On Prayer

From today's Office of Readings:

From a treatise on the Lord's Prayer by Saint Cyprian, bishop and
martyr:

When we pray, our words should be calm, modest and disciplined. Let us reflect that we are standing before God. We should please him both by our bodily posture and the manner of our speech. It is characteristic of the vulgar to shout and make a noise, not those who are modest. On the contrary, they should employ a quiet tone in their prayer.

Moreover, in the course of his teaching, the Lord instructed us
to pray in secret. Hidden and secluded places, even our own rooms, give witness to our believe that God is present everywhere; that he sees and hears all; that in the fullness of his majesty, he penetrates hidden and secret places.

...For God hears our heart not our voice. He sees our thoughts;
he is not to be shouted at.

A few years ago, subsequent to attending a Life in the Spirit seminar (about 4 months subsequent), I began to attend the Charismatic group's prayer meetings, which I continued to do for about six months or so, I think. Maybe a bit longer. I never felt it was truly "my place", but at the time, it felt like I needed to be there for some reason. But over time I just stopped going; a need, whatever it was, had been filled.

The people were wonderful, most attended Daily Mass and I would see them in our Adoration chapel from time to time. It was and remains a good group of faithful Catholics. God bless them!

However, I continued to have an extreme discomfort with their style of worship. Charismatic Masses made me cringe, even as I tried not to. I didn't like having a band performing at Mass, I felt it was an abuse for people to be praying in tongues at the Elevation, and I've NEVER been given to waving my hands in the air - except in law enforcement training when I was the suspect.

But I sincerely tried out this particular spirituality. At the time, I worked into the evening so usually missed the first half hour of the meeting, which was just fine...because it was "praise and worship", which meant..yup...hand-waving, singing in tongues, etc. It all seemed so "1970's" to me, and I preferred, if I had the time, to spend it in the chapel in silence. I NEEDED that silence, and it was in that silence that the Lord spoke to me and I to Him. After a stressful day at work in a job I hated, I needed silence, not more noise.

Yes, I enjoy Contemporary Christian music and listen to it all the time. But my form of "praise and worship" actually resembles the description given by St. Cyprian above, as opposed to the innovations of the CCR and Protestant forms of worship.

I am NOT slamming the Catholic Charismatic Renewal! I'm only saying that it wasn't for me; it wasn't my style of worship and never would be. And perhaps that's why I was drawn to the group; to reveal to me what I was and what I was NOT called to do.

I have had some people suggest to me that God pushes us out of our comfort zone and maybe I'm supposed to be a Charismatic. I disagree; God does force us outside of our boxes, but that doesn't mean we are to constantly experience spiritual discomfort. What was I doing in a loud prayer meeting when I desperately needed to be silent at the feet of Jesus in the Adoration chapel? I can't enter into true prayer after a bunch of songs. I have learned through experience that the only way for me to really encounter God and enter into a conversation with Him is through being quiet. Even in Adoration, often that conversation can't even begin until my hour is nearly up.

On one occasion, when one of the people in the prayer group asked me why I was always late, I explained that before I came, I was spending time in the chapel with Jesus. That person asked me, "Don't you think Jesus would want you to be here with us praising and worshiping him?"

I wish I'd had a copy of St. Cyprian's treatise to hand that individual. What I was doing WAS praising and worshiping Jesus. Every time we act in accordance with God's will for us, it is an act of praise and worship.

Somehow, people have gotten the idea that "Praise and Worship" means screaming (sometimes) bad music at the top of one's lungs while waving one's hands in the air and speaking in babble. And for some people...well, maybe that's what God wants them to do. But that doesn't apply to all of us. Clearly, the Church Fathers would have something to say about the true meaning of praise and worship, and how it originates from within, from that interior connection to God. And St. Cyprian did say that very thing, using David and his psalms as an example.

Prayer doesn't have to be noisy. It shouldn't be noisy, as far as I'm concerned. We're standing before GOD...my guess is that if we TRULY realized what happens at the consecration, we'd all fall prone to the floor, in an awed silence.

Only a fool breaks the silence in the presence of a King. We are all fools...every one of us. We can't comprehend what is before us and Whose presence we are in. We have only a tenuous grasp on this mystery, even if we can argue and explain the theology. If we TRULY understood....

Please don't fill my combox with a defense of the CCR. I'm not attacking it. I'm only explaining my own spirituality, towards the silent, ordered, and contemplative versus the charismatic style of vocal prayer.

To each their own, and the Church is big enough to hold us all. But give me a few minutes in the chapel any day with Jesus and spare me from the contemporary definition of "praise and worship."

