The Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Salem, Oregon

Publications

Sermon on Prayer

by Kate Lore

UUCS August 27, 2006

No one knows when or where prayer began. But we do know that almost two thousand years ago Plutarch, the Greek historian, observed:

If we traverse the world, it is possible to find cities without walls, without letters, without wealth, without coin, without schools or theatres: but a city without a temple, or that practices not worship, prayers and the like, no one has ever seen. (from "Prayer is Good Medicine," by Larry Dossey, p. 77).

So it seems that prayer is universal --practiced the world-over-- and that people have been doing it for a very long time.   But the notion of prayer has changed over the centuries.  For early peoples prayer was not seen as a practice separate from daily life; it was woven into the fabric of life itself. All of life was prayer, because all aspects of their lives were grounded in the natural world, which was thought to be enlivened by spirits.  And some people still do view prayer this way.  I am reminded of Annie Dilliard's book, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, in which she describes her aspiration to "pray without ceasing," to live life in constant communion with the sacred that surrounds us at all times in all places.  But hers is not the typical understanding of prayer.

Most people don't view prayer that way anymore.  Somewhere in history, spiritual and material life became separated. Prayer became the possession of organized religion, which sought to bind it with rules and tame its magical powers.  Spontaneous, heart-felt prayer fell out of favor and was replaced by proscribed or prescriptive prayers, such as "The Lord's Prayer" or “Now I lay me down to sleep,” and others found in The Common Book of Prayer. .

If we take a walk through our own Unitarian-Universalist history, we find shifts in our tradition of prayer as well. Lengthy prayers, often spoken extemporaneously by the minister, were a regular feature of worship in our earliest churches. These prayers could last as long as one of today's sermons! Congregants would write their concerns on scraps of paper and pass them to the minister, who would then weave them in as best he could. This tradition, in fact, is thought to be the precursor of our practice of sharing Joys and Concerns.

Then, as Unitarians explored Transcendentalism and Eastern religions in the 19^th century, the language contained in our prayers began to change significantly: Word choices became less Biblical, more flowery, and more focused on nature and social concerns.

Our prayers changed yet again in the late 19^th and 20^th centuries with the growth of Humanism in our movement and the 1933 publication of the Humanist Manifesto.  From then until the end of the 20^th century, the practice of prayer began to disappear altogether from our congregations.

Our hymnals provide evidence of this movement away from prayer. The 1938 Hymns of the Spirit had hundreds of prayers -- but also introduced "meditations" and "aspirations." The next, published in 1963, was Hymns for the Celebration of Life. It had prayers, but they were mostly hidden under the category of "responsive readings," or "closing words."

Our current hymnal, Singing the Living Tradition," was published in 1993. It has, by contrast, a substantial section of "Meditations and Prayers," where the prayers outnumber the meditations nearly three to one. It would appear that we are reclaiming the word "prayer," as well as its practice on Sunday mornings --and elsewhere in our lives.

But does this mean that UUs are now comfortable with the concept of prayer?  I wouldn't say that: Prayer is still very controversial. It is understood by many of us as being a personal communication with God, and not all of today's UUs find the concept of a god relevant or useful.  There are plenty of UU congregations, in fact, that still prohibit the use of the word "prayer" from their Sunday morning vocabulary.  

Yet this church seems a bit more tolerant of prayer, having gone so far as to incorporate prayer as a regular part of your Sunday services.  Perhaps this is because there are so many Buddhists among you, and this allows a broader understanding of prayer than is usually associated with the Christian-Judeo tradition.  Or perhaps you are simply more oriented towards spiritual practices of all types, prayer included.  This is, in fact, one of the most deeply spiritual UU congregations I have ever encountered. 

