The Value of Prayer

From ancient times, it has been known

 that prayer is a human necessity.

But let there be this constant: during a prayer, 

forget all about the worldly things

and address the divine part of your soul. 

Use this divine part to gain communication

with that of which it is a part and 

when you feel yourself close to God, 

you deliver your soul to [Him], 

and show [Him] all your deeds and wishes.

Prayer does not happen according to the 

requirements of the world, 

but according

to the divine part of your soul.

Count Leo Tolstoy

Cited in his Calendar of Wisdom

Anyone who chooses to follow a spiritual path, a faith tradition, or any religiously inspired approach to perennial wisdom, will be invited into the world of prayer and meditation in some form. It will be recommended to them as a regular daily practice, if not an essential and foundational way a person reinforces their relationship to the Divine.

I appreciate Tolstoy’s approach because he does not hesitate to see that our individual souls are an indivisible part of God: That each person has within her or himself an indelible and eternal connection to God that we call the individual soul. It is from that awareness, that connection, that we are instructed to pray.

     This more panentheistic understanding is very close to describing the God/soul connection that forms the foundation of my appreciation and comprehension. There is no soul that exists that can stand or live, that can have any separate reality apart from God. We all participate in the Divine, and it is through the recognition of that intimacy and spiritual bonding that we can adhere to the practice of prayer, at its best.

     With this said and affirmed, reluctantly, I will have to admit that I am not much of a prayer-er. I do not find myself easily drawn to the regular practice of prayer, especially when it was presented to me, earlier in my life and in my interfaith search, in the most intricate and formulaic way. 

While I see the value in a litany, and in the recitation of those values and virtues associated with any complete understanding of God, it was ultimately distancing for me. It has always been difficult for me to find the words that match any sense of reverence I might feel, or any deeper sense of the sacred I might experience. 

Often, I have felt a disconnect between the demands of my logical self, and my desire to invite my mystical and reverent self into dialogue: Most of the truth, wisdom, and peace I have received have come to me through a holy silence.

 In the lexicon of theology and spiritual direction, I am an apophatic type of person-which is someone who does not find the practice of reciting a lot of words, concepts, ideas, as being particularly valuable or useful-most of the time! 

     Even though I have presided over Catholic style Masses, it was more akin to theatre or a public performance than fostering a sacred sense of God. 

Similarly, while participating in a lengthy Tibetan style experience of reverent chanting and prayer, I have found that the best parts of my experience is when I can drift away from the importance of language and enter into a more liminal space where the words are background sounds for the essential connection of awe, and reverence that I can feel.

For the most part, silence is what speaks to me the most. 

It penetrates my depths, and that communicates to my soul most directly. As I advance in age and can spend moments in recollection and review of my life, the silence is no lt that a sacred sense of quiet is my most direct doorway to my soul’s cherished connection to the Divine.