In preparing for a presentation, I looked online for images of the prophetess Anna (Lk 2:36-38). The image I chose to use featured an old, somewhat plump woman, with a brown blanket wrapped around her head. She is sitting near a window that lets in a small amount of light. Her concentration is directed to a large book lying open on her lap. Her hands are the veiny hands of an elderly woman. The expression on her face is one of calm, peaceful, awakened attentiveness. She is a woman you want to talk with, someone who looks kind, compassionate, and wise. Someone you might trust with your innermost thoughts.
The story about Anna is an interesting one because though we are told she is a prophetess, the words she says about the infant Jesus are not reported. Instead, we are told about her life. We learn about her father, and the tribe of Israel she was born into. We find out she was married for seven years and then widowed. We discover she is eighty-four years old and that since she became a widow, she has never left the temple, worshipping day and night, fasting, and praying. Every aspect of her life shaped her heart in openness so that when she saw the face of the baby Jesus, she recognized the face of God.
My mother-in-law, Evie, has been an artist her whole life. When someone looks at one of her magnificent paintings, they sometimes ask her, “How long did it take you to paint that?” She replies, “Eighty-two years,” or however old she happens to be at the time when she painted it. Evie recognizes that life has shaped her painting and painting has shaped her life.
In his book, Reaching Out, Henri Nouwen asks a question about the way we understand prayer, writing,
Don’t we use the word prayer mostly when we feel that our human limits are reached? Isn’t the word prayer more a word to indicate powerlessness rather than a creative contact with the source of all life?
Henri Nouwen
We all pray for people we know who are sick, have recently lost a loved one, are hoping for a new job, a healthy baby, or safe travels. It is wonderful to pray for these things and to offer them on behalf of our loved ones and friends. If this is the only way we think of prayer, though, we limit our awareness of God’s presence in every aspect of our lives.
I love the name Nouwen gives to prayer, creative contact with the source of all life. That description of prayer opens our awareness to see all the many ways we are connected to God in and through all our days.
We might discover that God is with us as we fill our mug with morning coffee or tea, in the ways we find to exercise our bodies, walking, running, yoga, or biking. We might open our hearts to God as we walk into work, walk through nature, or down the hospital hallway to visit someone we love. We might connect to God as we rock a baby to sleep, teach people to love what we love, garden, write letters, prepare a meal, or sit on our porches. God is with us through all the things we do, not just in the moments we set aside and label prayer. Thinking of prayer as creative contact with the source of all life helps us to see that every moment of life shapes our prayer and praying throughout life shapes who we become.
In one of his journals, Nouwen writes,
God is not in a hurry.
Henri Nouwen
It is a simple thought, but one I have been calling to mind since I read it. I am often in a hurry. Our culture is in a hurry. We are bombarded with messages to do things quickly, efficiently, and productively. But God is not in a hurry and if we can remember that, we might find that we can focus more on living in a way that privileges gentleness, kindness, softness, silence, solitude, and peace because these are the qualities that enrich the moments of our lives with awareness of the abundant blessings God bestows on us in the smallest, most ordinary moments of everyday living.
