A Prayer For Prayer

My Dear Lord Christ, I knock as a prodigal and a stranger at the door of my own heart, where your Holy Family resides, remembering the sweet words which the Father, by His Spirit, has spoken to you, and you to me; that I also may speak them, and gain admittance therein.

'The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.'

Pardon my long absence, Lord, and have mercy on a sinner who has strayed so far from his own front door. I have learned strange, angry, unholy languages, and all but forgotten my native tongue. Help me, My Own Jesus, to remember where I come from; for I have taken on airs, and denied my humble origins. Let me put off these rings and accessories, and be ornamented in God's pure light. Show me how to rend my stately robes to make a cassock, strait and plain.

Sweet Christ, uphold my prayer! Gather all my strength into a single point, and let not my thoughts sink for a moment back into aimless disarray. Dear Angels, intervene! How swiftly might your wings carry me to the Heart of Jesus, the heart of my heart. Blessed Mother, guide me in spite of my reluctance. Holy Spirit, you are subtle; slip as a thief into  my innermost chamber, and leave me not outside.

Feeble is my prayer, but boundless is the vigor of your grace, Dear Christ. By my own power, I cannot so much as lift my eyes from the dirt; how shall I see that all the world is funeral ash in the immolation of Love's emergence? You must grant me your eternal vision, O Lord; what is highest and best must be seen to eclipse all created things. I know that this is also your prayer for me.

Uphold this soul in worship; let me not forget my place. All glories flow from you, and ebb back to you, My God! All that can be praised is but an infinitesimal adjunct of your infinite goodness, Lord; yet, every little note of praise undoubtedly reaches and pleases you, for it comes from you.

Jesus, let not the devil deflect my prayer! I know the weariness and restlessness which hamper my best efforts are vestiges of evil. How shall I make use of more prosaic terms, when speaking of the war which a man's higher and lower natures wage against one another? It is a civil war, which does not draw a line of division through a nation, but right through the soul of every individual, wherever he is located. It is that upon which the very meaning and value of every life depends.

Hold me up, Lord, in the grace which levitates the elect, and offers a hand to all that is falling, fallen, broken, or out of body. Christ, you are my hope, my compass, my beacon, my savior, my refuge. When you are out of my thoughts it seems you do not exist, but when grace illumines my mind it seems you are all that exists. My Sweet Jesus, I will call you in ten-thousand ways, and ten-thousand times in every way, until your grace penetrates my stubborn will and finally conforms me to the will of God.

You are My Lover, My Master, My Teacher, My Brother, My Truth. You are male or female, light or dark, earth or sky, close or far, in glory or in chains -- depending on the subtle requirements of the moment. Letter becomes Spirit; words and images become metaphors, while metaphors become supple, liquid, unable to hold their shape in the higher realms of contemplation. All that can be said is water mingling with water. Meaning is ephemeral. Realization lasts but a moment. What is eternal cannot be turned over. My God, when I think you are this, you have already become that!

Hold me up, once more, My Lord! Sparkle like sunlight through a green mind. Tickle my thoughts like wind in the leaves. Bless my fine intentions; carry them safely to the holy shore. O My God, how I long to sing a new and wonderful song of praise to you! My limbs, despite their ignorance of the steps, carry me up, and already I am dancing to an unknown melody. My eyes are gazing upward to reflect a light they cannot see. My heart would leap through your embrace directly into your bosom, Lord!

Shall I cease my prayer, when I am given light? Have I accomplished what I intended? God forbid! When my heart's one true desire is to be eternally united with Love! I shall not stop, but be encouraged to renew my strength; to breathe and bear-up. Grace is a gust of wind, prayer is a beating of wings; therefore, let me not be like the gull who drifts on a lucky gust of wind, but like the eagle who beats her wings most vigorously precisely when the wind uplifts her, that she may reach still greater heights. My Holy Spirit, I come not only to bask, but to make use of your grace, for such is the quality of grace which you have given me. I thank you, Lord, and bless you (as quaint as this may sound), for you have not placed the pen in my hand without placing my hand in yours; you have not given me gifts without giving me the will -- your own will -- to use them.

Gentle Lord, come to me in whatever form I may recieve you, for your creative power is inexhaustible, while my mind is narrow and easily bored. Send to me the Blessed Virgin, with a train of many angels in toe. Let her soft gaze cool my brow, after I have stood beneath the cross and sweated from the heat of your sad and serious eye. Send me flowers when I forget them; a staff when I should stand; a sword when I should lay it down. Provide what is needful for the moment, and always open my eyes to the gifts which you continually set before me.

Take care to keep me humble, Lord, -- or make me so; for I am not. Lead me, lest I wander and not recover the way. Teach me to see that, if ever I grow puffed-up with all my praying, then it is no longer prayer, but an invocation of another kind which fills my pages and gathers force. Bring me to my senses, Lord; for, surely, arrogance is madness of a most deplorable kind. Resurrect me, Jesus, from the pit of pride; from a fate less dignified than death. If I make so poor a use of prayer, then let this gift be taken from me. My God, My God, I place my trust in you!

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, may your name be honored until the end of the world, for it is the treasure of the world. Amen