Prayer

My streak dies at two weeks in a row.

I didn't mean to miss a week of church, and truth to tell, I could have seriously used some quiet contemplation on Sunday. But my mind and body were sapped. It was as if I had so many reasons to look for help that I couldn't move. The work week had been hellish, Kr. and I were in the middle of a huge and cold fight, and the regimen of healthy living I'd maintained for more than two weeks completely collapsed. As much as I needed to just drag my ass out of bed and hit the restart button in my mind, I could not do it.

But of course, spirituality needs to be more than a once-a-week deal or it's nothing better than what I used to practice as a child. Back at St. Patrick's School, every gesture, every utterance of prayer and attendance at church was an act of streamlining. We did it mostly because if we didn't, we'd get in trouble and what did it hurt? Even becoming an altar boy was more about acceptance than anything, and the mechanical perfection of ritual even more important because I was doing it in public. To be honest, the goal as an altar boy was more funerals and more weddings, because that's where the money was.

In the second grade, reconciliation and pennance were the doors to first communion, where you got the party and the presents. In the eighth grade, confirmation was another opportunity for cash, but it would have been more apt if they'd just called it conformation instead. Once again we memorized the prayers and the creeds -- and I'd even go so far as to say I understood what they meant -- but a profession of faith didn't necessarily grow from an examination of faith.

Introspection was never encouraged back in those days. And though we all knew lying was wrong, the penalties for nonconformity were immediate and real, while the penalties for lying to ourselves and hollow systems of faith were distant and uncertain. Even now, when I know that nebulous price much better, I still would not go back and lift the veil from my my 10- or 13-year-old eyes. In a bass-ackwards way, I'm grateful to the structure of Catholicism for the educational path it put me on and for the focus it continues to lend me as an adult. After all, we all need something to rebel from, to leave behind.

For all the Hail Marys and Our Fathers and Apostles Creeds I said on my way to a brief Catholic adulthood, I never really learned to pray. That I learned from life, and those lonely, vital moments when the worries, stresses and even opportunities get to be too much to bear. At those times, I always found it useful to unload things on the universe, or God, or whatever. I'd just say to myself, "You know, this puzzle is way complicated. Some of the pieces are going to have to find their way on their own."

Now, if Kr. is reading, she's probably thinking, "That's where I come in and do the dirty work." And to some extent, that's true. If we're facing a financial crisis that threatens vacation plans or something, she'll say, "How the hell are we going to be able to afford this?" To which I reply, "I don't know. Let's go on vacation and find out." Then she throws up her hands and gets miffed at me. She goes on worrying, and a few days or a few weeks later, she gets a free-lancing gig that solves the whole thing. To say that the reason things turned out well was that I gave my troubles to God would certainly take for granted my wife's hard work in figuring things out, but I can say with all honesty that I'm glad I didn't twist myself out of shape over it.

So, that's what I think prayer is. Whether you're happy or sad, desperate or determined, it's the act of consciously sharing that feeling with the collective soul, in search of greater well being. As recently as the moment I started writing this post, I assumed prayer required faith in an intelligent God-force, which might theoretically be able to answer, but I've changed my mind because I'm not certain I have such faith.

I do know that I have enough troubles, crises, hopes and worries that seem unsolvable. I'm going to start laying them down as they surface, sending them out into the world to find their own solutions. If anyone reads them, there's that much better chance of good things happening.

For my part, I'm going to do my best to empathize with those I read or hear about, to hear the prayers that go out in stories and in life every day. I may not be able to answer a single one of them, but I know I'd feel better if I merely knew someone heard.