Over the last while I have been reading books on developing a deeper sense of spirituality – moving closer to God. I don’t believe I can play the long game in my life’s work if I don’t develop that. So I have delved into some of the older stuff. I have revisited one of my favourites – Imitation of Christ by Thomas A. Kempis, and others such as Brother Lawrence’s The Practice of the Presence of God; The Way of a Pilgrim (which focuses on the Jesus Prayer); a book called The Way by an anonymous priest, and many others.
Starting out I developed a rule of life to follow in order to give some structure to this new phase and was all excited to encourage others into it. I felt hungry, equipped and able for the task and I begged God to take me on a deep, deep journey. It felt exciting. I dove into the books and various smaller writings to help me on that journey.
A little while on and I feel further back than where I started. I read such works and come out feeling like a minnow – not even in a place where I could rightly call myself a beginner on the journey of really getting to know God. You see, one of the common threads amongst each of the great spiritual writers is that they regard themselves as unworthy of God’s presence, mercy, grace and favour and whilst my theology gets that – I read them and I see heroes. But if they think so humbly of themselves, then who am I?
That rule of life has gone out the window and so are the spiritual practices of St Ignatius I was so keen to try. I don’t feel like I’ve got what it takes to live up to it. I can do moments of silence simply because I don’t feel like I’ve got anything to say that’s actually worth saying in the presence of God… all I’ve got is that one line that is the Jesus prayer:
“Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”
I don’t expect a response and part of me hopes I won’t get one.
It’s not self condemning, as some might read it – rather it’s born from the sense that it’s the only thing I can muster to say and it’s the only thing that feels worth saying and that I can actually get away with so to speak. Of course, when doing group prayer I have more to say as the sense of the group contributes more… and who wants to be the consistently silent one as each person in a group takes turns to pray? In my personal journey that Jesus Prayer is everything for me at the moment. It encompasses the little I have. I pray it often through the day. It has a tendency to consume me at times and I get lost in it. It’s the only expression I have. Hear me right – this isn’t an expression of depression, frustration or anything largely negative. Rather, it’s an expression of my sense of spiritual ‘smallness’ if that makes any sense.
You see, I feel like the tax collector in the parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector found in Luke 18. The parable is favourable towards the tax collector, but that’s not why I identify with him at the moment. I would feel more comfortable if verse 14 wasn’t there, then I could identify with him without my brain telling me that leads to some sort of favour.
This movement backwards has driven me into a love for predefined liturgy as well – worship in community where the words are already shaped and give me something to express beyond myself. What better than to do this around Communion/Eucharist where I can participate in Christ and his community and where my current, simple prayer finds a visible expression of the mercy it requests.
The Eucharist, a sense of the hope of the Resurrection, and the Jesus Prayer… do I need any more? I want the rest of my life to flow from these three things and maybe, just maybe as I continue to utter my simple prayer, that presence of God that Brother Lawrence talks about may become a reality for me. Part of me doesn’t want it for various reasons… including fear and nervousness about what that might mean… as hard as it is to admit that, and part of me craves it. Either way I don’t expect it. I just hope that the still, small voice hears those words that I want him to hear – “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”