A new series of meditations begins at http://johntheprecursor.blogspot.com/

I thought someone famous - probably Tillich or Merton or Bonhoeffer - had written, "Finally we understand that prayer is to be silent and listen for the word of God," or something similar.

But despite the power of Google, I cannot find what I seem to remember.

Finally prayer is being present with God. There are precious moments when God is so present that a bit of small talk does not seem out of place. But mostly, to be present with God is to be so embarrassed, so surprised, so in love, and so in awe as to be silent.

Here is Thomas Merton on silence:

With this inner self we have to come to terms in silence. That is the reason for choosing silence. In silence we face and admit that gap between the depths of our being, which we consistently ignore, and the surface which is so often untrue to our own reality. We recognize the need to be at home with ourselves in order that we may go out to meet others, not just with the mask of affability, but with real commitment and authentic love.

If we are afraid of being alone, afraid of silence, it is perhaps because of our secret despair of inner reconciliation. If there is no hope of being at peace with ourselves in our own personal loneliness and silence, we will never be able to face ourselves at all: we will keep running and never stop. And this flight from the self is, as the Swiss philosopher Max Picard pointed out, a “flight from God.” After all, it is in the depths of the conscience that God speaks, and if we refuse to open up inside and look into these depths, we also refuse to confront the invisible God who is present within us. This refusal is a partial admission that we do not want God to be God any more than we want ourselves to be our true selves.

Just as we have a superficial, external mask which we put together with words and actions that do not fully represent all that is in us, so even believers deal with a God who is made up of words, feelings, reassuring slogans, and this is less the God of faith than the product of religious and social routines. Such a “god” can come to substitute for the truth of the invisible God of faith, and though this comforting image may seem real to us, his is really a kind of idol. His chief function is to protect us against a deep encounter with our true inner self and with the true God.

Silence is therefore important even in the life of faith and in our deepest encounter with God. We cannot always be talking, praying in words, cajoling, reasoning, verbalizing, or keeping up a kind of devout background music. Much of our well-meant interior religious dialogue is, in fact, a smoke screen and an evasion. Much of it is simply self-reassurance, and in the end it is little better than a form of self-justification. Instead of really meeting God in the nakedness of faith in which our inmost being is laid bare before him, we act out an inner ritual that has no function but to allay anxiety.

The purest faith has to be tested by silence in which we listen for the unexpected, in which we are open to what we do not yet know, and in which we slowly and gradually prepare for the day when we will reach out to a new level of being with God. True hope is tested by silence in which we have to wait on the Lord in the obedience of unquestioning faith. Isaiah recorded the word of Yahweh to his rebellious people who were always abandoning him in order to enter into worthless political and military alliances. “Your safety lies in ceasing to make leagues, your strength is in quiet faith” (Isa. 30:15). Or as another translation has it, “Your salvation lies in conversion and tranquillity, your strength in complete trust.” Older texts say, “In silence and hope shall your strength be.” The idea is that faith demands the silencing of questionable deals and strategies.

Faith demands the integrity of inner trust which produces wholeness, unity, peace, genuine security. Here we see the creative power and fruitfulness of silence. Not only does silence give us a chance to understand ourselves better, to get a truer and more balanced perspective of our own lives in relations to the lives of others: silence makes us whole if we let it.

Silence helps draw together the scattered and dissipated energies of a fragmented existence. It helps us to concentrate on a purpose that really corresponds not only to the deepest needs of our own being but also to God’s intentions for us.

... and supremely happy with Him Forever in the next. Amen.

Fear or hope of the next life does not - yet - motivate me much.

I believe with atypical assurance that through Jesus we are forgiven. And while I have some notions of divine justice, I am either insufficiently self-critical or sufficiently trusting in God's mercy that the prospect of justice does not propel me.

Neither does the prospect of an eternity with God transform my impatience with the present. I can imagine the spiritual, physical, emotional, and intellectual implications of perceiving this life as something akin to one hour during the summer of my seventh year. But such a heavenly vision, remains more visionary than real.

Martin Luther King spoke of the "fierce urgency of now." In much of Reinhold Niebuhr's work, we also sense this full engagement with the present moment. Niebuhr prays for serenity, but we often aim our prayers at that which eludes us.

Urgency and serenity are tough to combine. But to do so may be to achieve the wholeness of justice and mercy, prophecy and love, work and rest to which we are called.

That I may be reasonably happy in this life...

Given the reality of this world, may I be reasonably happy.

Given the sin and hardship of this life, may I be reasonably happy.

Given the potential of this day and this moment, may I be reasonably happy.

Given the capacity of my reason, may I understand reality, accepting what I cannot change while noticing and advancing opportunities for change.

And in failure, success, and in every endeavor, may I be reasonably happy.

trusting that you will make all things right, if I surrender to your will...

While I am not sure of the first clause, I endeavor to fulfill the second clause.

Does God make all things right? If so, right is beyond my knowing.

I can indulge in various thought experiments to make it so. Such as, God used the Nazi holocaust to undermine the foundations prejudice across the world. After Hitler racial, religious, and other forms of bigotry became indefensible and are gradually being eliminated.

