On Praying by Rote Like a Trained Seal. Not.

 

My Protestant pals, including friend Xerxes, generally scorn traditional prayers. They argue that people only say them by rote. They hold that real prayer must be self-composed, to express the emotion of the moment. Like talking to a friend.

For many years, I accepted this basic premise. I was educated for nine years, after all, in Protestant departments of Religion.

But what was the upshot of this belief? That I stopped praying. 

Too often, I did not feel I had anything in particular to say. And then, in those desperate situations, when I really did feel the need for God’s help, I was often too agitated in mind to form a coherent prayer.

Was I to petition God daily for some favour? This has never made sense to me. It sounds too much like a spoiled child, convinced that they are special, always saying “gimme, gimme, gimme.”

Surely God is in command, and he will give us what is best. And this must also go then for others. “Pray for the church?” Isn’t that presumptuous? God is already looking after the church. It all sounds like “my will be done, Lord, not thine.”

Of course, there are prayers of gratitude. Spontaneous prayers of gratitude suit me fine. But sometimes you are not feeling grateful, and it would just be lying to God. Spontaneous questioning of Go9d, arguing with God, also seems fine to me.

A couple of evenings ago, I read a sentence by Pope Benedict XVI, written when he was still Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger, which magically crystallized my misgivings about spontaneous prayer. Benedict is good at that. He wrote, without any special reference to prayer, “The mark of the Antichrist is the fact that he speaks in his own name.”

That has the ring of truth.

Especially to me, because it is just what I always tell my composition students—teaching writing is my specialty. My first word of advice is always that the self must disappear. It must not come from you, must not be about you, and must not be in your name. It comes from some divine beyond, it is about the story, and it is for the reader.

When you compose your own prayer, it seems to me, it is the same principle. You are making it about you: your thoughts, your feelings, your particular situation, your skill with language and your understanding of theology. Perhaps also about God, but firstly about you. Praying alone, you are saying “Over here! Look at me, God.” Praying aloud in public, you are saying “listen to me, everyone.” 

You are the antichrist.

Compare reciting a rote prayer. The self, your particular concerns, disappear. The prayer is saying itself. Perhaps the finest example of this is the “Jesus Prayer”: “Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner.” You can say it under your breath ceaselessly; no matter the tumult about you. That is the intent. And the Bible tells us to do as much. See  1 Thessalonians 5:17.

And when you pray the “Our Father,” you are speaking the words of Jesus, of God himself. Do you really claim you can do better than he can at composing a prayer? Especially when he expressly told us, “this is the way to pray.”

When you say the “Hail Mary,” similarly, you are speaking the words of the Angel Gabriel, and of Elizabeth, mother of John the Baptist. Do you want to claim you can do better than the Bible, the Word of God?

Even in the case of traditional prayers not from the Bible, you are benefitting from something written by a great mind, preserved for its truth and beauty by fellow souls throughout the ages. The “Salve Regina” dates from the 11th century, the “Glory Be” from the 2nd century, the Nicene Creed from the 4th century; and the Apostles’ Creed is earlier. You are reciting it in communion with all the faithful souls in heaven.