Does God Pray?

This is an idea that has only recently occurred to me, possibly because it seems to assume that God might lack something. What would God ask for? To whom would he pray?

I asked this question a couple of weeks ago on Twitter and received several profound and thoughtful answers. @sjpat3 said “Why not? I'll go out on a limb here and say that maybe that's how the Holy Spirit moves. Or how God moves us. #worksforme” and @canticanovae added “Seems likely, as Jesus prayed, and ‘whoever has seen me has seen the Father’” while @jnotudor said “I think spiritual communion is in God's triune essence.” I was surprised and delighted that no one who answered seemed to be shocked by the question.

Looking beyond the standard forms of prayer: adoration, petition, oblation and the like and considering contemplative prayer, I find an opening, so to speak, to believe in God's prayer. 

Centering Prayer and its cousin Christian Meditation are predicated on the idea that God is deep within us. God gave us our lives and God sustains our lives. We cannot develop in any way without God. The Psalms are full of this. 

Consider:

Indeed, there is not a word on my lips,
but you, O Lord, know it altogether. 
You press upon me behind and before
and lay your hand upon me.  Psalm 139

Although we have the physical ability to build houses, sew curtains, farm land, we are only pretending when we think this comes from our own strength. There is no progress without God - no holiness, no prayer, no virtue, no salvation. 

"For God alone my soul in silence waits," says the psalmist. (Psalm 62) We are born with this longing. We might need to set it aside some time while we deal with our life. We might not feel it equally every day. If we are honest with ourselves, though, we will see that our most powerful wanting is for God.

But what does God want?

The Lord looks down from heaven
and beholds all the people in the world.
From where he sits enthroned, he turns his gaze 
on all who dwell on the earth.
He fashions the hearts of them
and understands all their works.  Psalm 33

If I base my answer on Biblical texts, I'd have to say that what God wants is, quite simply, us. In fact, the entire body of Scripture is one big long chase scene. God is after us all the time. God pursues us wherever we go, whatever we do. God makes paths for us, signs for us, laws for us. God sends songs and poems to us. God sends his Son to us. 

Preachers tell us that God wants to be "in relationship with us." For me, that is much too mild a construct. A relationship is people having coffee, being Facebook friends, sharing golf tips. God's desire is total. Nothing short of complete union will do. 

"Batter my heart, three-personed God," begged John Donne. Could he have found that line, much less the thirteen verses that follow it, on his own? Was it not the link to the God of his heart that brought his glorious sonnet into being?

This is why I think God prays.

When we are moved to ask for God's grace, to seek his face, it is God leading us. When we marvel at the beauty of the created world or gasp at the tenderness between a child and parent, that is God showing us. When we walk up the aisle to receive the bread and wine made holy, it is God guiding our feet.

I believe that God's attention to us is continuous and total. I believe that God is never not looking at us. God pulls us toward him. God points us in his direction. Our prayers are sought by God even before we begin them. Our curiosity, our longing are nothing but the reflection of God's desire for us. And I call that desire prayer.

What is God's creation of the world if not a prayer? What is God's care for his work, the feeding of the ravens, the dressing of the lilies, if not a prayer? And what is the incarnation of Jesus, our Lord, if not a prayer?

So when you pray, remember that God has sought your prayers, that God is reaching for you just as you are reaching for God. Know when you pray, especially if you pray imperfectly, that God has put the words into your mouth, the ideas into your head, the passion into your heart.

"We do not know how to pray as we ought, but the Spirit intercedes for us with sighs too deep for words." Romans 8:26

When You Can't Be Michelangelo

God is unknowable. Our efforts to realize the Divine must always fall short. In this falling short, however, we are not equal. Some of us fall farther short than others.

Prayer, my rector says, is right-brained, as is poetry, music and art. Some of us can soar God-ward through these higher abilities. Some of us can experience heaven by hearing and seeing beyond the ordinary. Some can even convey that higher understanding to others by painting it or singing it.

