Life Sentences
How do you prefer to start each new day? Before answering, first consider this question: how does your day actually begin, most of the time? I’m guessing that is likely a different story.
Do you spring into action at the sound of the alarm or find yourself waking up gently as the first rays of sunshine cut into the darkness of your bedroom, spears of light slicing through the cracks in curtains or shutters. Perhaps you are like many who fight the coming of the dawn, hoping against hope that it is just another bad dream that will soon pass. Or are you one of those folks who reluctantly crawls out of bed only after repeated coaxing and threats by loved ones? For most of my adult life the buzzing of the bedside clock set me scurrying to put into motion our family’s checklist of wake-up chores and start-up rituals. Wash up, brush teeth, get dressed; walk and feed the dog; rouse the kids and make sure they’re fed and ready for school; savor that first delightful cup of coffee and nibble on the breakfast du jour—the sweeter the better; glance at the morning paper, especially the sports’ page; listen with half an ear to today’s honey-do reminders; exchange goodbye hugs while heading out the door—then jump into the deep end of the day’s activities and responsibilities. Recalling these frenetic moments of our daily start-up leaves me wondering how my wife and I did all this, and for so many years, in the space of an hour or so. You could say we were both fully committed to a hit the ground running mentality that, while hectic, served us reasonably well during those decades in which we played our parts in the drama of the American working family.
Since joining the ranks of the retired in 2020, my days have begun with far less purpose and hullabaloo. With no more time clocks to punch, and only a few can’t-wait tasks etched into my to do list for any given day, it would seem I’ve arrived at that ideal place people long for when anticipating retirement from afar. Yet this point in life does have its drawbacks, too. I no longer sense the urgency of having to think about and meet the expectations of children living at home or of colleagues and students depending on me at work. That may strike some retirees as the heaven-sent reward we’ve earned for having worked a long and useful life. For many others, however, the low-key tenor of retired life brings with it a demoralizing confirmation that our former value and relevancy in this world has now ended. No wonder that many folks flounder in a sea of self-doubt when they step away from the meaningful work upon which so much of their self-esteem, and happiness, once depended.
I’ll confess that I’ve experienced my share of this existential identity-crisis in my five years “post-employment.” Yet slowly I’m discovering that retirement can also bring with it a serenity once we adjust to its slower, less demanding pace. That doesn’t, however, spare me from the occasional nocturnal reminder of my former life, usually played out in vivid dreams where I find myself back at work, only now unrecognized by the cast of familiar and strange faces that populate these subconscious reveries. Worse yet, I’m typically thrown into a situation in which I’m unprepared to do what I once routinely handled with ease. Worst of all, I’m almost always late for whatever my dream-state has cooked up for me to be doing. Unknown, unprepared, and tardy—could there be a more terrifying scenario for a task-driven and people-needy perfectionist like me? Fortunately it takes but a few seconds of wakefulness to drive away the terrors and frustrations of my REM mental video as they melt into the oblivion of forgotfulness. What a relief!
One thing retirement has not changed for me, and that is my need to follow a daily routine of things I want to do and accomplish. In fact, being retired has underscored for me how much better I feel about myself when I am following some semblance of a daily schedule. So that is what I have tried to create. It begins with that first cup of Joe that I programmed the night before for an a.m. brew. With mug of Joe in hand I repair to the sanctum of my favorite soft chair which beckons me to resume one or more of the several books I like to juggle. Then, at the stroke of 7:00 a.m., I close my Kindle, disengage the home alarm system, and release the hounds—in our case—one hound of the miniature schnauzer tribe who has become our dog-child for the past two years. In short order he and I head out the front door to greet each new day, taking in its sights, sounds and smells.
As I look into the Eastern horizon line from which the sun tracks its steady and colorful ascent into the blue Denver sky, I invariably feel the need to say something in appreciation for what my eyes and ears and nose are telling me about this new dawn. So I start talking, not to anyone in particular, but to that cosmic, eternal listening ear—God if you will—that I hope will be listening to what’s on my mind. Talking to myself is a habit I’m sure I picked up from my mother whose words uttered in solitude I overheard many times while I was growing up. But to me this is much more than a monologue, for it is in just such moments of thinking out loud that praying most certainly comes to life, and in a way that feels more personal and meaningful than when I add my voice to those ensemble readings that pass for prayer in Sunday worship. Anyway that is what I hope I’m really doing each morning: speaking to God.
