Memorial of Saint Anthony of Padua,
Priest and Doctor of the Church
(click here to listen to or read today’s scriptures)
Conversations with God
Hear Henri Nouwen:
To pray, I think, does not mean to think about God in contrast to thinking about other things, nor does it mean spending time with God instead of spending time with other people. As soon as we begin to divide our thoughts into thoughts about God and thoughts about other things, like people and events, we separate God from our daily life.
Although it is important and even indispensable for our spiritual lives to set apart time for God and God alone, our prayer can only become unceasing [prayer] when all our thoughts—beautiful or ugly, high or low, proud or shameful, sorrowful or joyful—can be thought in the presence of the One who dwells in us and surrounds us. By trying to do this, our unceasing thinking is converted into unceasing prayer, moving us from a self-centered monologue to a God-centered dialogue. To do this we want to try to convert our thoughts into conversation. The main question, therefore, is not so much what we think, but to whom we present our thoughts.
This is so wise. Still, my self-centered monologue continues apace. I don’t think that is unfortunate exactly, although the way my monkey mind hurls me from one thought to another and even one prayer to another certainly irritates the contemplative side of me.
Wouldn’t you think that occasionally I could quiet down a little inside my storeroom of past memories, present pains, and future fears? Can some people do that? Can you?
But there goes the little monkey again.
Nouwen is right about conversation, that everything changes once I begin to talk with God instead of at him. And if I let myself use God’s gift of my imagination, even just a little, God has plenty to say to me. I speak, He speaks. At times I do not speak, and He does not speak.
This is a fine way to spend a little while in the morning.
I want to spend more than a few minutes in this way, but that doesn’t happen often. I fall silent, and then my mental branches start to sway, the monkey sees the bright light through the leaves, and there I go again.
Nouwen wants me (and certainly he wants this for himself too) to “dedicate” all these chaotic, sometimes lustful, jealous or judgmental fits of mental energy to God, to recognize God’s knowledge of them all and invite him in. I can do that. God, open my mouth and loose the thoughts in my brain, and receive them from me. Stand alongside me, Lord, as I press the refresh button over and over, like a forgotten child in front of the computer. Your hand is on my head. I stop rushing things.
Because I am not forgotten. You are with me, your shield protects me, the way of your angels beckons me into your playground.
Ah, David, you are not far from the Kingdom of God.
Oh, Lord, will you show me how to move that short, small space so I am no longer “not far,” but there?
Of course. Will you be able to listen?
And I am silent. I know I don’t listen or receive as much from God as I want to. But I know something of the “why” of that.
Because for me (but not for everyone), the “not far” changes when I spend time with others, reaching out, speaking words from my life to share with them. I think I know that when I do this I am there, no longer “not far,” but sitting in the lap of God, singing my own psalms, holding the hand of God my maker and redeemer.
 (Deuteronomy 8, Psalm 147, 1 Corinthians 10, Lauda Sion, John 6)
(posted at www.davesandel.net)
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