From Your Minister
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In my Unitarian household as I was growing up in West Virginia, the word “prayer” was not uttered, and certainly no one ever suggested, much less demanded, that I pray.
I spent every moment possible in the woods, playing with sticks and rocks, arranging them while lying full bodied in the sun, talking to myself and making things just right. No one suggested that I was creating altars, that I was experiencing Holy Communion with the earth, that I was opening my heart and summoning deep wisdom, that this was sacred time.
What was actually called prayer entered my young life in a way that was both frightening and negative. In the woods where all the neighborhood kids played day in and day out, the favorite game for girls was “House.” We made walls out of leaves and sticks, and claimed the space under our favorite trees as our own rooms. It was during the games of House that this prayer thing got intense. Frequently the “goodnight prayers” in our games of House morphed into pretty serious descriptions of the hell that would befall any kid who didn’t accept Jesus Christ as her Lord and Savior.
I always thought these prayers were aimed at me when I was a kid, but as an adult I’ve wondered if it wasn’t also that my pals needed to figure out a way to sort through their own fear and guilt and shame about being worthy of Jesus Christ as their savior. As kids, we did all that sorting in play.
I was bewildered by the whole thing. And yet, I was also intrigued. The intimacy and love with which the praying girls spoke about Jesus was nothing I had experienced. This personal savior, who listened to and cared about every problem they had, seemed like a friend anyone would want! But that never made sense with the detailed descriptions of hell. Why would such a good friend make anyone go there?
I am grateful that I could go home and talk with my mom about this. She would console me, albeit in a hyper-rational way, by explaining that this religious belief was just plain wrong. She shared with me the basic Universalist wisdom, that no loving God would create people and then create Hell just to torture them.
Later, when I came out as a lesbian and was damned to hell by many people who had learned (as the kids in my neighborhood did) just exactly what hell looked like, my childhood experience stood me in good stead. How I wish every gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender child had the experience of a loving parent telling them that nothing is wrong with them, that something is wrong with any religion that would condemn them for being who they are!
Well, actually, I wish every single one of us knew that we were precious, no matter what. But the truth is, I don’t think hyper-rationality will help us to know that any more than religious fundamentalism will. So how do we find our way? How do I pray?
I’ll give you a few ideas that have worked for me, and perhaps even in disagreeing with them, you’ll find what’s right for you. There truly are no formulas here!
First, reflect on what resonates with you. Is there a particular mythology, metaphorical system, culture, language, music, visual art, or spiritual practice that makes you feel connected and larger? Follow that impulse! Set time aside and promise yourself to savor this connection. Listen, look, smell, eat, learn a language, read stories, touch—let your connection bring you more life.
Second, notice when you are at peace with yourself. What are you doing? Are you cleaning house? Gardening? Eating? Reading to your small child at night? Reflecting on the psalms? Running? Sitting on a zafu cushion? Let yourself bask in this practice—look forward to it, savor it, imagine shaping your whole day around it. Claim it as part of your prayer life.
Third, create a list of practices to bring you back when you are lost. We all get lost, all the time. So have some ideas in mind in advance about what you’ll do next time. Will you breathe? Say a mantra? Call a friend? Smell peppermint? Look at a screensaver of your favorite place in New Mexico? One of my favorite practices is to just get up and go to the bathroom, whether I need to or not. It never hurts.
These practices are not formulas that will necessarily work for you. I offer them because they have helped me. Think of them as dance steps. We can memorize steps, but how we actually dance them depends on thousands of variables in any moment. In the words of the poet Rumi,
Dance, when you’re broken open.
Dance, if you’ve torn the bandage off.
Dance in the middle of the fighting.
Dance in your blood.
Dance, when you’re perfectly free.
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