But whatever the reason, it dawned on me early in my internship that I had something to learn from all of you about prayer in the UU context.  This is why I hosted a bag lunch discussion on prayer last week.  I wish you all could have been part of that rich and meaningful conversation.  People shared from the depths of their hearts and minds, and even though we didn't agree on our understandings of prayer, I was touched by the loving respect that each person showed for the other.  As far as I'm concerned, it was church at its best.  We were wrestling with our varying understandings of the Holy and our relationship to it, yet we did it in a totally loving way.  I hope you all know, as I have come to know, that UUCS is a uniquely mindful and loving community.   And you have taught me so much already.  Thank you.

Well, since you all were not there at the brown bag discussion, let me tell you what I learned from the experience.

Why do some UUs pray?  We pray to contact a higher power or powers than we ordinarily have access to.  We may call this power God. We may think of it as many gods or spiritual beings. We may not think of it as any God at all.

We may feel that this power is wholly other than ourselves, or we may feel that this power is ourselves.

We may think of this power as beyond; we may think of this power as within.

But in every instance, it seems what we UUs are seeking when we pray is to open up and connect to a new insight or understanding, and to experience some sort of deeper peace. Some use the word prayer; some use the word meditation.  How one views the power with which one is trying to connect will make a difference in the kind of prayer one uses. But it will not change the purpose in praying.

From all that I’ve experienced and learned, I believe the purpose in praying is to touch base with --and tap into-- the creative processes that lie at the root of being, out of which the world takes shape. Let me repeat that: the purpose in praying is to touch base with --and tap into-- the creative processes that lie at the root of being, out of which the world takes shape.

For it is through prayer that we reconnect with all that holds meaning for us.  We reconnect with our deepest inner yearnings and we reconnect with the sacred dimensions of our lives.

Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hahn writes in his new book on prayer,

. . . when we pray in Buddhism, we are praying both to ourselves and to what is outside ourselves; there is no distinction. . . Between God and us there is no discrimination, no separation. 

Thich Nhat Hahn believes that through mindful prayer we can experience our state of Inter-being, which means everything is in everything else.  Prayer, then, helps us awaken from the illusion of our separateness.  

In these times of increasing fundamentalism, Thich Nhat Hahn urges us to re-envision prayer as an accessible practice that transcends any particular religious or spiritual tradition and —most importantly-- connects us all.  Prayer has the power, in fact, to provide all religious people of all walks of life a regular reminder of our Oneness.  Prayer can provide a common link between Hindus, Muslims, Christian, Jews and all people of the various world religions.   This is good news in this era of increased polarization.

 But other than reconnecting us to our original unity, does prayer in and of itself really work?  Does what we lift up in prayer actually make a difference?  I firmly believe that it does.  Thich Nhat Hahn explains that the energy of mindfulness --which is behind all prayer-- is a real energy, and whenever energy is applied there is a change.  Just as the energy of the sun can change life of the planet Earth, the energy of mindfulness can change the situation of the world and of the human species. So when we mindfully pray with a heart full of love and compassion, we create more love, peace and joy in ourselves and in our world.

Currently, more than 200 controlled experiments in humans, plants, animals, and even microbes suggest that Thich Nhat Hahn is right: that compassionate, loving prayers and intentions of one individual can affect another individual or object --even at great distances.  Now there have also been a few recent studies that contradict these findings, and scientists studying prayer can't tell us why it seems to work in so many cases.  Nevertheless, most of the evidence so far suggests that not only do prayer and meditation elicit a ‘relaxation response’ that is beneficial to the one doing the praying, but also that praying for people actually helps them to heal physically, even when the person being prayed for doesn't know it is happening.

So how does one pray anyway?  In seminary I learned that prayer usually takes four forms: petition, praise, thanks, and confession.  I would also lift up an unofficial fifth form that I would call "kvetching." (Sounds funny, I know, but it is a very powerful kind of prayer.)

Petitionary prayer involves asking God for help or to give you something. Help me rid my body of cancer, for instance, or help me get this job because I really need the money.