Even if this were true. Does it make right the Holocaust? Not to me.

I seek to surrender to God's will so that I might not contribute to evil. I seek to surrender to God's will so that I might join with God to prevent evil. In surrendering I tend the wounds of evil. I don't expect - God forgive me - for God to make all things right.

A collection of articles on Mark Rothko - including the painting above - is available from The Guardian.

taking, as Jesus did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it...

To be realistic is to observe accurately.

The realist is especially self-aware of filtering observations through expectation.

Even Jesus had expectations, of the woman at the well for example.

But Jesus was wonderfully adept at recognizing when his observations did not match his expectation and adjusting to what he observed.

Rather than my expectations being confirmed, I pray for keen observation, creative insight, and disciplined engagement.

accepting hardship as a pathway to peace...

If something is hard, I wonder if it is right.

I don't think this at the first or even second hard turn.

But by the third or fourth hard turn - especially in quick succession - I will certainly wonder.

Is it hard because creating is not always easy or because the creating is ill-matched to the context?

Hardship is validated or not in its intention and, even more, in its outcome.

If hardship is an output of self-assertion in any of it varied forms, I doubt its value and suspect the hardship actually diminishes self and others.

If hardship is an input to preserving relationships, serving others, creating beauty, doing what is good and discovering what is true, then the hardship is a pathway to what is worthwhile.

O God, help me to distinquish one from the other.

enjoying one moment at a time...

Satisfaction may gradually emerge.

Comfort can be cultivated over time.

Contentment is a state of mind that may persist.

Happiness - depending on your definition - can be a disciplined practice.

But joy is of a specific moment.

Joy is experienced now or not at all.

Joy is an externality that we allow to claim us.

Joy explodes our ego and sears our wounds.

Living one day at a time,

There is an echo of, "Give us this day our daily bread."

Let us live fully in this day.

There is an echo of, "So do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." (Matthew 6:34)

Do not add worry of tomorrow to today's troubles.

Whether full of trouble or joy, today is enough. Attend fully to this day and tomorrow may be transformed.

... and the Wisdom to distinguish the one from the other.

We pray for the wisdom to distinguish what can be changed from what cannot be changed.

It is more likely that we can change our own behavior and attitude than the attitude and behavior of others. But even this will be difficult.

It is more likely that we can change what is new and seems insignificant, than that which is long-established and cherished. But even small changes are challenging.

It is more likely that we can change - or contribute to changing - that which others find threatening than that which others do not notice. But fear complicates the changing.

It is more likely that we can contribute to change when the benefit of changing is widely acknowledged. But change is always difficult.

We live in a world of constant change, yet most of us, most of the time, prefer the illusion of stability. So often our goal is a changelessness that is not possible and, perhaps, heretical.

Courage to change the things which should be changed...

Bravery suggests fearlessness in face of danger and courage is often a synonym of bravery.

But courage originally meant to be large-hearted. This is something beyond brave.

Change does not usually require challenging some threat. Rather, it requires noticing and caring about what is easily within our ability to change.

Courage implies engaging others with empathy and our own condition with insight.

With courage we perceive and respond creatively.

God give us grace to accept with Serenity the things that cannot be changed...

Among what cannot be changed is the reality of evil.

Our separateness from God is a necessary corollary to our freedom of decision.

In exercising freedom we easily fall into self-assertion, especially when convinced of our own righteousness.

The more our decisions express and empower our separate self, the greater the potential for evil.

This is the human condition. The potential for and reality of evil will not change.

God, give us grace to accept with Serenity the things that cannot be changed, Courage to change the things which should be changed, and the Wisdom to distinguish the one from the other. Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time, accepting hardship as a pathway to peace, taking, as Jesus did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it, trusting that you will make all things right, if I surrender to your will, so that I may be reasonably happy in this life, and supremely happy with you forever in the next. Amen.

For many years I had a mixed reaction to the so-called Serenity Prayer, or at least its first stanza. As a young man I was uncomfortable with what seemed an undertow of fatalism.

But the courage to change the things which should be changed would not allow me to dismiss the prayer entirely.

With years and experience, I better understand there are things that cannot be changed. (I first wrote, there may very well be things that cannot be changed. This remains a wisdom I resist.)

At some point in the last ten years or so I encountered the second stanza, beginning with, "Living one day at a time..."

Taking this sinful world as it is, gave depth to the things that cannot be changed. Learning that Reinhold Neibuhr was the author gave context to each word and phrase.

In the days ahead I will give the prayer close consideration.

Gracious and loving God, thank you for your many blessings. Thank you for being with us today. Help us to know you. Help us to join with you in creating, healing, and being. Help us in our observing, deciding, and doing. May we find and stay on the way you intend. When we go another way - wounding others, hurting ourselves, and neglecting you - do not cease to seek our return. May our relationship with others reflect the love and liberty you have given us. We know you are always with us, help us to truly be with you.

This is one form of my common prayer. Before a meal, on a special occasion, as I enter into conflict or potential conflict, something like this is what I will say aloud or silently.

It is based, I hope, on the pattern of the Lord's Prayer. We begin by acknowledging the identity of God. For me the Kingdom of God is revealed and present, but we usually deny it.