Even so-called ordinary life can be shown to be filled with God when just the right words are chosen, the right shading applied. Consider this passage from Homecoming by Marilynne Robinson. A young girl remembers her grandmother’s orchard:

I had seen two of the apple trees in my grandmother’s orchard die where they stood. One spring there were no leaves, but they stood there expectantly, their limbs almost to the ground, miming their perished fruitfulness. Every winter the orchard is flooded with snow, and every spring the waters are parted, death is undone, and every Lazarus rises, except these two. They have lost their bark and blanched white, and a wind will snap their bones, but if ever a leaf does appear, it will be no great wonder…It seemed to me that what perished need not also be lost. (page 124)

Many years ago, I had the chance to visit the Sistine Chapel. Looking up at that sublime ceiling, seeing all the sacred beauty around me, I found myself wondering why God would need any more from humanity. Having achieved this magnificence, what more could be hoped for? It would have made sense for God to have finished up his project right then and there, closed down shop and called it a day.

Likewise, with Marilynne Robinson existing here on earth, what possible purpose can God have for me? I have no gift to give him. I cannot see as she sees. I might have the briefest glimpse, like Moses hiding in the rock’s cleft while God passes by, a quick flash of God’s blue robe, his tangled black hair.

In my high school, students were tracked. This is still the practice in most school systems. Gifted, high achievers occupy the top slot with all others sorted into appropriate lower levels. “Sorting” is a word to think about. My mother used to let me play with her button box. I would sort the buttons by size, color, shape. It wasn't long before I was preferring some over others, arranging them according to favorites. Quite harmless when you’re doing it with buttons.  

But this is our human reflex. We sort, categorize, prefer. Surely, God must do the same. God, who is the supreme art critic must find greater delight in Mozart than in, for example, Rogers and Hammerstein. The people who do the best must be the best.

No. This is merely an artsy rendition of the prosperity gospel and is, therefore, a lie. A greater understanding of God, a sublime sense of the Divine is a gift to be sure, but it is not a sign of God’s preferment. God does not prefer. God does not sort.

How can I be so sure? Maybe I am just consoling myself for my lack of theological, philosophical, artistic talents. Maybe I want to believe this because the closest I get to seeing God is when I am enjoying a piece of buttered toast.

How can I be so sure? Because of the Incarnation. Our Lord. Jesus Christ, the son of man, born into the human race, did not incarnate selectively into a high echelon of society. Nor did he come physically to earth as a grown full man to bless and ordain a selected group of individuals. Neither was he pure spirit, sharing his wisdom with the elite. 

He was born in a bloody gooey mess like all the rest of us. He lived physically and died physically. During his life, his physical matter became part of the earth’s matter. He breathed, exchanging oxygen and carbon dioxide with the air of the earth. He shed blood, ate the fruits of the earth. He spoke sounds, wept. Human. Fully human.

If God’s creation of the world is insufficient to make us believe that God loves the whole world, then the Incarnation of Christ should seal the deal.

In my imperfect, left-brained self, when I am very earth-bound, full of chores and bank statements and recipes, it is easy for me to think that God is looking just a bit more lovingly on Marilynne Robinson than on me. After all, she can bring God into focus for millions of people. She has witnessed for God continually and exquisitely. What is a suburban housewife in comparison with all that?

But then I look at Jesus. He is real. He is for me. I might be nothing, but I am his nothing.

Making It Right

Why is Lady Justice always blindfolded? I understand the scale; justice promises to restore balance. The sword makes sense; it signifies the hard decision that is justice. It also implies a punishment or a wounding. No justice without some sort of pain. Tradition teaches that the blindfold shows how justice is administered fairly, without regard to visuals like race, color, social status. I can hear you laughing.

It is the ideal, of course, that justice is fair, but we know that isn't always true. 

A recent article in The New York Times Magazine showcased a reconciliation effort in Rwanda that brings victims and perpetrators of the genocide from twenty years ago together for forgiveness. The perpetrators have served time in jail. The victims have lived on after having their relatives murdered and their property destroyed. You can access the article here.

This is hard stuff, no question about it. Coming face to face with the person who killed your loved ones and ruined your life? Looking into the eyes that had looked on you with hatred? Someone who was perhaps a neighbor, certainly a countryman?

Or, on the other side, facing the victim of your murderous hatred? Seeing the destruction you wrought in front of you and daring to ask that person to forgive you? This was a war of deepest hatred. It lived in the blood. It built up over many years.  

Our little spats with Russia and Iran look like playground squabbles in comparison.

And yet.... there is forgiveness. There is reconciliation.

As Christians, forgiveness is part of the bargain we enter into at Baptism. We are forgiven. Period.  Being forgiven, we are now able to forgive others. Being forgiven, we are now able to live holy lives which, without God's mercy we could not do. Forgiveness bestows on us a measure of godliness. We can live into this or we can decline it.