Why do I feel drawn, even compelled to do this? I guess there is something about it that makes me feel better, more spiritual, especially when it helps to center my reflections about the who, when, what and where of my own existence. Whatever or whomever God may, or may not be—and all of us have our own very personal take on how reasonable this most elusive yet compelling of our metaphors may be—I find it comforting to believe, as an old popular song once put it, that “someone in the great somewhere hears every word?” * Every day, then, starts best for me when it begins with a few words.
But what words should I, dare I speak each morning to the Ground of All Being, the Unmoved Mover, the Lord of All Being? Should I rely on some tried and true prayerful stanza penned by a well-known saint? Should I read from a devotional tract that has caught my eye or been recommended to me by a more devout friend? In all honesty, I rarely find any of this literature resonates with me enough for me to own it as coming from my own heart. Actually I have decided to speak to God in my own language, using my own words and sentences, in what I trust will capture the essence of what I’m experiencing and feeling and thinking about as I contemplate what it means to be alive. If you were within earshot you’d like hear me saying something like this…
Thank you, God, for granting me another day of life, a gift which I do not take for granted but receive with gladness and humility.
May I be awakened to Your presence in the world around me that reveals so much beauty and complexity and order.
May I be aware of Your presence within me, inspiring my best thoughts, speaking through my truest words, and empowering my kindest and most compassionate deeds.
May Your presence be known and felt by those to whom I’m joined in heart—my wife, my children and grandchildren, our extended family, and our many friends and neighbors—that they may find strength, comfort and meaning in living this day.
May Your presence also be known and felt by the many throughout this world whom I do not know—especially those living in despair, pain, poverty, bondage or hopelessness—that they may find courage, healing, and hope in facing this day. Amen.
That’s it. Just five sentences. Five sentences in which I’ve tried to express the essence of what I would want from this new day of life. If I could give this prayer a name I think I’d call it my Life Sentences, because that is exactly what they have become for me. None of the words in any of these sentences are terribly profound, nor are they set in stone. I have no doubt that they will receive continual editing as I adapt what I’m thinking and feeling to the circumstances of each “new” day I hope to yet live. While what I’ve printed above is neither the best nor the last version of what I will be saying, out loud, each day, yet taken as a whole they offer a glimpse of what I regard as my theology of prayer.
I believe that praying should reflect those ideas and sentiments that lay at the heart of all spirituality: gratitude and honesty, from which spring thanksgiving and praise, confession and intercession. Gratitude may not be the first emotion that leaps to mind when I first get up in the morning, not with the aches and discomforts that folks over 50 must deal with most days. Yet when I see my own life in the longer perspective of the multitudes of people who have preceded me in time or who now share this existence with me, I realize that awakening to any day at my age puts me among the minority of human beings who have ever counted and savored as many sunrises as I’ve witnessed. So it is with a thankful and humble heart that I receive each day as a gift, a blessing if you will, knowing that I have not necessarily earned or deserved the miracle of 24 more hours. Such a gift should never be taken for granted, by any of us, no matter what joys or hardships may come our way. Life is miracle, life is sacred, life is grace. And for that realization my best response is one of being thankful.
