Yesterday I walked into the Daily Mass chapel of the Newman Center where I am assigned, took my spot in the back row, and asked Jesus a very simple question: “Lord, how would you like me to pray today?”
And just like that, I was praying.
Some context. When I set about this Lenten saga of confronting my acute autopilot syndrome, I decided that the Ignatian examen would be a good way to review the day by mindfully and prayerfully savouring it. I thought that this savouring would be helpful, insofar as living on autopilot can be like mowing down a huge plate of food without stopping to appreciate what you’re eating, let alone asking if you’re full.
The examen has variations, but the format I was taught has five steps, all leading to a greater awareness of God’s presence in the day-to-day.
The fact that the examen has five steps (and not just one) might be a good indicator as to why I ultimately have struggled to maintain the practice this Lent. The examen was a spiritual practice I appreciated when I had fewer things (concepts, schedules, responsibilities) swirling around the ol’ noggin. Now – and I can already hear the cries of spiritual directors galore, “that’s why you need it all the more!” – I find myself resistant to adding to my life more order, formality, and things to remember.
When you are in the process of priestly formation, all of the formation pillars (Spiritual, Human, Intellectual, Pastoral, and more), along with the goals and the objectives can, at times, feel like aggressively encroaching forces, seemingly bent on the domination of your being. Alright, maybe that’s a little over-dramatic. (But how many seminarians, I wonder, have sat in jealousy of the Apostles, whose Formation process seemingly consisted of wandering about in the desert for a few years?) The point is that there is plenty of structure inherent in formation, if you take it seriously.
When it comes to my spiritual life, part of it is necessarily and wonderfully structured by the vocation I am living: Paulists pray the Liturgy of the Hours in common, for example. That order/structure/formality in reference to spiritual things is fine…in balance. But from as far back as I can remember, there has been a still, hallowed, place that I have escaped to in order to simply be with Jesus. This is where my spiritual life was born. I do not necessarily say anything to Jesus. He says nothing to me. His eyes are affixed on mine, even when I am looking away.
Clearly this is a special, prayerful, place for me…So why do I attempt to impose a new prayer regimen upon myself in order to embark upon this Lenten quest? How funny (I don’t think it’s ironic, but I’ll check and get back to you) that during Lent, of all times, my first impulse is to pile more on instead of taking away, getting back to basics.
This leads me back to the beginning. It’s the middle of the day, and it’s just Jesus and I in the chapel.
“Lord, how would you like me to pray today?”
(Silence.)
“OK.”