Is this blanket forgiveness that we get without even asking justice? Where is the sword? Where is the scale? What about the blindfold?

Justice promises to make things right. That is the principle behind "an eye for an eye etc." in Exodus. It's meant to be fair. It's supposed to give satisfaction, peace, and our favorite buzzword "closure." When a murderer is convicted in a court of law, the victim's family speak about finally getting justice for their loved one. Then they often add that this conviction isn't enough, though, that a prison term, or the death penalty, won't bring their loved one back. And they're right; it won't.

Have you ever been wronged? Or have you ever wronged someone? Have you found something to make it right afterwards? I believe that our attempts at justice are simple hubris. We can't do it. We can repair damage done to property but we can't erase the feeling of fear and vulnerability the owner felt.  We can go to jail and pay a debt to society for any sort of crime, but we can't put safety back in the hearts of our victims or restore an injured person or bring back a murdered loved one. 

Justice is an illusion. Pay back is a fantasy.  It always has been and it always will be. It is a function of our pride. In pride we demand recompense. In pride we convince ourselves we have made it right. We might think we're satisfied or avenged or cleared of wrong, but we're not. That is the meaning of the blindfold. Justice knows it's working in the dark. It works outside truth.

We live by a rule of law and that is a good thing. We need to have an orderly society. There has to be a means of enforcing civil laws. I am not advocating anarchy, but I am asking that we understand what our system can do and what it cannot. It cannot bring about the kingdom of God. It cannot change people's hearts or grow love.

The reconciliation efforts in Rwanda are the exact opposite of justice. There is no pretense of balancing the scale. The sword has done its job. The blindfold is off. These people aren't kidding themselves. Wrong was done and there is no way to make it right. They can either hold onto their pain and anger and suffering or, somehow, find another way. There is only one path forward and that is forgiveness.

This is what God offers. And it is what we, as image bearers of God, can offer and receive. I look at the pictures from Rwanda, of both those forgiving and those forgiven and all I see is God.

Excuses! Excuses!

Dear readers,

Normally I do a real post each Monday. This week, however, I am unable to do so. I am writing something that is extremely important to me and is taking all my time and thoughts. It seems I can only write one thing at a time. 

If everything works out, I will be able to share some news in the weeks or months ahead, but, meanwhile, I have to concentrate on this ONE THING until it's finished. 

For today, please enjoy this poem by Robert Pinsky. It's been a favorite of mine for many years. 

Samurai Song

Robert Pinsky, 1940

When I had no roof I made
Audacity my roof. When I had
No supper my eyes dined.

When I had no eyes I listened.
When I had no ears I thought.
When I had no thought I waited.

When I had no father I made
Care my father. When I had
No mother I embraced order.

When I had no friend I made
Quiet my friend. When I had no
Enemy I opposed my body.

When I had no temple I made
My voice my temple. I have
No priest, my tongue is my choir.

When I have no means fortune
Is my means. When I have
Nothing, death will be my fortune.

Need is my tactic, detachment
Is my strategy. When I had
No lover I courted my sleep.

Taking Monotheism Seriously

We believe in one God.

Do we take these powerful words that begin the Nicene Creed for granted? Do we see a belief in many gods as the error of our ancient ancestors or, perhaps, of an unsophisticated primitive people who hadn't yet been touched by modern wisdom? As we progressed to belief in one God, we assume our monotheism is natural and logical.

Belief in many gods, in my opinion, would make perfect sense. There is sky; there are storms issuing from it. There is growth, food, war, sickness, death. There are tribes, mine and others. Intuitively, walking on this earth, I would assume there is some sort of controlling force for each of these categories. Why wouldn't I worship the sun? It provides me with everything I need. Or the earth? Or the sea? If I am at war with my neighbors, I would rely on my tribal god to give me protection and victory.

My old philosophy professor liked to refer to the “genius” the Jewish people had for religion. Their ability to discern a single God among all these “forces” was nothing short of miraculous. They had, however, a tough time holding to their beliefs when confronted by stronger, richer, more beautiful neighbors who believed otherwise. These struggles are what make the Old Testament such engrossing reading. What new failing will the people of God succumb to? How many more times will the one God forgive and renew them?

With only one God in their lives, they had no other to turn to. They were stuck with YHWH. The psalms are full of  the frustration people felt when God seemed to fail them as well as with their praises when they saw God’s greatness. But the story of this one God took a very odd turn. God began to urge his people to offer salvation to all the peoples.