We need help in our daily doing. We need help recognizing that what we do in the present moment is how we are co-creators (or not) with God.

We acknowledge our failures. I am especially concerned with how I too often treat others as means to my ends, rather than profound ends in themselves.

I seek to deepen my relationship with God and with others. In these relationships I perceive is the way of ultimate reality.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long.

Surely towb: good, pleasant, agreeable, joyful, valuable, charming, becoming better, beautiful...

and chesed: good, kind, lovely, loyal, loving, faithful, devoted... shall follow me all the days of my life.

There is a sense that towb is an experience of the external world while chesed describes our interior experience. Goodness is what we encounter. Mercy is what we bring with us to the encounter.

The prayer does not promise that towb is all we will encounter. Even in this short prayer there is talk of enemies, evil, and death's valley.

But when we open ourselves to God's chesed, even the deepest wounds we have caused or received can be healed.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.

I am my own worst enemy.

I can subvert, distract, and defeat myself more effectively than anyone else.

Yet despite myself - and often without intention - I can contribute to, cooperate with, and experience such exquisite grace.

I am anointed as a child of God. My meaning is found and my purpose is achieved in relationship with God.

In relationship God's gifts are continual and overflowing.

Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff - they comfort me.

Increasingly it is the presence of God that is most meaningful to me.

I do not expect dramatic interventions, but I very much depend upon God's company.

God offers guidance, his staff touches my shoulder warning to choose another way. If I am paying attention, God is leading me along the path that is best for me.

But whether I am on the path or have blithely wandered, God is there.

There is comfort in companionship.

He leads me in right paths for his name’s sake.

Only once have I been seriously lost. I was hiking the woods alone (the same woods I had known since sixth grade).

The aim of the hike was to get beyond where we had gone before. On the northeast corner of our known world was a big marsh, maybe 15 to 20 acres. In spring it could be a shallow lake. Given time and difficulty, we had never been to the other side of that swampy ground.

We called the swamp Death Valley. When we first found it the bleached bones of cattle were scattered in piles across its edge. Here and there the cattle had been trapped in the mud, struggled, died, feasted upon, leaving their own bones as grave markers.

It took considerable time and care to find a way through Death Valley. Then I climbed the rocky cliff that I had seen but never stood upon. Tired I lay prone at the top of the cliff surveying the tangled scene I had gotten through.

Far below, barely half-way across the swamp, coming a different way than I had, was a boy/man. Given distance even the gender identification was more assumption than observation.

I had asked my friend Mark to hike with me. I decided that his baseball practice must have been canceled. Standing I yelled, "Mark, here I am."

I don't remember the reply. But the voice was much deeper than Mark's fourteen or fifteen year-old scratchy tenor.

I ran until I could run no more. I ran until I was breathless, bending over wheezing. I ran full-speed where I had never been before.

Where I finally stopped was, of course, entirely unrecognizable. Even if I had wanted to, I could not have easily found my way back to the cliff's edge, the edge of what I knew.

Quieting my fear and collecting my wits, I roughly situated where I needed to go from the sun's position. I set out to connect with the old east-west cut that was once the road used to haul out the coal.

There was no path. Only a direction. In that direction were ponds I could not cross, cliffs I could not climb, and thorny thickets that tore at my clothes and skin, but after hours I made my way.

I had not run far. The ground was too rough for that. But it did not take long for fear and ignorance to make it very difficult for me to get back to the right path.

He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul.

Our house sits between a five acre wood and a ten acre pasture. My office is about 50 yards up the road overlooking the same pasture.

As I write this, looking toward the pasture I see my dim reflection in the window. The sun has not risen. But in a few minutes I will be able to see rabbits nibbling, birds flitting, perhaps a fox hurrying across the field.

When I return home my wife will have been awake only ten or fifteen minutes. But she will report to me on deer, or turkey, or even the occasional bear.

The natural world can be a dangerous place. I do not envy the rabbits, at least the squirrels can climb. It is easier to be higher on the food-chain.

In the pasture change is constant, it is also broadly predictable; life is vulnerable and beauty abounds. The sky is now a dusky purple and a mist is rising with the sun.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.

But, of course, I want a great deal. I want to repair the road, fix the plumbing, plant more flowers, patch the ceiling, and clean the basement.

What I too seldom consider is how much I have, much more than I need. Vastly more than I deserve.

The Hebrew we translate as want is chacer: to be empty, decreased, diminished, lacking, in need.

The psalmist proclaims, "The Lord is my shepherd." Do I follow the Lord? Do I depend on the Lord? Do I seek the way of the Lord or my own paths?

There are ways to fulfillment. There are ways to illusion. Which have I chosen? Which will I choose today?

The Lord is my shepherd,
I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures;
he leads me beside still waters;
he restores my soul.
He leads me in right paths
for his name’s sake.
Even though I walk
through the darkest valley,
I fear no evil;
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff—
they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord
my whole life long.

I have heard this psalm more often than I have prayed it. But at age 19 I gave three sermons on the 23rd psalm. I was serving as an assistant chaplain at a state park in Southern Illinois. The sermons were short, silly Sunday meditations. But in the setting and the response there is a precious memory. For a few days I will see what meaning I can find today.

