The Stillness of Prayer

A few years ago, it seemed that everyone wanted to brag about their skills at multi-tasking – the ability to do more than one thing at a time.

We know that generally, this isn’t particularly effective – rather than do multiple things simultaneously, we flip our attention from one task to another rapidly. This means that no one task is getting full attention; we are more likely to experience errors, and usually the completion of tasks takes longer when we try to do things overlapping. We know this isn’t necessarily terrible in doing some tasks (like listening to music while baking, which may lead to ruined muffins or skipped lyrics). However, in other tasks, such distracted attention can have hazardous results – those who text message while driving are 23 times more likely to be involved in a collision.

Despite this, the world still seems to set high expectations on us, to accomplish increasing numbers of tasks in decreasing timelines. I, for one, have colour-coded my calendar, I have a check-box to-do list each week, I often keep a notepad nearby for when my brain flits to something I know will warrant attention. And with all that, I remain a constant fidgeter, with thoughts that sometimes leap from one to the next, before a completed action occurs.

This, perhaps is the best reason to remove all hopes of multitasking during prayer and worship. We want to give our full focus and attention to God; to be still in the presence of the divine. We don’t want to be concentrating on the project for work during prayers, or contemplating the week’s meal planning and grocery list when studying the scriptures.

It can be counter-cultural, then, to sit still and pray. It can be so rewarding and refreshing, however, to be using our brains in a singular, focused manner: especially when the focus is on fostering our relationship with the one who created us – and knows us fully (brain capacity and skillsets included!).

So as the world invites us into a pattern of bigger/better/faster/more; let’s sit calmly and joyously, with focus, in the presence of the Lord – if only for a few moments each day – for this is the sabbath that God intends for us.

 

Blooming Orchids

In the kitchen at the office lives an orchid plant. The lighting and heat and humidity seem to be the perfect environment for it to thrive. And thrive it does! It is often seen with gorgeous blooms, at times so heavy the stalk bends under their weight. It’s beautiful!

It is not *my* orchid; for I do not have luck with orchids. In fact, I’m known for inadvertently causing their demise. I’m so inept at it, that we joke about my needing to keep social distancing from the plant.

Recently, our Administrator (aka plant wizard) and I were in the kitchen at the same time, and I apologised… for the plant had gone from displaying many blooms to having none – I figured/joked that I must have breathed on it or something.

She assured me the plant was fine – the blooms had fallen, but the plant itself was fine; the leaves were thriving, the air roots poking out, there were even new spikes emerging. The plant was – and is - alive and well. The absence of blooms did not mean illness or death.

Our faith is like this: it encompasses all stages of growth and development. Faith reminds us that even when we aren’t blooming, we may be alive and well. The fruit that is worth bearing, as Jesus invites us to bear and share (Jn 15), can take some time – some tending, some rest, some growing periods.

Our ministries – the work we do – are the roots, they are the leaves, and at times they are the blooms. There is life in all of these; there is health in all phases. As new blooms cannot blossom where others exist, we are called to make way for what is appropriate for the here and now.

If we limit our vision to one mode of beauty (like the flowers), then we miss out on other amazing realities of the whole. If we define success only by one expression, we will be disappointed should that one area fail. If we expect things to stay the same, we are in fact embracing stagnancy, which is the opposite of life.

Faith reminds us to seek out signs of life as they are, and where they are: and to embrace the actual beauty and the potential therein – we never know what blooms may come with just a little care.

Every Stitch a Prayer

"Crochet" CC BY-NC 2.0 by Pathlost. Source: Flickr

A number of years ago, I learned to crochet.
It was an inelegant effort, awkward and clumsy with stitches of substantially varied size and tension.

I’m still not very good; I like to consider new patterns and stitches, but a lizard bookmark or a simple throw seem to be the extent of my ability.

However: a simple throw can be so much more than that. Some months ago, a small but committed group of us started making prayer shawls. Sometimes we gather together at the Hall, other times we are stitching on our own from the comfort of our sofas.

And once they are ready, they are brought to the church to be blessed; on the altar, as part of the Offering of the church.

We pray for the shawl or lap quit; and we ask God to bless the people who will receive them.
I then have the immense privilege of distributing these shawls: to people in hospital or care homes, or in times of grief or to acclimatise to a new living situation.

Whatever the circumstances, the shawls are a gift of love and prayers. We hope that when the recipient touches or wears the shawl/quilt, they will feel the warmth of Christ and the comfort of the church. It is intended as a gift of love; it is received as such.

For as so many other gifts that we have to share – when they are given, the imperfect stitches don’t matter – but the act of caring does.

Every Movement is a Blessing

Greenville Daily Photo/Public Domain

On a recent walk, I was recognising my frustration in the lingering fatigue and decreased energy post-COVID. I passed a man exercising in the park (he was doing lunges with a kettlebell!!), and after the general congenialities, I made some comment that it was better him than me! We both smiled, and then he said:

Every movement is a blessing.

What a refreshing re-set. Every movement is a blessing.

The rest of my walk, I meditated on movement – the actions that I take for granted (petting the dogs), the ones I miss (going for a run), the unexpected ones (sneezing – it’s a full-body experience for me).

Movement can bring positive sensations – a deep breath in the sunshine, or hugging a friend. They can also highlight challenge – the creaks of the knees in the morning, the soreness of the back after picking too many blueberries. The movements can be for the full body (the third nocturnal trip to the loo) or tiny (eyes adjusting to a different direction); they can be complicated (learning to dance) or simple (stretching).

Movement: we do it all the time. It’s what our bodies were designed for!

Yet the opportunity to remain mindful of the divine presence in the midst of it – can be a re-focusing event to keep us in that grateful space that our bodies can provide.

So whatever our relationship is with our bodies; whatever aches and pains we have (or absence thereof), whatever scars or wounds or imperfections or normalities we have: our bodies move.

And every movement is a blessing.

Therefore we are basking in blessing every moment.
What a gift indeed.