Prayer is Happening

I am currently reading a beautiful and contextually appropriate book by Barbara Brown Taylor called An Alter in the World. Taylor helps the reader wrestle through how normal, everyday practices can be re-imagined as spiritual practices, which is incredibly helpful for me in my life as a stay-at-home parent. Near the end of the book she includes a chapter on the spiritual practice of prayer. Prayer, in the normal, religious sense, is always something with which I have struggled. But Taylor's definition of prayer is an eye-opening, life-giving, and freedom-producing way of thinking through this spiritual discipline. In this one brief description, she has finally put beautifully, eloquent words to what my heart and mind have been sensing for the past few years. Without further ado, I'll simply let her words speak for themselves.

"Prayer...is waking up to the presence of God no matter where I am or what I am doing. When I am fully alert to whatever or whoever is right in front of me; when I am electrically aware of the tremendous gift of being alive; when I am able to give myself wholly to the moment I am in, then I am in prayer. Prayer is happening, and it is not necessarily something that I am doing. God is happening, and I am lucky enough to know that I am in The Midst."

Beautiful. Simply beautiful.

This way of thinking about prayer has certainly become a liberating way of engaging with God and the world. No longer am I bound and oppressed by my inability or unwillingness to "pray right." No longer is a lack of quiet time or daily devotions loaded with guilt and shame. No longer is prayer about setting aside life for a moment of escape with God.

Instead, within this new paradigm, prayer is everywhere, always. A walk in my neighborhood becomes prayer. A meal with friends becomes prayer. A ride on the bus becomes prayer. A conversation with a stranger becomes prayer. As I open myself up to the ongoing goodness and revelation of God, I simultaneously open myself up to God's presence. God ceases to be some stagnant and static idol that I kneel before daily, but rather, is liberated to be living and active, a constant presence and not a summoned machine. Prayer plunges me into life with a minute-by-minute longing for engagement and connection, rather than pulling me out of worldly interaction for a manufactured moment of personal piety.

And finally, this is a practice of prayer that is, for me, unquestionably sustainable. By this I mean two things. First, this is a way of thinking about prayer that I can commit to on an ongoing and long-term basis. It is not the newest prayer fad that will dissolve into oblivion as quickly as it was commenced. It is a way of life, rather than a behavior. It is an identity rather than an action. And secondly, this way of thinking about prayer is sustainable in that it has actually sustained me. Engaging with the world in this way has actually produced more goodness and life, more vigor and passion, more grace and love. Rather than prayer being a hollow routine, this way of prayer has nurtured my soul. It has carried me in my moments of pain and weakness. It has assured me in my moments of doubt and questioning. It has spoken to me in my moments of silence. And it has been a dynamic process. Prayer has not happened. Prayer is happening.