Adoramus Te, Christe, et benedicimus Tibi, Quia per sanctam crucem Tuam redemisti mundum, Domine, miserere nobis!

From sixth grade until graduation from high school I spent as much time as I could in woods east of town. From the 1920s until the 1960s the ground had been stripped for coal.

This was before land restoration laws had been passed. As a result thousands of acres of flat Illinois farmland had been transformed into rugged hills, deep lakes, islands, and weird rocky outcrops.

Now it was pastured and once had been used to film a cowboy movie. Mostly it was a vast space that grown-ups ignored. Great for teenage boys.

We built cabins in the pine woods. We skinny-dipped in the spillway. We collected iron pyrite as if it was real gold. We built a chapel, carrying bag after bag of quikcrete to fashion a real floor.

The chapel building was part of a two or three year period when a group of nine or ten of us had joined as the Club of Rome. Bruce and I were the co-leaders. Bruce was the plumber's son. His Dad worked alot in tin. Each of us had breastplates of tin, spraypainted in gold, some had well-fashioned Roman-like helmets. Bruce was "First Consul."

I was the Cardinal Bishop of New Wittenberg, reconciling reformation division in the wastepiles of slurry, cinder, and clay. I wore a cardboard miter on which I had reproduced, in magic marker, a gold and blue byzantine image of Christ ascending.

My principal task as spiritual leader was, at the place we had set our boundary separating "Roman" territory from that of our parents, to raise my hands and sing, "Adoramus te, Christe..."

We adore Thee, O Christ, And we bless Thee, Who by the holy cross have redeemed the world, Who have suffered for us! Lord, have mercy upon us!

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

Recently I had dinner with a suspicious, skeptical, and evidently unhappy man. He had known plenty of shams and participated in a few himself. On most scorecards, his career had been a success. But not for him. I don't know about drudgery, but he had plenty of broken dreams... and he seemed intent on breaking those of others. While the food was wonderful, the dinner was unpleasant.

Last evening lightening bounced about inside the clouds. No bolt to the ground. No threatening thunder. This morning ten thousand - and more - fireflies are dancing in the meadow. My grandma's dinner table shines. It has, perhaps, been my desk for as many years as the family gathered about it. The coffee is strong and hot.

The unpleasant - or worse - and the pleasant are each real. But I am inclined to give more time and thought to the unpleasant. I see it as a threat to be deciphered or a fracture to be healed. I am, it often seems, called to action by the unpleasant. The pleasant I tend to take for granted.

Yet this morning, at least, it occurs to me that the unpleasant man is gone. My grandma's table is still here. The fireflies have returned for another summer. The lightening flashes as it has since the first second of creation. The coffee reminds me of my first sip in Vienna more than thirty years ago. The pleasant persists.

From the scripture assigned for today, "The earth, O Lord, is full of your steadfast love, teach me your statutes. You have dealt well with your servant..." Beauty abounds and God's love surrounds us, may we make time, place, and opportunity to notice.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

At fifteen I had no clear conception of God, but there was something slightly scandalous in the broad tolerance of that "whatever."

Over the years I have considered many explanations for and manifestations of God. The vast majority strike me as commendable.

I have settled on a God that is beneficently mysterious, and whom I can know through the example of Jesus and the working of nature.

It has been much more difficult to keep peace with my own soul, and especially with my aspirations. These are less consistently beneficent.

Jesus, Buddha, Confucius, Mohammed, Plato and many others - each in their own way - teach that peace is the outcome of aiming our labors and aspirations toward divine intention.

You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

I can make a case that the universe is unfolding as it ought. But while the case is credible, it implies a universe largely indifferent to the plight of particular trees, stars, or children.

The universe is unfolding, changing, opening. It's general direction and character seems beyond much influence. But how this change is experienced by a particular place, time, and people depends on how each of us are unfolding, changing, and opening.

Are we resisting or reflecting? Do I help or hurt? Are you neglectful or attentive? Are we creative partners in the unfolding or do we wreak havoc and destruction in opposition?

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline,be gentle with yourself.

I was a "bright young thing" and it has been tough to overcome. At 19 and 20 I was testifying to Congress, appearing on national news, and being applauded by large crowds.

As a young man I was adept at attracting powerful supporters with my idealism, enthusiasm, and drive. I have never quite developed the prudence, competence, and... well, I'm not sure, expected of an experienced man of forty, then fifty, and now a bit more. I have not gracefully surrendered the things of youth.

The first personal prayer I can recall was at 9 or 10. I asked that my childlike creativity be preserved. I had begun to notice that many older people were burdened and dulled by their experience. Where the young see exciting possibilities, the counsel of years can see - sometimes too well - the effort and sacrifice required.

These are not, I trust, mutually exclusive realities. We know in Rothko, Eliot, Copland and many others a youthful creativity that is strengthened with wise experience.

Dear God, thank you for generously fulfilling my childhood request. I still see with the eyes and mind of a nine-year-old. If it be your will, help me now to combine this perception with mature judgment and real capacity. May my whole person be engaged in fulfilling your intention.

Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.

