The first time I tried contemplative prayer, I lasted exactly two minutes before reaching for my phone. The silence felt uncomfortable, almost hostile. As a cradle Catholic used to structured prayers and familiar rituals, sitting in complete silence seemed counterintuitive. Wasn’t prayer supposed to be about words, petitions, and carefully crafted thoughts?
My journey into contemplative prayer began during a particularly chaotic period in my life. Contemplative prayer, as I came to understand it, is a form of silent, wordless prayer where we quiet our minds to rest in God’s presence. Unlike traditional vocal prayers, it’s less about speaking and more about listening and being present. Between deadline pressures at work, family duties, and the constant ping of notifications, my prayer life had become another item on my to-do list — quick Our Fathers squeezed between meetings and hasty Hail Marys during my commute. While these prayers held value, something was missing. My soul yearned for deeper connection.
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The turning point came during a retreat at a local Benedictine monastery. Brother Michael, a soft-spoken monk with kind eyes and weathered hands, noticed my restlessness during the silent prayer periods. “Sometimes,” he said, with a gentle smile, “God speaks loudest when we say nothing at all.”
His words stayed with me. That evening, in the monastery’s chapel, I decided to try again. Instead of fighting the silence, I embraced it. No prayers to recite, no intentions to list — just being present with God. The first few minutes were still challenging, with my mind darting between yesterday’s worries and tomorrow’s plans. But gradually, something shifted.
In that sacred silence, I began to notice things I’d never paid attention to before: the rhythm of my breathing, the way sunlight played through the stained glass, the profound peace that came with simply being still. It wasn’t about emptying my mind completely — that seemed impossible — but about creating space for God to enter.
The practice transformed my understanding of prayer. After returning from the retreat, I made a conscious decision to incorporate contemplative prayer into my daily routine. Inspired by the writings of Thomas Merton and “The Cloud of Unknowing,” an ancient spiritual guide on contemplative prayer, I committed to making this ancient practice part of my modern Catholic life.
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Incorporating contemplative prayer into daily life wasn’t easy. I started small — five minutes in the morning before the house stirred. My practice is simple but consistent: I sit in my favorite armchair in the corner of my bedroom, light a small beeswax candle, and begin with the simple prayer, “Here I am, Lord.” I close my eyes and focus on my breath, using it as an anchor when my mind wanders. Sometimes I softly repeat a sacred word like “Jesus” or “Peace” to help maintain focus. Gradually, those five minutes became 10, then 15. I discovered that my garage could become a chapel during lunch breaks, and my evening walk could transform into a moving meditation.
The fruits of this practice emerged slowly but profoundly. I found myself becoming more patient with my family, more attentive to others’ needs, and more aware of God’s presence in ordinary moments. The anxiety that once colored my days began to fade, replaced by an underlying current of peace.
Brother Michael’s words proved prophetic. In the silence, God indeed speaks — not always in ways we expect, but in the gentle stirrings of the heart, in moments of clarity that arise unbidden, in the deepening awareness of being loved unconditionally.
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This journey has taught me that the Catholic tradition holds treasures both ancient and new. Contemplative prayer, practiced by saints and mystics through the centuries, offers modern Catholics a way to find stillness in our noisy world, to encounter God beyond words and formulas. For those interested in exploring further, I found great wisdom in Father Thomas Keating’s “Open Mind, Open Heart,” Richard Rohr’s writings on contemplation, and the resources available through contemplativeoutreach.org).
For those considering this path, my advice is simple: Begin where you are. Start with two minutes if that’s what you can manage. Find a quiet corner, light a candle if it helps, and simply be present. The silence might feel uncomfortable at first, but within it lies an invitation – to deeper faith, to authentic prayer, to genuine encounter with the divine.