Our God is a God of Miracles

I believe in miracles because I am both the product and the subject of a miracle.

Shortly after she was married, Mom was told that she would never have children. But, in defiance of the great god Science, she conceived and bore a son, and called him her firstborn. And Heaven rejoiced.

Then, two years later, roughly, she conceived and bore a daughter. Either before or during her gestation, Roe v. Wade passed and so people were embolded to approach her to say unspeakable things. Mom and Dad both suffered from visible genetic defects; Mom was born with only one hand, Dad had Spina Biffeda. So while Mom's belly was swollen with me, she was attacked with great hatred by the culture of death that suggested remorselessly that she murder her child in deference to their preference to live in a world without such imperfection as herself.

I can't imagine the anguish this must have caused my mother. That alone should qualify her as a martyr and speed her canonization.

So then I was born, and Heaven rejoiced. But alas, I was born with a very lazy eye, turned so far inward that as I got older, the doctors told my Mom I would never have depth perception, I would never be able to so much as stack blocks. Mom was devastated, but she opted not to kill me although certain factions of culture would have liked to see such a thing occurr.

I still remember an eye doctor appointment during which I heard the word "surgery". I remember the doctor discussing with my mother how certain muscles would be cut and reattached, the risks (which I did not understand) and the probability for success. The appointment was set for a few days or couple weeks later. It was to be a simple surgery, apparently.

I remember going to Mom's friend's house the day before my scheduled surgery. Mom's friends' name was Barb, and she was about Mom's height, a little older, and she had dark wavy, short hair. She was very friendly and talked a lot. They had a split-level home with blue carpeting and nice furniture. They were nice people and they had a littl girl a bit younger than me and sent us off to play together. That little girl was as blue as the carpet.

Mom explained to me later that she was sick and wasn't going to be in this world for very long. (Many years later I learned her diagnosis; Congenital heart disease. She was a "blue baby"). That little girl actually lived far longer than she was "supposed to."

I remember a certain sense of peace about her, as though she knew she was dying, but it didn't diminish her life. She was just like every other little girl everywhere, but for her blue color and her need to rest a little more often.

While we were there, she and I were called into the livingroom where all the adults were, including some other people I'd never seen before. I seem to remember people exclaiming over us and my lazy eye.

I was a very very shy child, hated to be the center of attention, and did my best to not be noticed. But since my new blue friend was with me, I felt better because they were making much out of her as well. There is solidarity in such things.

The group of adults stood in a circle around us, and I remember Barb praying for healing for us. Other people spoke up, too. I hated being there and I made faces at my new friend to release some tension. She was very used to this so didn't understand my discomfort, and stared back at me soberly. I took a cue from her and stopped, enduring the embarassment of so many people paying attention to me at once.

Shortly after that, and maybe some hugs from our new friends, and promises to return, we left.

I remember holding Mom's hand as we went to the hospital where I was prepped for surgery.

There was a quick pre-op exam, and the doctor stood up and called for someone else. They left the room. They came back, checked again, and told Mom that surgery was not necessary.

I remember walking out with Mom, not understanding my sense of relief, not understanding Mom's wonderment. I was completely oblivious to what had happened.

Mom wasn't.

It was a bona-fide miracle. My condition, which had been monitored since my birth, was not a self-correcting type of condition. I literally needed surgery to turn my eye straight.

But overnight, the condition was corrected to the degree that surgery was not needed.

I actually always thought that Barb and her family and friends were Charismatic Catholics, because sometime around then, Mom had taken us to a Charismatic prayer meeting. I only learned last weekend that they were actually Assembly of God.

I have been pondering this and considering whether this new information affects my perspective in any way.

I've decided it has not. Rather, I am coming to a new understanding of true ecumanism, in fact, the true meaning of it. I do not remember that they were trying to convert us. It seemed there was a great deal of mutual respect for our religious beliefs and theirs, and through their concern for their children, these adults bonded over what was common and addressed God in unity.

I think only a suffering mother can relate to another suffering mother, and those prayers are powerful.

I was healed that day. I found out that about a year later, that other little girl died. I also seem to remember her praying for me with her family.

I am humbled, and I pray that this little girl is in Heaven, praying for me still for I sense that her prayers are powerful.

Do not fear to believe in miracles; they happen every day, to people all over the world.

I am typing these words today not through braille, but through living eyes, a sense of sight Mom was told I would never have. These very words are the result of a miracle.

Thank you, God, for this gift of sight. Thank you, God, for Mom's gift of faith. Thank you, God. for Barb and her family/friend's gifts of faith and prayer, and thank you, God, every day, for the gifts of holy friendship.