Rabbi," ask the Jews of Anatevka in that wonderful musical Fiddler on the Roof, "Rabbi, is there a proper blessing for the Tsar?" "A proper blessing for the Tsar?" The aged holy man pauses, ponders for a long moment, and replies: "May God bless and keep the Tsar … [even longer pause] … far away from us!" There is, indeed, a proper blessing, a proper prayer, for every circumstance of life.
This may seem hard for us moderns to believe. Many of us hardly dream of praying because it's crazy to ask some otherworldly being for the things of this world. We can get most of the things we want or need by our own efforts, or through the good offices of those nice people at Visa. We only think of asking God as a last resort; like, when all human resources fail and we are really up against the final, unavoidable mysteries of life and death. We are so much creatures of the modern world and world-view, according to which, there is a split between matter and spirit, between the body and the soul. It's a split which has become so much part of the way we all live and work and think, that we don't always notice we're doing it.
This was not always the way people were. In earlier times the material and spiritual worlds were so interwoven, that heaven was no further than a hand's breadth away, and people communed with angels and saints - and with God - as naturally as with their neighbour. It was also a characteristic of so-called Celtic spirituality, which is so fashionable nowadays, that every part of daily life was imbued with spiritual meaning and was a proper matter for prayer. There were prayers and praises for lighting the fire, damping it down in the evening, milking the cow, setting sail in the boat, and whatever other routine task there might be.
This reflects a real wisdom which we are the poorer for having lost. One of things I want to do this Lent is explore and experiment with the trivial daily events of my own life, and try to turn them into prayer.
One thing I have already found is that this helps me especially with the things that are minor (or even not so minor) annoyances and irritations. I've got a thing about pulling the curtains at the beginning or end of the day. I hate it if someone else has been into a room before me, and gone out again without opening or closing the curtains. But instead of getting annoyed, what about turning the moment into prayer? As I open the curtains, I could pray: "Jesus, light of the world, come into my room / my home / my life today." Or closing them in the evening, "Lord, dispel the darkness from my home, my life." On getting dressed or undressed, to pause and reflect: "Naked I came into the world, naked shall I return; the Lord gives, and the Lord takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord."
Stressful and annoying moments in the supermarket, or in traffic jams, can be transformed by making them occasions of prayer for ourselves and the other people around us: the customers, the workers in the store, other road-users. Setting off in the car is nearly as dangerous as setting sail in a coracle was for those old Celts, and just as suitable a time for us to turn to God with a prayer for protection, and for consideration for (and from) others on the road. Walking down the street can be a time of prayer for people in the houses we pass by, even or especially those we don't know very well, and for the people we see. Our daily work at home or in the workplace can be made something we do for God, simply by praying about it in the briefest and simplest way: "Lord, I offer you this task; let me do this as for you." The same is true of household chores, the cooking or cleaning, laundry or washing up. Some families still say Grace at mealtimes, which is a lovely way of acknowledging our ultimate dependence on God our Creator; and this principle can be extended to most other parts of life: a very simple thanksgiving, that takes only a second, for God's gifts, and offering our response and our skills back to him.
You may have many other ideas for experiments in prayer. Why not be adventurous and try them out? It might just change all our lives.
Published in the Marston Times, March 2002