This past summer I had the opportunity to backpack through Pictured Rocks National Shoreline in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Just outside the town of Manistique, there is a beautiful stretch of land on the Southern edge of Lake Superior, full of scenic views of cliffs and the largest of the Great Lakes. One night I camped at a beach deep in the park, far from all towns and light pollution. It turned out to be the one night with no clouds! Looking up that night, I saw more stars than I have ever seen. The darkness was so thick I could clearly see the Milky Way. There were more stars in the sky than I could have imagined. The experience left a mark deep inside. To think that this majestic, cosmic brilliance is always there. Yet, I rarely see it. It’s always present, but mostly hidden from view.
This reminded me of a conference I once heard on prayer. Given by a Benedictine monk, he noted that when Christ was begged by His disciples, “Lord teach us to pray,” the first step Our Lord took was to turn away from them. What an odd approach. Wouldn’t it have made more sense for Him to bring them together in a huddle like a good coach? But that wasn’t what Jesus did. He turned and faced the Father. He gave us a model with his body. Prayer is a turning toward something. In following Christ in this movement, what are we turning towards, in our bodies, in our minds, and in our hearts?
The monk went on to explain that prayer is a turning towards the continuous, eternal exchange between the Father and Son. What struck me most deeply in what he said is that prayer is a participation in something that is already happening.
I experienced this explanation as a relief. There is a tendency I have to view prayer as a conversation between myself and God, and I have a weight and responsibility to keep it up. It is as if I am in a dialogue with someone that is rather uninterested, and I have to drum something up to keep the other engaged. Whatever psychological dynamics are behind this, the image of Christ turning towards the Father is helpful. There is a relationship that I am called to turn toward, that is already happening. A relationship I am welcomed into. The idea of trying to keep up a conversation is a deception. I’m being called into something that is ongoing, permanent, and always on offer. I can choose to turn my heart to it or not.
One night on that camping trip I turned my eyes toward the stars, and I will never forget that experience. I don’t have that opportunity very often. But every day I have the opportunity to turn my heart towards this relationship, the foundation of life and of all reality. Lord, please draw us into this ongoing, eternal conversation!