To be my self, your self, our selves is much more difficult than I understood at fifteen.

It is interesting that Erhmann combines being one's self with loving others. In losing ourselves we may find ourselves. A full encounter with the other enhances the potential for ecstasy: ek (outside) stasis (equilibrium, standing still). At fifteen we are, perhaps, more open to this wisdom than at fifty. As we age there is an inclination to stability. That is a bad goal. Change is inevitable. Growth is good. Stasis is death. Ecstasy is possible.

Love returns - and falls dormant - and returns - and falls dormant - and will return, if we are open to its returning. Even the grass will not return until Spring opens its heart.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism.

I have chosen or sometimes stumbled into a non-traditional career. For most of my career I have been a so-called free-agent, which in practice means I am utterly dependent on a network of clients and colleagues.

Only twice in all these years have I encountered what I could call "trickery." In one case it involved a financial officer attempting to hide and compensate for his incompetence. In the other, a client consistently failed to follow-through on agreements. In neither case was there malevolent intent. In each case, the individuals were not so much trying to trick me as they were in deep denial regarding their reality.

I have, however, sometimes felt I was being the trickster. My most important role has been to persuade clients and colleagues of their capacity. Both clients and colleagues have been lazy, fearful, hesitant, and blind. It has often seemed as if I needed to "trick" them into believing in their own ideals and taking a heroic path.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

At fifteen I doubt that I understood - or much noticed - the last sentence.

Some serious science now tells us we discount our achievements, especially if we have measured achievement by accumulation. We do this largely because we will usually compare ourselves to someone else who has accumulated more (fame, money, power, prestige, etc., etc...)

The author, Max Erhmann, an Indiana lawyer and businessman, knew this from experience. He was about my present age when he wrote the poem.

Desiderata is Latin for "things desired." Choosing what we desire - or losing our desires - is a crucial and often courageous act.

Am I ready... able... willing... to accept the blessing that God offers? Do I desire that which deepens my relationship with others and with God? Or do I desire that which separates?

Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.

The Desiderata is less a prayer than an invocation or, even better, a dismissal.

But it is prayerful and I remember it as a prayer. Here I am trying to proceed through my prayers in order of frequency. In the late 1960s and early 1970s the Desiderata adorned my closet door and the rooms of many, even most, of my peers. For us it was especially useful as a silent rebuke to our parent's generation.

We did not often say aloud the words and I cannot recall kneeling in silent recitation. But I can recall studying the words and deploying them in conversation or - more accurately - argument.

I had not thought of the Desiderata or read it for at least thirty years. Yesterday as I googled to find it I expected something saccharin, self-congratulatory, and superficial.

It is not - or need not be - any of these things, but I expect these terms accurately reflect how I last read it. At fifteen I heard the words as self-affirming and critical of others. At more than fifty I am - thank God - a bit more self-critical.

Prayer is derived from the Latin precari meaning to ask or woo. Our English word precarious shares the same derivation and tells us something of the nature of prayer that we may too often neglect.

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

Max Ehrmann, Desiderata (1927)

Gracious and loving God, thank you for your many blessings. Forgive me for what I have neglected. Help me to restore that which I have broken. Draw me closer to you. Open me to your purpose. Help me to accept your intention. Give me the courage and capacity to do what is needed as you would have it done. Amen

This is my private prayer. The specific words have shifted over the years. I will sometimes mention particular blessings and failings.

"Open me" may be repeated over and over as a mantra. The requested opening is to both God and the world. It is to be open to, recognize, and draw meaning and power from the sacramental.

In the last ten year I have added, "as you would have it done." Courage and capacity is not sufficient. Wisdom is also required.

Have mercy upon us, most merciful Father; in your compassion forgive us our sins, known and unknown, things done and left undone; and so uphold us by your Spirit that we may live and serve you in newness of life, to the honor and glory of your Name; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

I am confident of God's mercy. I am troubled by my own lack of mercy.

I am confdent in God's compassion. I am limited by my own lack of compassion.

The wrongs that I do are, I think and hope, rather trivial.

But the things that I have left undone are profound.

The things that I have probably not even noticed are, I expect, as significant.

Dear God help me to forgive myself, as you have already forgiven me.

Help me to see with your eyes, hear with your ears, and respond with your wisdom and love.

We pray to you also for the forgiveness of our sins.

Saint Thomas Aquinas and Saint Bonaventure, who disagreed on so much, agreed on the seven principal sins: pride, avarice, gluttony, lust, sloth, envy, and anger.

Each of these tendencies are especially effective at distracting us from and over time separating us from God. Each alone or in varied combinations they leave less space and opportunity for our relationship with God.

At one time or another I have been guilty of each of these sins. Pride has been my most persistent challenge. But repeated failures have significantly lessened my pride, and some combination of faith, discipline, and experience have reduced my temptation to the other sins.

I wonder if my failures may have been gifts of God, divine help in conquering my most serious adversary. If so, I am certainly still in needs of God's help. Despite all, I continue to seek a self-justifying and self-exalting path. I am less aggressive and confident than was once the case, but the tendency persists.

Dear God, forgive us our sins and bring us close to you.

