Prayer: Session #4

Prayer: Listening

On Sunday I took one of the two torn raincoats that hang in the grand parlor for the use of the monks, and went out into the woods. Although I had not at first determined to do so, I found myself climbing the steepest of the knobs, which also turned out to be the highest -- the pyramid that stands behind the head of the lake, and is second in line when you begin to count from the southwest. Bare woods and driving rain. There was a stong wind. When I reached the top I found there was something terrible about the landscape. But it was marvelous. The completely unfamiliar aspect of the forest beyond our rampart unnerved me. It was as though I were in another country. I saw the steep, savage hills, covered with black woods and half buried in the storm that was coming at me from the southwest. And ridges traveled away from this center in unexpected directions. I said, "Now you are indeed alone. Be prepared to fight the devil." But it was not the time of combat. I started down the hill again feeling that perhaps after all I had climbed it uselessly. Halfway down, and in a place of comparative shelter, just before the pine trees begin, I found a bower God had prepared for me like Jonas's ivy. It had been designed especially for this moment. There was a tree stump, in an even place. It was dry and a small cedar arched over it, like a green tent, forming an alcove. There I sat in silence and loved the wind in the forest and listened for a good while to God.
Thomas Merton, When the Trees Say Nothing.

And my soul is like a woman to you.
She is Naomi's band that ties to Ruth.
By day, my soul stacks sheaves of wheat
like a maidservant doing lowly tasks.
But at night, she takes a thorough bath,
perfumes, and dresses very well;
then goes to you when all's asleep,
and turns back the cover by your feet.
And when you wake and ask her to explain,
she naively says: I'm Ruth, the maid.
Spread your cloak over your servant,
you are heir and next of kin...

And then my soul sleeps until dawn
down by your feet, warmed by this blood of yours,
and is your woman -- just like Ruth.
Rainer M. Rilke, The Book of Hours

Why should the Christian turn to the Psalms and make use of them in his own prayer to God? ...The Psalms are the songs of men who knew who God was. If we are to pray well, we too must discover the Lord to whom we speak, and if we use the Psalms in our prayer we will stand a better chance of sharing in the discovery which lies hidden in their words for all generations. For God has willed to make Himself known to us in the mystery of the Psalms. ...The Psalms are not only the songs of prophets inspired by God, they are the songs of the whole Church, the very expression of her deepest inner life. The words and thoughts of the Psalms spring not only from the unsearchable depths of God, but also from the inmost heart of the Church, and there are no songs which better express her soul, her desires, her longing her sorrows and her joys. ...The Psalms contain in themselves all the Old and New Testaments, the whole Mystery of Christ. In singing the Psalms each day, the Church is therefore singing the wedding hymn of her union with God in Christ. ...If we really come to know and love the Psalms, we will enter into the Church's own experience of divine things. We will begin to know God as we ought.
Thomas Merton, Praying the Psalms

Scripture Study
Psalm 130 & 131
Matthew 6:9-13
Philippians 1:3-11

Somehow, I must sit to listen.
Standing implies the readiness for action,
for the executing of the will.
To hear You I must sit down and calm down.

The magpie mind chatters.
it doesn't know about stopping.
How helpless I fell in its automatic firing,
its busy babbling. It is impossible to hear You
as long as I am full of sound.
I turn this helpless prayer toward You.
Help me to be quiet, to sit here
...slowly unknowing everything,
becoming dark, becoming yielding...
just sitting.

Here, without will, let me become willing.
Here, without concepts, help me to know.
Here, without doing, turn me toward usefulness.
Let my heart find its ears in You.
Let the countless cells of my body
open in order to listen,
Let my being come into Your presence
and experience the sound of Your light.
Gunilla Norris, Being Home