Prayers of praise and gratitude happen when we pause to acknowledge the beauty and bounty of our lives, such as seeing a beautiful landscape, experiencing a new food or getting that job you need so desperately. If you use The Common Book of Prayer, these blessings usually begin with: “Blessed are you, O Lord our God.” For example, upon seeing nature's beauty, we might say, "Blessed are you, O Lord our God, who created the universe."   I recently lifted up such a prayer but it went more like this: “Thank you Great Spirit of Life for sparing my youngest from having to go to court after all.  You and I both know that he would be facing time in prison if he got into any more trouble and I didn’t want to sacrifice my son to the unjust judicial system.  Thank you, thank you!  I am so grateful.”

Prayers of Confession, of course, means telling God of our failings -- not necessarily so that God could pardon us, but as a way to encourage ourselves to make amends.

And kvetching, well, this form of prayer is easily found in the Psalms, intermingled with words of praise and petition. Listen to these lines from the 22nd Psalm:

My god, my god, why have you forsaken me?

Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning?

O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer; and by night, but find no rest.

The Psalmist goes on to tell the tale of his isolation from others, of the threats that surround him. He is pouring out his problems to God.

This kind of prayer is about realizing how alone we are, yet somehow not alone. It is a kind of remembering that even in our deepest despair or greatest confusion, we can reach out. I felt this keenly when my youngest son —the same one that just had a brush with the law— was hovering at the brink of death.  Everett, you see, was born with a birth defect: having no cartilage rings in his throat to keep his breathing open whenever his throat became inflamed from infection.  There were many nights at home when he would stop breathing; I had to keep awake hour after hour to make sure that he didn’t die while I was sleeping.  At times, his breathing would stop and he’d start to turn blue from lack of oxygen and I’d have to rush him to the hospital, all the while yelling and screaming at God about my misfortune. “Why,” I yelled, “Why, God, why is this happening to my precious son? Why is this happening to me?  Help him breathe for goodness sake.”

I was not actually angry with God for afflicting Everett with a birth defect, because that's not the kind of God I believe in. But I was praying for a kind of healing for my own soul. For helping me hang in there, being strong and providing a calm presence for my scared little boy.  And although no voice came in answer, somehow my soul leapt into the mightiness of the Holy-space and was caught up in the momentary foreverness of love.  I knew without a doubt that the Divine was present with me and my struggling son.  In the very act of kvetching, of yelling, of screaming, my relationship to life and the Divine was transformed. Like so many instances of prayer, my consciousness opened out, reached high and far and deep --I knew I was not alone.

But prayer works only if we actually do it. To pray, we have to be able to stop amidst the rush and bustle of our lives. "To pray is to know how to stand still and to dwell upon a word," says Rabbi Heschel. We have to begin the discipline of making space in time and in our busy minds, for quiet, for focus, for reaching out to the great mystery.

This is why many religious traditions prescribe prayer. In Islam, for example, prayer is commanded five times a day. And these are not prayers made up by individual Muslims to suit their individual needs. The prayers are spelled out, certain words must be said, and are to be accompanied by prescribed movements. After the required number of units of prayer have been said, one may add personal prayers, asking Allah for guidance.

I wonder what our lives would be like if we knew, as the Muslims know, that all Unitarian Universalists were praying five times each day in a great and mindful circle of shared intention?

As you might have surmised, I do believe that all prayers are meaningful, even those bargaining sessions we might secretly indulge in with God when we find ourselves in dire circumstances, even our most childish prayers that treat God like Santa Claus. There simply is no right or wrong way to pray.

And remember, you need not believe in any kind of god to pray, but you must believe in life. For the purpose of prayer is not to earn brownie points in heaven, not to magically manifest goods and services, but to change ourselves from the inside out, so that we move into life more deeply, more compassionately. In this spirit, I would like to end this sermon with a prayer by Thich Nhat Hahn:

May our heart's garden of awakening

Bloom with hundreds of flowers.

May we bring the feelings of peace and joy into every household.

May we plant wholesome seeds on ten thousand paths.

May we never attempt to escape the suffering of the world,

Always being present wherever beings need our help.  

May mountains and rivers be our witness in this moment

As we bow our heads and request the Lord of Compassion

To embrace us all.

May it be so.