Lord, let your loving-kindness be upon them; Who put their trust in you.

Is this a conditional? Are we praying that receipt of loving-kindness require trust?

Or is it a declaration? Saying essentially: "We trust in you, let us know your loving-kindness"

Whatever the intent, I expect there is some innate conditionality. We will experience God's loving-kindness to the extent we are able to trust.

We might also pray, "Extend, deepen, and make whole our trust in you, dear God. Lead us in learning how to depend on your love."

Love is known through relationship, mutual openness, and an interweaving of will and purpose.

We pray for all who have died, that they may have a place in your eternal kingdom.

For Laura and Fred, Carrie and Leon, Rita and Jim, Robert and Hazel, for Joe, Monte, and Bob, for Anna, Mary, and Laura.

For the victims of war, disease, drought, hunger, and plague.

We pray for the blessed dead in thanks for their lives and our memory of their lives. We remember those who have died tragically, seeking to better understand how we might heal and prevent such tragedies.

We pray for the dead so that we might not take for granted the opportunities of this life.

We pray that all might find and accept the place in your heavenly reign that each of us has already been granted.

We will exalt you, O God our King; And praise your Name for ever and ever.

Will we? Will I? Do I exalt and praise... for ever and ever?

Recently I had a cataract removed. Depth, texture, and range of color were restored. I thanked the surgeons and I thanked God.

I did not exalt and praise.

After many months of difficult and uncertain financial conditions, my professional life is unfolding into a new and more prosperous direction.

I have been cautious in my thanks and stingy with my praise.

It was a glorious day yesterday. It was easily worth exultation. My response was quiet -perhaps a bit self-indulgent - but there were no hosanna's literally or otherwise.

Small children and animals are capable of exaltation. We are drawn to their enthusiasms. God welcomes - even instructs - us to lose our cares, caution, doubts, and worries in ecstatic song, dance, and praise. We are given the opportunity to step beyond what we have become and reclaim our original creation.

Hear us, Lord; For your mercy is great. We thank you, Lord, for all the blessings of this life.

We depend on God's understanding of our limitations and intention. We depend on God's mercy.

We do not often meet our own expectations. We tremble to consider God's expectations. We depend on God's empathy, sympathy, and compassion.

Recognizing we have received so much more than we have earned, we are especially inclined to give thanks.

For the special needs and concerns of this congregation.

At the National Cathedral one of the semi-pro laity (they even have their own gray vestments) lead the prayers of the people. The churches in the Diocesan cycle of prayer are identified in advance, individual prayer requests are pronounced, silence is kept to contemplate each or offer others.

At my little church each name on the prayer list is pronounced a bit differently by each one praying aloud, speed of delivery can differ by as much as two or three words, the Diocesan cycle of prayer is inserted at the end as more of a choral announcement than a prayer. It can become - usually is - a jumble (as can reciting the Nicene Creed).

But that's the point, isn't it? Each congregation is unique, with its own special needs and concerns. We pray the same form as millions of others, but we each pray in our own way. We are a jumble of strength and weakness, hope and regret, great faith and deep doubt. But whenever two or three are gathered together in the name of Jesus, the healer and redeemer of each and all is there as well.

For Katherine our Presiding Bishop, and Peter, Shannon, and David, our Bishops; and for all bishops and other ministers; For all who serve God in his Church.

Early Christian communities selected episkopos or overseers. Late Latin rendered this ebiscopus, from which emerged bishop.

The Greek is a compound epi and skopos. Epi is a prefix meaning over, on, near, at, before or after. Skopus means to watch and, especially, to aim as in targeting an arrow. Our English scope is derived from skopus.

May our leaders always see clearly and be watchful. May our leaders sharpen our seeing and keep our aim on God's intention.

For the peace and unity of the Church of God; For all who proclaim the Gospel, and all who seek the Truth.

How ought we seek the truth? How ought we proclaim the Gospel?

The example of Jesus and the teaching of Paul emphasize humility. In the case of Paul we might do as he says, rather than as he sometimes does. With Jesus, what he says and does is coherent and consistent.

Humility involves listening, watchful waiting, attentive care, and responding to others with their needs - not our own - foremost in mind. Humility involves recognizing God in the diversity of human individuality. Humility is to be seeking rather than certain.

Certainty is not one of the gifts that God has given us. When we feel certain, we should think again. When we feel certain is - especially - when we should be seeking.

Proclaiming the Gospel does not require certainty. Quite the opposite. Acts of love are seldom confidently unilateral. Love is almost always uncertain, exploring, surprising, and responsive to the unexpected.

If our believing and behaving were consistently characterized by seeking, humility, and love the Church of God would know peace and unity.

And such a Church would proclaim the Gospel with a power we have not seen for over 2000 years.

For all who are in danger, sorrow, or any kind of trouble; For those who minister to the sick, the friendless, and the needy.

For the Tamils pressed hard; for the Fur, Zaghawa, and Masalit long oppressed in Dafur; for all the peoples of the former Somalia convulsed in violence; for the peoples of Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan and India trapped in ongoing suspicion, hatred, and murder; for immigrants in the United States suspected, watched, and worried; for the homeless, addicted, and ill who lose themselves in great cities; for the indebted, impoverished, and hopeless in every land; the list could long continue.

