Maranatha, our Lord comes
Third Sunday of Lent, March 24, 2019
Leave it for this year also.
– From Luke 13
Mary Lou has led centering prayer groups for thirty years. She leads by doing, like all the best leaders. Monday night meetings in the prayer chapel at St. Patrick’s Church are rich. Rarely are there more than half a dozen of us. I am there only on occasion, and every time it’s wonderful.
First we take turns reading one scripture from next Sunday’s lectionary. This week we read the passage from Luke 13. After each of five readings we might share a sentence comment or prayer. Mary touches her Tibetan bowl, and at the sound of the gong we rise and bow to each other. Then we walk around our prayer circle twice, slowly. This is called a “walking meditation.”
We sit down again and are quiet for twenty minutes. During this centering time we find our own way, but the idea is to release our endless thoughts and imaginings quietly, neither doing them mental violence nor pursuing them. To accomplish that, however haphazardly, I use a “breath” prayer. For me this prayer is a single word, “Maranatha,” which means “Our Lord comes.”
I catch my breath after those twenty minutes. When the gong sounds, sometimes I have nearly fallen asleep, often I am caught up in imaginings, now and then I am truly quiet. It really doesn’t matter which. My experience is not the point. As Henri Nouwen wrote in Gracias, “My time apart … is full of distractions, inner restlessness, confusion and boredom. It seldom, if ever, pleases my senses. But the simple fact of being for this time in the presence of the Lord and of showing him all that I feel, think, sense, and experience, without trying to hide anything, must please him.”
At the beginning of our meeting, as we read Luke’s rendition of Jesus’ radical call for repentance and his parable of the fig tree, a phrase fell out for me: “Leave it for this year also.” The gardener had so much hope for his tree; he ignored its past failures and only believed in its future success. I thought of God’s cherishing of me and patience with me, and his certainty of my future. If that’s my foundation, nothing can knock me down.
As we end those twenty minutes of centering prayer, we stand again, bow and hold hands for the Lord’s Prayer and our particular, personal prayers. “For your arms around my daughter and her growing family, we pray to the Lord.” And we all say, “Lord, hear our prayer.”
Only then, after all of this, at meeting’s end, do we begin to talk. That’s such a rare thing in meetings, but it sure seems right to me. Mary Lou brings a reflection, often written by Henri Nouwen, which we read aloud and think about and talk through with each other.
That’s one hour of the 168 hours in my week. It’s one of the best ones. It sets the stage for letting God lead.
Lord, I think praying just means honoring you and myself by turning toward you and giving you my thoughts and feelings and experiences. I need not edit them; nothing is hidden from you anyway. What happens next is up to you.
Henri Nouwen, Gracias, from Chapter 3, “A Land of Martyrs,” journal entry from December 11, 1981, p. 69, 1983
http://www.davesandel.net/category/lent-easter-devotions-2019/
http://www.christiancounselingservice.com/archived_devotions.php?article_id=1769