In Isaiah 49:6, God tells the Israel, “It is too light a thing that you should be my servant to raise up the tribes of Jacob and to bring back the preserved Israel. I will make you a light for the nations that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth.”   

 

Monotheism has a catch, you see. If the one God created the whole world, then that God belongs to the whole world. And the whole world belongs to God. No exceptions. If the one God made all creation, that has to include even the people I despise, the storms that destroy my crops and the cancer cells that take my friend's life. If God is taking care of my wealthy, lucky neighbor, that care must somehow also extend to my other credit-poor, alcoholic neighbor.

But there’s more. If those genius Jews of thousands of years ago found the one God through grace, prayer, struggle, then other groups likely found God through the same means. The Jewish God might not look very much like the Hindu pantheon, for example, but can we seriously believe that God abandoned any people who earnestly sought God’s truth? Whose side is God on? The (un)comfortable answer is: everyone's.

To believe in one God forces us to respect all faiths. Did God create some people to be blessed with wisdom and salvation and others to be cursed with ignorance and damnation? Was God laughing at Socrates for owing a “cock to Asclepius?” Does God smile proudly at my church and roll his eyes at a mosque? At a synagogue?

If there were any question that the one God, creator of the universe, loved and cared for all creation, the Incarnation of Jesus Christ must end all doubts.

Christianity is a universal religion. This means that it is intended for everyone. We pray daily that Christ’s gospel be proclaimed worldwide, that those who do not know him may be brought to “the knowledge and love” of him. This is the purpose of the church. But we are imperfect creatures. At times we succeed; at times we fail.

Spreading the Good News is important work. It is an act of love, just as Christ’s life was an act of love. As was his death. To be in Christ is to share in that love and to work to share it with others. But Christ’s redemption of creation happens with or without our efforts.

The one God became incarnate to share in our humanity, not in our tribal identity, not in our nationality or in our race, not even in our refined liturgies. If you are human, you share in this Incarnation. Period. In Romans 9, Paul quotes Hosea, “Those who were not ‘my people’ I will call ‘my people’ and her who was not ‘my beloved’ I will call ‘my beloved’”. This could not be any plainer.

We don our monotheism as casually as we pocket our mobile phones and head off to our air conditioned offices, but monotheism has implications.

1     1. There are no false Gods. A person (like me, for example) might have an imperfect understanding of God. A person might be un-lettered or naive, but a worshipper is a worshipper. A seeker of God will find God.

     2. If there is one God; that one God created the Universe.

     3. The one God loves all of us. Equally.

     4.  If the one God has a purpose and a plan for creation, we are all part of it.
  

    5. The stories we tell and have told about God are stories that have come from God, yes, but they have also from us. All our stories are just a bit flawed and just a bit perfect.

The Thing about N.T. Wright

A few weeks ago, theologian and former Bishop of Durham, England, N.T. Wright was asked in an interview what he thought about same-sex marriage. Unless you've been blissfully asleep for many months, you will know that marriage equality is a very big issue in both church and state contexts.  

In the United States, many states are now accepting marriage equality, whereas many others are rigidly opposed. Some religious denominations here have welcomed the concept whereas others are, you guessed it, rigidly opposed.

After much wrangling, it has become legal in England, Wright’s homeland, but not in the Church of England, also Wright’s homeland. I doubt, however, that this delicate predicament had any influence on Wright’s response to the question. He is, if nothing else, confident.

And rightly so. N.T. Wright is just about the foremost Christian theologian writing and teaching today. He has published more than 130 books and is quite beloved by many “progressive” Christians, and there is the rub. We progressive Christians want to embrace marriage equality; we also want to embrace Wright, and now it seems we can’t do both.

You can read Wright’s remarks about marriage here. As you can see, he has rejected the notion of same-sex marriage on two bases. First, he dislikes it when words are redefined. Making a few references to past repressive regimes, he sees this phenomenon (which is a constant of every language on earth) as somehow dystopian. Of course it can be dystopian. Who can forget the chilling pronouncements from 1984: war is peace, freedom is slavery, ignorance is strength? Is Wright telling us that marriage equality is basically Orwellian? That would be a facepalm moment if ever there was one.

The argument that he makes against marriage equality that is getting the most publicity (and scorn) is his reference to and reliance on Genesis I. Wright sees the created binaries of earth and sky, water and land, sun and moon, male and female as fundamental and overriding. He even uses the word “complementary” which has really got some folks’ danders up.

