Which phrases or sentences in the passage by Andre Louf do you want to take with you? (see Spiritual Classics, pg. 31)
Louf's writing is full of imagery. Does any particular image speak meaningfully to you? Why?
What insight or practice can you bring into your life today?
If you were in conversation with Andre Louf, what would you say?
Your responses to any of these questions--as well as any other comments-- are most welcome.
This week's reading by Andre Louf can be found on page 31 of Spiritual Classics.
Next week's reading is by Simone Weil.
Next week's reading is by Simone Weil.
7 comments:
"Prayer is the superabundance of the heart. . .Now the Word. . .gone out from God. . .been chewed over. . .taken root. . . send it back to God."
Sometimes it takes only a little for my heart to swell with joy--with grief--with celebration--with sorrow. When this happens, tears slide silently down my cheeks, my heart quivers and I am awe-filled.
In these moments, I wonder if it is this superabundance aching for expression, release? Is this the numinous nature of the Spirit rattling my flesh? Why my restrait? Why my hesitancy? Why my angst?
Then it passes and I seek to reclaim control. And there I find the rub--who is in control. Who plays this lute of me?
Lord, I faith; help my unfaith.
Thanks to Emily and Stan for pouring out their comments today--and for you others who read along with us. There is no need for editing here, unless you're making a pitch for some new remedy you're selling, and in that case your comment will disappear. No response to the topic is too long or too short. This is a pretty simple way to exchange ideas, experiences and questions. In that, I find great encouragement. Thank you for these gifts!
I too thought this reading very beautiul and mimicked the beauty of prayer and it tranforming power.
I appreciated when Louf wrote, " The Spirit stammers it out in our heart, without our doing anything about it. It bubbles up, it flows, it runs like living water. It is no longer we who pray, but the prayer prays itself in us."
My experience with prayer has been just that. I am also unable to focus in prayer unless I write it all down. My prayer journals are my most prized possession because they are proof of the "slow work of transfiguring the cosmos" within me. The words I have written down were not the words I wanted to write at the time.
I remember the ugly emotions and the struggle behind what I wrote, but there is little evidence of their sinful influence they were having over me in my journal. What is recorded is a prayer that prayed itself. Like the Psalms, when David pours out his heart to God, there is veneration towards God, that becomes something other than what David probably originally intended. Often, David starts out in a panic and frustration but by the end he recognized that peace and power of God in whom he should trust. That's the transformation of the Spirit working through prayer.
I also feel that what Louf talks about and this phenomenon of transfiguration applies when I have an attitude about anything--whether it be prayer, running, writing a paper, calling someone who I'd rather not talk to at the moment. The act of doing it changes our attitudes into the fruit and superabundance of heart that Louf shares with us in his writing. Some days I do not feel like running/praying/"playing the lute" but the benefits of persevering are manifold and God richly bless us when we do. And then, as he notes, we will reflect the glory and brightness of Jesus.
When I was first learning to drive a stick shift car, everything about it was difficult. The clutch, the brakes, the gas… when to engage, when to start, when to stop… and heavens to Betsy, watch out when I encountered a steep hill!
But eventually, over time, across seasons, driving that stick shift became second-nature… I didn’t have to think about what I was doing every second. I could simply be.
Isn’t prayer a bit like that? Louf’s lute image shows an attentiveness that is of utter abandonment…”taken out of himself”…the lute player, eventually, via incessant strumming “upon his heart with the Name of Jesus sets his heart a’ singing.”
Wow. I want that...attentively abandoned to Jesus.
To me, it seems that in one sense, like playing a musical instrument, this life of prayer isn’t an instant ability…and yet, in another, like the musician, the music begins the minute the lute player touches the strings. Like a baby playing with language, we utter what may seem nonsensical at times, yet, behind it, we are aiming to communicate. So it is that my life of prayer begins when I think on Him, pondering His ways, His creation, His Word. Prayer may be as simple as “Thanks” or “Help!” or "Really now, God, what were You thinking?" Yet, like any good relationship, over time, it grows in depth and intimacy of communication. Sometimes we who love another speak volumes with words…at other times, we speak volumes with silence, with touch, with being present. Ebb and flow. Rest and wrestle.
Just this week while rereading Habakkuk, I was struck by how this man of God, (a prophet, no less!) wrestled with God even though he comes, eventually, to the point of musical submission to the One who creates the notes. So, too in studying Colossians, I noticed that Ephaphras who has faithfully taught the Gospel of God’s grace to those at Colosse is said to wrestle in prayer on the believers’ behalf in Colossians 4:12. So, too, shall we have seasons of wrestling in prayer and wrestling with prayer.
Other seasons will find prayer flowing, like the Psalm writers who pour out their passions of pain and pleasure to the One from whom all of life flows. Nothing could staunch the flow of distress or delight.
“We are still in the world, and we dwell already with Jesus near the Father. We still live in the flesh, and the Spirit has ALREADY made us WHOLLY captive.” Wow. Wow. Wow.
Pursued by the Word, we echo it back to Him as we rest and wrestle in this holy dialogue of prayerful living.
“This eucharist-thanksgiving has now become our life (Col. 3:15), the superabundance of our heart, the liturgy of the new world that deep within us we already celebrate.”
Sounds to me like a party in the making…the prodigal, broken and dirty with wayward living, is homeward bound…the Father awaits with robes of cleansing welcome…let the dialogue of love ever include His scanning the horizon hopeful of our confessing and coming for the celebration of life begun again and again and yet again in our true home…His heart….via the act of prayer…dialogues of the heart.
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