What Is Prayer?

[What have I gotten myself into here, embarking on such an ambitious (and arrogant?) blog series? Ah, well, here goes...]

Prayer is such an indescribable, enigmatic entity, it’s hard for me to define what it is. So, I think I’ll start by saying what prayer is not:

• Prayer is not a wish list given to a Santa Claus deity.
• Prayer is not prescribed combination of words uttered to produce predetermined results.
• Prayer is not magic.

Some folks say that prayer is a conversation with the Divine. For me, very often this conversation turns out to be a running dialogue in the shower, on the bus, wherever my heart and mind wanders. Frederick Buechner writes, “Whatever else it may or may not be, prayer is at least talking to yourself, and that’s in itself not always a bad idea…. Even if you don’t believe anybody else is listening, at least you’ll be listening” (Wishful Thinking).

So I talk. I talk about my life, my jobs, my love, my house, the church, the world, and the future. I talk about who I am, who I wish I were, who I used to be, and who I am becoming. I talk about peace and joy and hope and love. And I talk about hurt and rage and disappointment and sorrow. I talk about what's for dinner. I talk about what I have done, what I have failed to do, and what I need to get my butt in gear for pronto. I talk about fear. I talk about worry. And I talk about how I am not sure what it means to have faith. I talk about the people I love. I talk about the people whom I have a hard time loving. I tell jokes. And sometimes when words fail me and I can’t talk, I sing. I laugh. And I cry.

But this conversation with the Divine cannot be one-sided. So I listen. I listen to the silence. I listen to the windchimes outside my window. I listen to the rain. I listen to the inner workings of my mind. I listen to the inner cries of my heart. I listen to my deepest desires. I listen to the advice of my parents, my mentors, my housemates, my sweetheart, my friends, and my colleagues. I listen to the interaction between a mother and her children on the bus. I listen to Dar Williams and Tracy Chapman and Bruce Cockburn and Over the Rhine. I listen to the street noise as I walk through the South Loop, the madness of rush hour traffic, the horns blaring and the tires squealing. I listen to the laughter around the dinner table. I listen to the questions being asked by those who seek advice from their pastor. I listen to the man asking me to buy a copy of Streetwise. I listen to NPR. And in all of this, I listen for answers to the questions, "What should I do?", “What can I do?”, “What must I do?”, “What am I simply not able to do?”, and "what must I allow another to do?". I listen for wisdom. I listen for discernment. I listen for compassion. I listen for peace. I listen for God.

I must admit, talking is easier.