prayers, and just wants you to suffer.”
“Well, yeah. Maybe He has some reason that I don’t understand, that my frustration will help me grow, or help someone else in some way. He has greater wisdom than I have.”
“In that case, maybe you’re wasting your breath when you pray, if He has no intention of answering your prayers anyway.”
And it is at this point that, if I had stronger faith, it would be the obvious time for it to occur to me that the problem isn’t God answering or not answering my prayers, but me, and my tendency when I’m worried to pray for me, me, me.
So my assignment, and yours if you choose to accept it, is to pray God-centered prayers instead of me-centered prayers.
The other day, I was praying bedtime prayers with the kids when Hypertot added his piece: “God, aren’t you so nice? You’re always making people. And you’re always with me, no matter where I walk.”
Another four year old is a better pray-er than me. If I really believe, I must trust also. Time for less gimme and more praise.
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