I've read quite a bit of N.T. Wright and one thing that pervades his writing and thinking is the idea that everything fits together. For Wright, there are no loose ends, no coincidences, no accidents. There is one God who is now and has always been faithful to his purposes and promises. No taking anything back. No changing his mind.

Quite frankly, I am with Wright on this. Maybe I’m too greatly influenced by him, but I see the universe in much that way. I don’t see time evolving and causing God to have to regroup. For me, all time is eternally present and who has it all in his hands? God. Obviously.

I do, however, think that Wright has it a bit wrong on this application of Genesis I, and I say that with all the humility I can muster, because he is a lot smarter, better read and even older than I am. So… all due respect.

What I read in Genesis I, is a recipe for creation and increase, not a model for social or political organization. It's biology, not anthropology. Yes, God separated the waters from the land. Why? So that there would be growth. Yes, God made the sun the rule the day and the moon to rule the night. Why? So there would be increase. God created plants that would give seeds and trees that would give fruit with the seed in them. For increase. So, as I see it, creating male and female was done for the same purpose, for increase.

Increase was the main agenda for our early ancestors. At the time when the Genesis story was first told, as well as when it was first written, increase was our job. Is it any wonder that the story we told ourselves about the creation of the universe would also stress this mandate?

And that has not changed. Of course same-sex couples can rear children, but male and female elements are still required to produce a child, or an apple tree. Even with seven billion people on the planet, we are still consumed with increase. Maybe having a lot of children isn't the imperative that it was a few thousand years ago, but we still want to go on. We still need to sustain life and our environment. That continuance and sustenance depend on those binaries that God put in place at the beginning.

What does marriage equality give us then? It gives us another way for the Holy Spirit to indwell in our pairings. It gives us more people who can be loud in their love. Marriage equality gives us a bigger version of family and there is nothing about God that doesn't like bigger.

So should finding myself, ourselves, on opposite sides of this issue require us to burn our N.T. Wright books? Protest his next appearance? Do a glitter bombing on him? Should we dismiss the former bishop as hideously behind the times or hopelessly complementarian? As Paul would say, by no means. 

Until polarization becomes a Christian tenet, until partisanship rises to the godly, we just have to live with each other. We aren't Roman emperors giving the thumbs up or thumbs down on gladiators. We are just human beings, staggering through life, seeking God. And that God, remember, has a place for all of us. 

Monastic Retreat

In late spring of this year I made a retreat at Julian House Monastery in Wisconsin. Attracted by the promise of several days of prayer and silence, I found myself along side a group of individuals whose lives were consumed with prayer. They were at once both profoundly other and completely unremarkable.

Julian of Norwich lived in the late 14th Century. She received a  vision from Christ and spent the next twenty years of her life wrestling with the meaning of that vision. Her Revelations of Divine Love are available in many modern translations. Finally, at age 50, she enclosed herself in a small apartment (anchorage) attached to her church, St Julian's, the only name by which we know her. 

In 1985 Father John-Julian Swanson founded the Order of Julian of Norwich. It is a contemplative order of Episcopal monks and nuns and affiliates.The Monastery has been located in Wisconsin since 1989. I visited there in May of this year (2014).

Visitors are welcomed gladly to the monastery but are expected to maintain the Order's disciplines of prayer and silence. This suited me well. I was looking to immerse myself in prayer for a few days.

Here is a mown path through a wild meadow on the monastery grounds. The path diverges in two just where that smaller tree is on the center right. Have you ever hugged a tree? You could do worse.

The sisters and monks (who live off site but come for services and major tasks) are avid gardeners, growing much of their own food. Below are some young tomato plants sheltered from the early summer sun. 

Besides prayer, the sisters work very hard caring for their house and land. Visitors are sometimes permitted to join in the work. I was allowed to weed this bed.

 

I asked permission to take pictures around the public areas of the monastery, but shyness kept me from asking to photograph any of the sisters. I wanted to be there are a faithful person, not a reporter. Here is a picture of Father John-Julian. It is taken from a photograph in the book shop. "My life has been one miracle after another," he told us on my last day there.

The monastery grounds are a haven for birds and the sisters love watching them. This is a robin's nest (abandoned) in a crown of thorns sculpture on the front wall of Julian House. A new nest had been built on the drain spout near my room.

