Well, I have to confess that my prayer journey is off to a slow start.
Thank you to everyone who has been asking me how it is going - I hope I've been honest enough with you to say that it is going very very slowly! I did say that prayer wasn't my strong point, didn't I?
So instead of zipping along the M1 of prayer, I am firmly stuck in the traffic jam of the spiritual life. But not disheartened. It's too easy to get either guilty or fed up, and decide that's it, I'm not going to bother. I don't want to succumb to these temptations. I also want to try some of the suggestions in the Kellys' excellent book.
Past of what I am doing at the moment is removing some of the blockages to prayer. I've spoken about guilt already, I've spoken about the fact that we need to be really persuaded that God is on our side, not waiting to appeased by us, or argued into grudgingly helping us out. I really believe that, and I'm determined to put it into practice.
The next sermon on this subject will be preached on June 23rd, at 8am and 10am in Holy Trinity Hertford Heath. There will also be blog posts on the subject of chapter two - prayer as a rhythm. I am really looking forward to this - I sense that my own efforts at prayer are fitful and clumsy because I lack any rhythm. I hope to be reporting on some ways to bring God into the ups and downs of my life pretty soon.
Showing posts with label desire for God. Show all posts
Showing posts with label desire for God. Show all posts
Monday, 10 June 2013
Saturday, 27 April 2013
8 o'clock Spirituality
Every Sunday I crawl out of bed an hour and a half earlier than I would choose to, and sit in my freezing study getting ready for the 8am Communion.
My Twitter companions at this hour are a collection of fellow Anglican clergy, for I strongly suspect that no other Christians have this peculiar tradition.
Long ago, in a galaxy far away, a friend and I had a conversation that went along these lines: "When I'm a vicar the first thing I'll do is abolish the 8 o'clock Communion." But I've never done so, and I would never dream of it.
Non-Anglicans are probably thinking that we're mad. But perhaps you too have shivered in a muddy field at 6am, while an off key trumpeter leads a bleary congregation in a threadbare rendering of "Thine be the glory."
Yes, the Easter Sunrise Service. Another example of Christian Masochism at its best.
Taking communion fasting, is I suppose an example of this. The idea is that the first thing that should pass your lips on Sunday morning should be the bread and the wine - as a way of saying that God comes first in my life. So, in that respect, going to the 8 o'clock communion is in fact a way of taking it easy and cutting yourself some slack.
However, it can also be a Rule. Rules, with a capital R are not always helpful.
Once, a very intelligent elderly ecclesiastical lawyer confessed to me that he was no longer going to come to church, because he couldn't go out without any food inside him, he was too wobbly. It seemed the perfect example of self inflicted Pharasaism. Why elevate a pious habit into a Rule that cuts you off from worship?
Other 8 o'clockers describe their reason for early attendance in church as "it gets it out of the way."
Gets it out of the way??
Before the really important stuff of life, like washing the car or reading the Sunday papers? Again, a funny way of describing your devotion to the creator of the universe.
Leaving the negative thoughts aside, there is something about the quiet gathering of (nearly always) elderly people walking to church - yes they nearly always walk - that is very special. 8 o'clockers are faithful people. Vicars often moan about how their congregations only come to church every other week these days. "When I was young," they say, "we went to church twice on a Sunday. Nowadays we have to count ourselves lucky if we see people twice a month!"
Not so the 8 o'clockers. They'll be there, every week. Without fail. Usually half an hour early, for reasons that are completely inexplicable. Why is it that the main morning congregation never arrive more than five minutes before the service is due to start, and usually 5-10 minutes after, while the 8 o'clockers are forming an orderly queue by 7.30?
Once, years ago, the service at the church I belonged to was televised. We were all in place with 20 minutes to go, listening to the countdown before we went live and began to worship, with a rising sense of excitement.
The 8 o'clockers could teach us a thing or two about anticipation and faithfulness.
My Twitter companions at this hour are a collection of fellow Anglican clergy, for I strongly suspect that no other Christians have this peculiar tradition.
Long ago, in a galaxy far away, a friend and I had a conversation that went along these lines: "When I'm a vicar the first thing I'll do is abolish the 8 o'clock Communion." But I've never done so, and I would never dream of it.