We also pray for those who live in fear - even when danger, sorrow, and trouble is modest and opportunities for healing and joy abound. We pray that the satanic nature of resentment might be recognized and divine opportunities for thanksgiving will be embraced.

We pray for those who minister to and serve the people of God. We ask that God might strengthen them, encourage them, and give them the wisdom needed to heal our troubled lands, hearts, and minds. Where they find division, may they be agents of wholeness. Where they find need, may they be agents of abundance. Where they find destruction, may they be agents of creation. Where they find hate, may they be agents of love.

We pray also that we may each see and seize opportunities to be God's ministers in our daily life and work.

For the just and proper use of your creation; For the victims of hunger, fear, injustice, and oppression.

God's creation is astoundingly abundant and resilient. It will take a great deal of abuse and continue its creative and self-healing way.

But persistently improper use of God's creation does have consequences. The first to feel the consequences are the most vulnerable, human and otherwise.

Hunger could be - should be - a temporary threat readily addressed. In some places it has become a persistent condition artificially maintained through fear, injustice, and oppression.

When we pray for the victims of these consequences, surely we are praying that we be made aware of how we contribute to hunger, fear, injustice, and oppression.

And in praying for awareness, are we not also praying for help in amending our behavior?

For this community, the nation, and the world; For all who work for justice, freedom, and peace.

For my places and for all places; for my people and all people; for the connections of this place and people to other places and people.

We pray for the connectors. In The Tipping Point, Malcolm Gladwell writes that connectors, "link us up with the world ... people with a special gift for bringing the world together."

Justice, freedom, and peace are often thought of as outcomes. They are also - and more importantly - tools. Those who apply these tools are partners with God in healing a fractured creation. We pray for the connectors who bring us closer to God.

For all people in their daily life and work; For our families, friends, and neighbors, and for those who are alone.

For half my life I have attended Episcopal services. The liturgy usually includes a member of the laity leading the congregation in the Prayers of the People. This sixth form has been, by far, the most common. I have joined in this prayer on nearly -- or perhaps a bit more than -- a thousand Sundays.

We pray for all; not just those with us, or those who pray like us, or those who agree with us.

We pray for what they are doing. Parenting, farming, banking, fighting, and all the infinite diversity of human choices. We honor the everyday choices that taken together have such profound consequence.

We also pray for those who are in particular relationship with us. It is among these -- family, friends, and neighbors -- that we may most often be in conflict. Here emotions run highest and tensions, when they emerge, may be most troublesome.

But we raise all in prayer: our unknown enemy, our most initimate adversary, all our neighbors near and far, recognizing each as our spiritual sibling, each as a unique expression of God.

We pray especially for those who are alone. In working, praying, and laughing together we experience communion with one another. Through one another we may be drawn a bit closer to God. In our struggles with each other we are often prompted to valuable ephiphanies. These sacramental moments are not available to those who are alone.

In praying for those who are alone we are reminded of our opportunity and obligation to reach out.

Prayers of the People, Form VI

In peace, we pray to you, Lord God.

For all people in their daily life and work;
For our families, friends, and neighbors, and for those who are alone.

For this community, the nation, and the world;
For all who work for justice, freedom, and peace.

For the just and proper use of your creation;
For the victims of hunger, fear, injustice, and oppression.

For all who are in danger, sorrow, or any kind of trouble;
For those who minister to the sick, the friendless, and the needy.

For the peace and unity of the Church of God;
For all who proclaim the Gospel, and all who seek the Truth.

For Katherine our Presiding Bishop, and Peter, Shannon, and David, our Bishops; and for all bishops and other ministers;
For all who serve God in his Church.

For the special needs and concerns of this congregation.

Hear us, Lord; For your mercy is great.
We thank you, Lord, for all the blessings of this life.

We will exalt you, O God our King;
And praise your Name for ever and ever.

We pray for all who have died, that they may have a place in your eternal kingdom.

Lord, let your loving-kindness be upon them;
Who put their trust in you.

We pray to you also for the forgiveness of our sins.

Have mercy upon us, most merciful Father;in your compassion forgive us our sins,known and unknown,things done and left undone; and so uphold us by your Spirit that we may live and serve you in newness of life, to the honor and glory of your Name;through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Praise God from whom all blessings flow. Praise God all creatures here below. Praise God above ye heavenly host. Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

The church of my youth did not give much attention to the trinity. Each Sunday, though, we would sing the Doxology.

From an early age I was troubled by the possible dilution of God's unity. But never enough to stop singing the Doxology.

Written by a 17th Century Anglican priest, today I will sing it in an Episcopal service, but still harbor unitarian sensitivities.

Whatever our sense of God -- and whatever our struggles -- it is a good and proper thing to praise God.

Asking doesn't hurt. Sharing our hurt can help. But robustly giving thanks and offering praise is theologically and psychologically Good.

The Lord is good to me and so I thank the Lord, for giving me the things I need the sun, and the rain, and the appleseed. The Lord is good to me.