Silence

Silence is kept throughout each day. Voices are heard only in prayer. The sisters meet occasionally to discuss business in what they call "session" and, of course, when a visitor arrives, someone shows them around. But otherwise all is silent.

I anticipated this silence and longed for it for many weeks before my retreat. I needed to be alone with God, away from the cares and needs of others. Silence would nourish me. I would gain insights, truths. This didn't happen. 

Walking the halls in silence, wandering the grounds and taking my meals in silence only increased my awareness of everyone and everything around me. Desperate to fit smoothly into the routines of monastery life, I sought clues everywhere for right behaviors, wrong behaviors. And how could I seem to be at peace when I was always getting lost? 

Then, as the days wore on, all my unsaid apologies, all my unspoken questions simply melted away into nothing. How did this happen? Why did it? Because no one cared. I was not a disturbance to them, and, at last, I was no disturbance to myself either. My awkwardness didn't matter. My anxiety about being "right", being valuable, wanted, approved of meant nothing. It was nothing. Like sin that God wipes away without even thinking about it.

This is the habit of silence that I so wanted. This was the lesson: stop thinking about myself. Stop needing a pat on the head. Stop needing to "get it right." My friend Trischa has a lot more to say about the gift of silence, and she says it much better than I can. Read her words here.

When  the silence finally settled on me, we had reached the feast of the Ascension. This meant a special dinner with dessert and conversation at the table. You would think that living daily in silence would bring an outpouring of words when such a break occurs. Not so. The sisters barely had anything to say. "I saw an indigo bunting in the oak tree." "Our asparagus crop is long gone." "We have ginger beer for a special beverage." 

No positioning. No agendas. No compliments. No worries. No need. Silence sheds all unnecessary talk and with it all unnecessary maneuvers. 

Prayer

The thing I learned at the monastery was that belonging to God, utterly belonging, meant that everyone around me is loved and beautiful. Prayer supports the individual and the community but without the evidence of support that we usually look for. \

The life of Julian House revolves around prayer. There is morning prayer at 4:45 preceded by "still prayer" at 3:30. There is Eucharist at 7:30. There is noon prayer. There is evening prayer, again with still prayer right before it. There is compline at 7:00. That is the structure of the day. Below is the long hall leading to the entrance to the chapel for the monks and nuns. Visitors use the entrance leading to a separate section, closed off from the "choir". Communion is brought to the visitor. The celebrant comes to the visitor to exchange the peace.

Over the course of my stay, this hallway grew in significance. Connected as we were in prayer, I was still apart from the enclosed ones.

Here is the empty chapel.

Probably the clearest difference between how prayer is offered in our churches, and in our homes, too, from how it is offered at Julian House is that here prayer is almost always sung. Chants can be simple or very complicated. On a few occasions, there are 5 notes on two syllables in the alleluia, the "le" and the "lu." A Capella. These were hit perfectly every time. Not by me, of course, but by them. Psalms and some prayers are chanted antiphonally. It is indescribably beautiful.

It took a couple days for me to take all this in before I could settle into the prayer practice. Eventually, the prayer took hold of me. To have the day, every day, shaped by the Daily Office taught me to count time differently. Prayer was what the day was for. Other tasks were wedged in and around this important work. The prayer was alive. Scripted and formal, it breathed itself into each day. 

Community

Of course this is my favorite room: the refectory. It's cozy and thoroughly functional, designed to allow people to eat silently. At the far end is a hearth, unlit in summer, of course. On the right by the window you can just see a poinsettia coaxed back to flowering. At dinner, one of the sisters read a passage from In the Heart of the Desert by John Chryssavgis. Meals were simple but delicious. Whole milk. Real butter. Wisconsin is the Dairy State, after all. 

The Order of Julian of Norwich is a community, a world-wide community with affiliates in many countries. Vows of various stringency are taken by members. Prayer is the central purpose. What kind of a community has prayer as its reason for being? In this day and age, with so much wrong in the world, what can prayer do? Isn't Christ better served by activists working to uplift those in need? 

When I sit down to a meal and remember to say a grace, I am nudging myself as if to say: Oh, right, God. At Julian House, grace is the essential act in the refectory. The meal is secondary. Everything is secondary to prayer. These people are not wispy, other-worldly beings. They are down-to-earth, hard working, practical people who are called to a life of prayer.

If all of humanity is connected, as I believe we are, we need these pray-ers. If an evil act taints all of us, so a life of prayer raises us. 

To find out more about the Order of Julian of Norwich, click here.