Valley Rise Up: Called to Pray

Thursday, April 16, 2015

Called to Pray

Isn't the light, beyond this and every window, a reason to pray? And isn't the breath within, never taken for granted and always holy, a reason to pray? And isn't God's grace enough to topple my pride and take me to my knees? Isn't it time to pray?

فيديو : فتاة ماليزية تقلد الشيخ عبد الباسط في قراءة القرآن
Posted by ‎القدس - alquds‎ on Tuesday, April 22, 2014

I've been thinking a lot about Moses this summer, and this bit about burning bushes, and taking off our shoes, and standing on holy ground. Moses was about to be tasked with an enormous responsibility: speaking truth to power, confronting the titans of industry, demanding that Pharaoh let the oppressed go free. But before he could even begin to entertain that call, he had to see what was going on in an ordinary desert shrub. He had to grasp the holiness and wonder and beauty of soil--dust--hillside--wilderness. This strikes me as so, so important for us: that we learn to swoon before creation, to praise the glory and namelessness of the holy, to take off our shoes and love it all. Only then, I think, are we able to contemplate the radically liberating call and the daring project of justice and liberation.

WELCOME to VALLEY RISE UP: a blog exploring faith and wonder, ethics and passion. If you find something helpful here, anything helpful here, I hope you'll take it along and make it work for you. I live and work in Santa Cruz, California, where I'm a pastor and teacher at Peace United Church of Christ. My ministry is fluid and complex: creating spaces for conversation, leading a congregation in worship and prayer, actively pursuing justice in the community and world around me. More than anything else, I see myself as a spiritual guide and mentor for seekers and believers. In a beautiful and befuddling world, faith offers courage, resilience and tenderness. On the side, I love to read and write poetry, and I've written a number of hymns and songs as well. In VALLEY RISE UP, I try to keep the conversation alive, exploring grace, peacemaking, human yearning and hope.

A Song of Joyous Resistance

Deep valley gonna rise up
Big mountain gonna fall
Deep valley gonna rise up
Big mountain gonna fall
Deep valley gonna rise up
Big mountain gonna fall
Gonna be level ground, by & by!

Swords pounded into ploughshares
Bombs into bread and wine
Swords pounded into ploughshares
Bombs into bread and wine
Swords pounded into ploughshares
Bombs into bread and wine
Global feast, blessed peace, by & by!

Dry bones are gonna dance, dance
Captives be runnin' free
Dry bones are gonna dance, dance
Captives be runnin' free
Dry bones are gonna dance, dance
Captives be runnin' free
Sea to sea, dancin' free, by & by!

Tune: Lattimer (Spiritual)

"If the inner life is great," said Meister Eckhart 800 years ago, "the outer life will never be puny." Eckhart and others talk about two dimensions in prayer: the horizontal (connecting us in lovingkindness to others) and the vertical (uniting us in love with the Source of all that is and will be). The two intersect in stillness, in reflection, in meditation, in prayer. And this kind of practice is cultivated, tended like a garden, through daily experience and circles of support. There are so many ways into a practice of prayer. For some of us, silence is the key; for others, it's movement, yoga, tai chi, qi gong. The key seems to be discipline, and steady practice. It's a wild and noisy world out there, so find a place and time to step aside and pray. And do it often.

THOMAS MERTON'S PRAYER

MY LORD GOD, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

Agape is a very particular kind of love, reflected in the stories of Jesus, refracted through his life, his sacrifice, his passion for communion and justice. I like to link agape (a Greek word found in the Christian scriptures) with ahimsa or nonviolence. Like Jesus, Gandhi practiced a rigorous and expansive kind of love. His ahimsa (a Sanskrit word) permeated relationships, family responsibilities, public commitments and his many projects for the betterment and liberation of his people. Like ahimsa, agape has something to do with seeing the other for the unique and precious being she is, without insisting on her conformity or conversion. It involves us in seeking the greatest good, the deepest joy for her. Simply because she is. And like prayer, agape draws energy and staying power from joy, worship, study and friendship.

When the church remembers Jesus’ passion and reenacts his gracious sacrifice, it invites transformation in each of us. From self-centered living to neighborly love. From narrow-minded concern to cosmic generosity. From numbness to mindfulness. At the table we practice mindfulness, forgiveness and incarnation. The word becomes flesh in us. And we return once again to the image of God. In the beautiful feast of life.

Of course, transformation is also taking place within ‘communing’ communities. Communion calls forth hospitality and courage. Ana María Pineda writes of the early Jesus movement: “The early church, which met in houses, grew up turning hosts into guests and guests into hosts.” More than simple charity, this ongoing practice of hospitality is transformative. When strangers are truly welcomed, a new community emerges, surprising gifts are received; at some point, guests become hosts. Like communion, hospitality isn’t a transaction through which service is rendered and compensation offered. It’s an act of faith whereby relationships are honored, prayers are shared and deep needs are met.

These are words written by Rowan Williams, once the Archbishop of Canterbury: "So to live a ‘forgiven’ life is not simply to live in a happy consciousness of having been absolved. Forgiveness is precisely the deep and abiding sense of what relation—with God or with other human beings—can and should be; and so it is itself a stimulus, an irritant, necessarily provoking protest at impoverished versions of social and personal relations." Gospel love is so much more than sentiment, so much more than a Hallmark card. It’s a relentless call to reconciliation and peace, even an “irritant” at times. If you’re so much as angry with a sister or brother, if your heart grieves a broken relationship of any kind, there’s work to be done. The kingdom is restless. What God desires is the kind of worship that provokes forgiveness, reconciliation, community. Before you offer that gift at the altar, do a little inventory. Which of your relationships are strained? Is there envy or resentment between you? Has hurt been done? “First be reconciled to your brother or sister,” and consider reconciliation the greatest gift you can offer at the altar of love.