Praying in the Rain

It seems as though the nearer I draw to God, the farther away I realize I am. The more I realize, the less I understand. People sometimes ask me about certainty: “How can you be certain about your faith in God?” Honestly, I gave up certainty years ago. The only thing I am certain of is my utter dependence on the mercy of God.

I was speaking to an eighteen year old recently who told me about her bucket list: things she wanted to do before she dies. At the time, I didn’t think much about it. In fact, it seemed rather mature of her to have such specific goals. However, as I have thought about it, I’ve begun to suspect that having a bucket list is a symptom of a particular disease in our culture. What we do does not define who we are, it manifests who we are.

Fr. Michael reflects on a sermon by St. Gregory Palamas about barbarian invasions and sexual sins.

In an on-going discussion with my inquiring friend today, I respond to two questions. First, why do traditional Christians call priests father; and second, why do we pray to saints (i.e. why don’t we just go to God ourselves)? Orthodoxy assumes that it takes a “village” to raise a Christian. And not just a village of people who live in the same time and place, but a village that includes all of our holy Fathers and Mothers who have gone before us. When we come to God, we come with everyone, never by ourselves.

A friend of mine who is an Orthodox inquirer resently asked me some questions about hell. My friend has been a paramedic for many years and has tried to save (sometimes succeeding, sometimes failing) the lives of many suicides. Knowing that the mental state and the life circumstances of these suicides vary greatly, my friend was concerned that the Church seems to condemn all suicides to hell.

Maybe it’s just the weather: Cold rain, wind and fog. Repeat. If there is any lesson I have learned while praying in the rain, while I have tried to pray in the damp, dreary mess that is my life, if there is any one thing I have learned it is this: God is where I am, not where I wish I were or think I should be; God is near the brokenhearted; God has mercy on sinners.

Someone, apparently a young adult, wrote me recently and asked about prayer. This person was having a hard time discerning the difference between worry and prayer. He or she was wondering if prayer, although salutary to ourselves, really does have an effect on those we pray for. Particularly, this person was worried about and/or praying for his or her parents who seemed to be getting further and further apart. Did God hear his/her prayers for them? Do a child’s prayers really make any difference for the parents?

Repentance is a process by which we allow our minds to be changed and illumined which results in a change in our whole being: our transfiguration.

A catechumen once asked what he could do to get victory over bad dreams: especially lustful dreams that roused his passions and often led him into temptation. I told him that this is one of those aspects of life in a fallen body that must be resisted and endured. One of the ways Satan seeks to weary and wear out the saints (or those who strive to be holy) is through the constant going astray of our flesh. Our job is to resist and to return our attention to God and to whatever is good, true and beautiful. When we turn our attention to Jesus, then Jesus fights our battles. One of the desert fathers said that trying to confront our own wicked thoughts is like trying to drive off wild dogs by throwing biscuits at them. We end up feeding the very thing we are trying to drive away. But if we turn our attention to Jesus, to the One who saves, to the One who made us and loves us and calls us to Himself, then the barking of the dogs fades away into the background. Then Christ Himself fights our battles, and we return to our natural place as worshipers of God, as those whose minds and hearts are attending to the one thing needful.

What is the Kingdom that we are to pray come? In one sense, you can say that the Kingdom of God, or the Kingdom of Heaven in Matthew’s gospel, is the government of God: the fact that God is ruler over all, and the Kingdom of heaven is how God rules all. When we think of the Kingdom of Heaven as the government of God, then one wonders, “What’s to come? Doesn’t God already rule over all? Don’t the scriptures teach us this?” Well, yes and no.

I had a conversation recently in which I couldn’t explain very clearly a comment I made several times, and as a result there was a certain amount of misunderstanding. I realize that perhaps many people have this same misunderstanding, and since it has to do with the Kingdom of Heaven, and how it “comes” or how we actually enter and live the life of the Kingdom of Heaven while we are still on earth, I thought that discussing this misunderstanding and how to overcome might be a good way to begin our discussion of “Let Your Kingdom come (as in heaven, so also on earth).”

Fr. Michael shares his reflections on St. Isaac the Syrian's response to the question, "If, after a man has greatly toiled, laboured, and struggled, the thought of pride shamelessly assails him—taking occasion from the beauty of his virtues—and reckons up the magnitude of his toil, by what means should he restrain his thoughts and achieve such security in his soul as not to be persuaded by it?"

After the introductory address of “Our Father in heaven,” the Lord taught His disciples to make three commands.

People sometimes flee the Church because they encounter abusive people or situations there. And yes, we need to love, minister to, care for and most of all be patient with those who flee the church because of the bad experiences they have had. But still, there are no Lone-Ranger Christians. We are not taught to pray to “My Father in heaven,” but “Our Father in heaven.” God is the God who sees. God sees our suffering. God knows what we have been through. And God wants us to find our safety in Him. But this safe place in God is not a place far away from the Church—after all, all you have to do is pick up a newspaper to realize that the Church has no monopoly on the abusive use of power. There is no place on earth to flee in order to escape the risk of being abused by people with power. There is no place on earth, but there is a place in heaven. And so Jesus teaches his disciples to pray, “Our Father in heaven.”

The Orthodox Divine Liturgy presents an introductory phrase in the form of prayer—as is typical in Orthodox Christianity, there is the prayer before the prayer. It goes like this: "And grant, O Lord, that with boldness and without condemnation we may dare to call upon you the Heavenly God as Father and to say." Why is it a daring thing to say the Lord’s Prayer? Why is it daring to call God "Our Father in heaven"?