This is the prayer we sang before every family meal. Grandma, Grandpa, Aunt Rita, Uncle Jim, Cousins Nancy, Joe, Amy and Mary, Mom, Dad, and my sister Jana.

Sometimes the three Aunts -- Anna, Mary, and Laura -- maiden sisters of my grandfather, would join us. Sometimes Edna White or Katie Lane, friends of my grandmother. Eventually my wife and children learned the song.

I can vaguely recall a time when Grandpa said a grace instead of us singing, but that is very vague. At some point the final hallelujahs from Handel's Messiah were added.

We were a family of singers. It was a house-filling, home-making sound. It was a joyful thanksgiving.

Grandma, Grandpa, Rita, Jim, and Joe have died. My Dad has lost his voice. We do not gather as we once did. But last Thanksgiving Cousin Mary brought her boyfriend to meet my Mom, Dad, and me. Mary, Mom, and I were a remnant, but an enthusiastic remnant.

Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

Luke's prayer ends with, "lead us not into temptation." Matthew adds positive deliverance.

The evil from which we seek rescue is a pressing turbulence, overwhelming toil and turmoil.

The Greek we render as deliver is rhoumai, which suggests joining the flow, returning to the main current.

There is a sense of being rescued from a flood, but rather than being removed from the river, we are merely moved beyond the flood.

Dear God, rescue us from the crisis, preserve us on our challenging course.

Lead us not into temptation.

A friend objects that God would not lead us into temptation.

Another translation offers, "protect us from the time of trial."

The Greek is kai me eisphero hemas eis peirasmos. That kai me is a very strong "do not" the verb eisphero means to lead or bring, bring into, or carry into.

I am not especially tempted by wealth, fame, power, or sex... to name a few typical temptations. Oh, I can be titillated by each. I will fantasize about these and more. But the fantasies are easy to put away.

What can be difficult to resist is a sense of God's calling. Is this what God asks of me? Is this where God wants me to go? Is this my vocation? Is this my purpose?

More often than not I hear what Freud might label my superego's echo. In seeking relationship with God, I ask is this (whatever this might be) your will? I perceive a vague this in reply. But it is much more projection than perception.

Lead us not into temptation is, for me, about as practical and immediate as "Give us this day our daily bread." Today give me the humility and patience to silence my interior desires and to listen -- only listen -- and to hear the still small voice of God.

Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.

Forgive us as we forgive others. Forgive me as I forgive others.

Judge me as I judge others. Treat us as we treat others.

In Matthew's gospel the Greek we translate as forgive is aphiemi. This means to give up, send away, to let go of, to remit, and to give up.

If another fails to fulfill an obligation to me, do I give up the debt? Or do I give up on the debtor? Or do I unforgivingly pursue the debtor until the debt is paid?

I pray that God may treat me in the same way.

Forgive us our trespasses...

We have received on trust, but we have not fulfilled the trust. We have received a loan, but have not returned what we owe. We have managed an investment, but we have failed to invest wisely and return to the investor what is due.

The Greek of the gospels is opheilema: a debt, an obligation. Consider the parable of the faithful stewards. All three had received. Two took risks to grow and returned more than had been received. One returned only what was received.

We are created into order to create. We have been healed in order to heal. We are loved in order to love. We have been given life in order to live abundantly. Forgive us when we are fearful, selfish, passive, and fail to take full advantage of the creative risks which are given us.

Give us this day our daily bread.

In one form or another this has undoubtedly been my most common prayer.

But it is generally asked as, "Give me... " and I ask for something that goes well beyond today's physical needs.

In Luke's version of the prayer (Luke 11:2-4) we read, "Give us day by day our daily bread." Which I read as further emphasis on receiving no more than is needed for this day.

Give us what we need, but no more. Do not tempt us to an illusion of self-reliance derived from bulging grain bins, bank accounts, or 401(k)s.

I have regularly said these words. I have often meant the essential opposite.

Above is a triptych from the Rothko Chapel. I intend to illustrate every third meditation with a work of Mark Rothko.

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.

This is the prayer's most audacious request. I am asking for God's reign, God's authority to be experienced in my place.

I am asking for God's will - intention - purpose to be achieved for me and us.

God has given me freedom of choice and will. I am -- by God's intent -- beyond God's authority. But I offer and ask that this freedom be received and replaced by the reign of God.

I am asking that God's intent for me and us be fulfilled now.

But is this truly my intent? Is this my honest and wholehearted desire? Or are these merely words I repeat by rote?

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

I acknowledge that God is my creator. I am in relationship with God. The relationship is analogous to that of parent and child.

I acknowledge that the God to whom I pray is "our" Father, the creator of the universe and the common creator of humankind.

God abides in coeli -- the heavens -- which encompass earth but extend far beyond and transcend this experience.

The Kaddish begins, "Magnified and sanctified is God's great name in the world which he has created according to his will ." Name refers to God's identity, not just God's cognomen. Traditionally there are 72 names of God, referents to God's nature and character.

I originally learned, "Our Father which art in heaven." When 13 or 14 I was rehearsing to sing a solo of The Lord's Prayer at church. Louis Day, a long-time choir member, said he preferred "who" to "which." It was, perhaps, my first encounter with the transforming power of word choice.