May 2009

To Pray or Not to Pray

BY JANE RZEPKA, SENIOR MINISTER, CHURCH OF THE LARGER FELLOWSHIP

Here’s how it looks to me: something in our hearts says, “Help me, I need somebody to lean on, to depend on, or to guide me, or rescue me,” or “Please, it’s the beginning of May, let spring come to New England.” Or “Let my fortunes turn, I’ve suffered enough,” or “I’ll do anything, just make my baby get well.” The root word for prayer is from the Latin, precarius, “obtained by begging.” Don’t you know that feeling? That’s just how it seems to work with human beings.

All of which puts a lot of Unitarian Universalists in something of an awkward situation. And the situation is this: many of us, not all of us of course, but a lot of us, don’t find traditional forms of prayer of particular use. According to an extensive article in Newsweek some time back, “Prayer presupposes a God who can be addressed.” And that presupposition can be a problem for those Unitarian Universalists who don’t posit a god at all, or who don’t posit a god who has ears, either literally or metaphorically.

The Rev. Max Coots once explained:

Until recently, as history goes, almost everyone assumed that God, by whatever name and in whatever form, was the omnipotent puppeteer pulling the strings that controlled everything from amoebae to empires, from ants to conquering armies, from the movement of the stars to the state of your digestion.

But, after 50,000 years of such unquestioned divine attention, people began to realize that the earth was not the center of the universe; that stars were not tiny, friendly night lights lovingly hung for us; that space stretched out beyond imagination; that spring and summer came whether or not we praised the sun; that it was microscopic organisms, unaware of our personal piety, that brought disease; and that death came to believer and unbeliever alike here on the earth, spinning in its tiny orbit around its little star in one corner of one galaxy in a sea of galaxies in space.

While we may feel the basic urge to petition for our greatest personal needs, we can’t quite believe in that puppeteer in the sky who would pull just the strings we need. While we experience the universal tendency to praise what seems wondrous around us, while we want to say with ee cummings, “i thank you god for most this amazing day,” it is the rare Unitarian Universalist who can imagine an anthropomorphic addressee to whom our appreciation should be sent. While we know we would appreciate some guidance now and then, we have trouble postulating a divine twenty-four-hour instantmessaging service. And while we may ache for soothing, healing powers, we don’t want to think that a god is up there granting some prayers, and denying others just as worthy.

Unitarian Universalists have a few strategies about prayer that deal with this theological quandary. Let’s call it two strategies, to simplify. They both work great, they both have roots within our Unitarian Universalist history, and they both invite spiritual maturity.

Here’s the first: Some UUs use the word “prayer” as an expression of their personal spiritual life. Typically, they broaden the definition of prayer to encompassa wide variety of spiritual practices and centering activities. And so if they are focused on the first snowdrops of the season, they may be praying; or if they are soaking in the tub, they may be praying; or if they are participating in the walk for hunger, they may be praying; or if they are tucking the two-year-old in at night, they may be praying. To pray they look deep inside, they talk to a friend, they walk, they drive, they sing, they blog, they meditate or contemplate, they prune the trees, they touch their toes, they sit together in church.

The Rev. Mark Belletini writes:

So prayer can be words, silence, song, or as Paul of Tarsus says, ‘a sigh.’ Prayer can be one prophet breaking the bread of affliction with tears in his eyes and another breaking a clay pot with eyes ablaze. Whatever cuts through our defensiveness, whether it’s disguised as a sense of worthlessness or a sense of hubris, is a great prayer. Crafted or spontaneous, elegant or halted with sobs, sung to God, danced to Love Most Deep or simply uttered into the thin air, prayer...is the life-breath of...worship.

Yes. We may broaden the definition of prayer, until, in the extreme form, we may even say, along with the Unitarian Susan B. Anthony, “I pray every single second of my life; not on my knees but with my work.”

But for many Unitarian Universalists, broadening the definition of prayer, or using the word at all, makes no sense. And so the second strategy is this: these UUs don’t pray—they strive to feel awake to life, embrace the grandeur of living on this planet, explore those aspects of life that ground them, connect to people and places and the cosmos in general, contribute to the healthy future of neighbors the world over, note beauty in a variety of forms, and value the trajectory toward health and well-being. That kind of thing. They don’t pray.

Just like the group that does pray, this group focuses on the same first snowdrops of the season, soaks in tubs, participates in the walk for hunger, tucks the two year old in at night, looks deep inside, talks to friends, walks, drives, sings, blogs, meditates or contemplates, prunes the trees, touches their toes, sits together in church. But let me be clear: these UUs are not praying, and there is no reason in the world to impose the language of prayer on them. You ask a conventional Roman Catholic, or a Lutheran, or a Southern Baptist, not to mention a Muslim or a Jew—you ask any of them if Unitarian Universalists pray, and most of them will tell you that this “Spirit of Life” business, this meditation and spiritual practice business, absolutely does not cut it as prayer.

The truth is, our history with respect to prayer is different. In the mid-eighteen hundreds, Samuel Longfellow and Henry Longfellow, raised in the First Parish in Portland, Maine, and a generation later, the Rev. Frederick Hosmer, began to write hymns that spoke of nature and social concern instead of the traditional God and prayer. Unitarian Universalists still sing those hymns: “O Life that Maketh All Things New,” “God of the Earth, the Sky, the Sea,” and “Lo, the Earth is Ris’n Again,” often sung on Easter. All of those are by Samuel Longfellow, a Unitarian minister. Henry, his brother, wrote “All are Architects of Fate,” number 288 in our hymn book. Hosmer wrote “Forward Through the Ages,” and he wrote “Lo, the Day of Days Is Here” and “O Day of Light and Gladness,” two more often sung on Easter. Thomas Starr King, our notable minister in San Francisco during that time, said, “We find God in nature. We find God in Mt. Shasta as in Mt. Hermon, and do not fear to say so on Sunday.” Already, even then, we began to sound like contemporary Unitarian Universalists.

Personally, I come out of the Midwestern tradition of Unitarianism, and my great-grandparents’ minister said in a sermon about prayer, “I have frankly and completely given it up.... I believe we must give it up....” Even in 2009, my own theological language reflects my Midwestern Unitarian heritage, and I do not pray.

But what language you use is not so important, really. What is important is this: we are people. And people sometimes feel lonely or afraid or overwhelmed or a little uncertain. We are people. And people sometimes feel consumed by the wonder of it all, the majesty of creation, the joy and good fortune of living in this world. We are people. And people sometimes feel they need a healing touch, a sturdy companion, a safe harbor, an accepting, loving friend, always there. That’s what’s important. Go ahead. Call it prayer if you want to. Or call it your religion. You are a Unitarian Universalist. You have a choice.