Non-Anglicans are probably thinking that we're mad. But perhaps you too have shivered in a muddy field at 6am, while an off key trumpeter leads a bleary congregation in a threadbare rendering of "Thine be the glory."
Yes, the Easter Sunrise Service. Another example of Christian Masochism at its best.
Taking communion fasting, is I suppose an example of this. The idea is that the first thing that should pass your lips on Sunday morning should be the bread and the wine - as a way of saying that God comes first in my life. So, in that respect, going to the 8 o'clock communion is in fact a way of taking it easy and cutting yourself some slack.
However, it can also be a Rule. Rules, with a capital R are not always helpful.
Once, a very intelligent elderly ecclesiastical lawyer confessed to me that he was no longer going to come to church, because he couldn't go out without any food inside him, he was too wobbly. It seemed the perfect example of self inflicted Pharasaism. Why elevate a pious habit into a Rule that cuts you off from worship?
Other 8 o'clockers describe their reason for early attendance in church as "it gets it out of the way."
Gets it out of the way??
Before the really important stuff of life, like washing the car or reading the Sunday papers? Again, a funny way of describing your devotion to the creator of the universe.
Leaving the negative thoughts aside, there is something about the quiet gathering of (nearly always) elderly people walking to church - yes they nearly always walk - that is very special. 8 o'clockers are faithful people. Vicars often moan about how their congregations only come to church every other week these days. "When I was young," they say, "we went to church twice on a Sunday. Nowadays we have to count ourselves lucky if we see people twice a month!"
Not so the 8 o'clockers. They'll be there, every week. Without fail. Usually half an hour early, for reasons that are completely inexplicable. Why is it that the main morning congregation never arrive more than five minutes before the service is due to start, and usually 5-10 minutes after, while the 8 o'clockers are forming an orderly queue by 7.30?
Once, years ago, the service at the church I belonged to was televised. We were all in place with 20 minutes to go, listening to the countdown before we went live and began to worship, with a rising sense of excitement.
The 8 o'clockers could teach us a thing or two about anticipation and faithfulness.
Tuesday, 17 August 2010
The blog of despair
What do you write in your first blog post? Something optimistic, surely? Some words of hope about the blogging marathon you are cheerfully committing yourself to?
Well, I had to be different.
I have a realistic impression of how many readers I'm going to get.
None.
There, I've said it. I'm talking to myself, and I know it.
I can only hope that at least God is listening in. If he had any junior angels spare with nothing much to do, surely by now they're all fully employed 24/7 keeping up to date reading the latest posts from the world's lonely bloggers. Of whom I am the latest.
Not that I'm lonely - far from it. Often I crave more time to be alone, or at least, alone with God.
The hermits do much the same - justifying loneliness in order to get close to God.
My trouble is that I'm lonely for God. I miss him. I don't find enough time to be with him, and I feel stretched too thin, like butter on too much bread, as Bilbo says.
First blog posts should contain a mission statement. What I intend to achieve with my new window on the (cyber)world.
Do me a favour, gentle angel reader. Read again the sentence about being stretched too thin and wanting to be with God more.
Will that do as a mission statement? Is that something worth your time in reading this?
Well, I had to be different.
I have a realistic impression of how many readers I'm going to get.
None.
There, I've said it. I'm talking to myself, and I know it.
I can only hope that at least God is listening in. If he had any junior angels spare with nothing much to do, surely by now they're all fully employed 24/7 keeping up to date reading the latest posts from the world's lonely bloggers. Of whom I am the latest.
Not that I'm lonely - far from it. Often I crave more time to be alone, or at least, alone with God.
The hermits do much the same - justifying loneliness in order to get close to God.
My trouble is that I'm lonely for God. I miss him. I don't find enough time to be with him, and I feel stretched too thin, like butter on too much bread, as Bilbo says.
First blog posts should contain a mission statement. What I intend to achieve with my new window on the (cyber)world.
Do me a favour, gentle angel reader. Read again the sentence about being stretched too thin and wanting to be with God more.
Will that do as a mission statement? Is that something worth your time in reading this?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)