My morning prayer then turns to four requests, or aspirations if you will, for what I hope to experience on this never-before-lived day on earth. These four are underscored by my trust that God’s presence will surround me, abide in me, and be extended to others like me. When I say I trust that this is so, I do so recognizing that God’s presence may or may not have any impact on my life or anyone else’s. It all depends on whether we can somehow focus our minds and our attention on looking for and seeking God’s presence in as many moments and circumstance in which we are conscious. That is why I introduce each of my four petitions with the verb “may.” As I see it, praying should never be about soliciting God for blessings or relief or pardon. God doesn’t need to be reminded to do the right thing or to intervene in our world to fix what we don’t like or what we’ve broken. God needs no invitation or coaxing to love and forgive us. Prayer is, instead, the chance for us to cultivate our inner disposition to be receptive to the Divine Presence that is always and everywhere close at hand, whether we sense it or not. That is why I have deliberately choose to ask that I be both aware of, and awakened to that Presence, that Reality of God that is without limit or boundaries in this universe. Speaking such words in prayer puts the onus on me, and on you, rather than on God, for we must somehow will ourselves, and train ourselves to become vessels in which God’s spirit, God’s truth, and God’s love may be welcome to abide. I’m discovering that praying such a prayer requires of me resolve each day to consciously direct my attention and priorities beyond my normal preoccupations with self that easily divert and pervert my best intentions. Asking to be both aware of and awakened to God’s presence puts new meaning into the biblical injunction to “pray without ceasing,” freeing it from obligatory repetitions of religious ritual and recasting it as an ever-present openness to spiritual introspection.
Admittedly I don’t always finish this prayer every day, the Life Sentences sometimes trailing off after two or three have been spoken. Morning chores in tending flowers, muting my dog’s frenzied barking at the passing of a dog-walker or biker, and sorting through the list of today’s “to do’s” have a way of encroaching on our best-intended moments of solitude. And on more days than not my mind conjures up pictures of my family, good friends, folks I know are hurting and the host of nameless people we learn about all over the world who seem to be in trouble. When I’m at my best, these names and faces stir me to seek some intercessory moment in God’s presence, not so much to appeal to God to take care of those in need but to ask, for them, what I’ve asked for myself: that they, too, may find a way to be aware of and awakened to that Presence that can comfort, and strengthen, and uphold.
In writing and rewriting what I’ve found myself saying each morning, it has dawned on me that the essence of my daily meditation is far from original. In fact, it incorporates some of the words and all of the sentiment of two prayers that both predate me and surpass anything I may ever put into writing. The first visits me in memories of attending Methodist churches in my younger days, and hearing presented as a choral benediction the following verse:
God be in my head, and in my understanding;
God be in my eyes, and in my looking;
God be in my mouth, and in my speaking;
God be in my heart, and in my thinking;
God be at my end, and at my departing.**
So deeply was I moved by hearing these words and singing them to the Sir Henry Walford Davies tune that was once in our hymnal, I can scarcely read this text without humming that melody. I am not surprised, then, that so much of the spirit of this prayer weaves in and out of my own Life Sentences. But I guess that is fitting for someone who takes to heart the saying that singing is really nothing less than “praying twice.”
The second inspiration I have incorporated into the Life Sentences is one that goes back to the founding spirit yet resonates within the Christian faith. Since most of us know this prayer by heart, reciting it not only in worship but on so many of those occasions when we, privately and publicly, look to God to make sense of life, I need not say much about it save to quote it from Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 6:10) : “Thy Will Be Done.” Could there be a more concise yet complete articulation of what prayer can be, should be, and must be about for any of us bold enough, as the liturgy cautions, to say it? For it is upon this sentiment that all prayers find their true character, and all pray-ers discover how transformative and redemptive prayer really can be, whenever we allow ourselves to be both aware of and awakened to the Presence of God in our lives and in our world.
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*From I Believe, made popular by Frankie Lane and topping the charts in the US and the UK in 1953
**Identified among the 13th century Sarum Primer, a collection of prayers from Salisbury, England
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In preparing to put my thoughts on prayer into this BLOG, I remembered that I had previously written on this subject several years ago when I was posting essays on this website more frequently. Prayer must have been on my mind in the spring of 2021, for two of my BLOGS focused on that very theme. One I titled "Abracadabra, Let Us Pray” in which I compared the assumptions and expectations between prayer and magic. The other, "A Prayer for Culture Cancellers,” led me to apply the well-known Serenity Prayer to the universal human desire we seem to have to be in control, both of time (past and future) and of other people. In rereading these older BLOGS this week I was struck by how much my words from four years ago—composed in the full bloom of COVID’s paralyzing assault on our country—still reflect what I’m thinking and feeling today. Should you care to revisit them just use the pull-down menu at the top of this page. Both BLOGS are indexed under Published Blogs among the essays grouped as “Ethics, Faith and Spirituality.”
