Let Us Pray

Carol Ann Morrow

Carol Ann Morrow is an associate of the Sisters of St. Francis, Oldenburg, Indiana. She is also a wife, sometimes a mother to two grown stepchildren, and always a grandmother of four. She was on the staff of St. Anthony Messenger for 25 years and is the author of A Retreat with Saint Anthony: Finding Our Way (Franciscan Media).

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Prayer: Allowing, Aiding, and Abetting

In the Mojave Desert, the Milky Way galaxy paints the backdrop of a Joshua tree, a plant named by early Mormon settlers after the Old Testament prophet. Lent provides an opportunity for us to prayerfully wander the desert of our spiritual lives.

“Let me just finish what I’m doing,” my husband says. “I’ll let you,” I say grudgingly, knowing I have little power to stop him in his tracks. In his own good time, he shows up, and I’m by and large grateful, unless I was in a hurry. I’ve often mused on this “let me,” which feels like stalling or stubbornness, despite its lighthearted promise that my husband will indeed saunter my way. And, you might well ask, what does this have to do with prayer?

It’s linked by this frequent invitation in Catholic ritual: “Let us pray.” Do those assembled expect actual prayer to follow? Does it? I confess of myself: not always! I have come to the assembly intent on prayer, but I stray, I idle, I dream, I waver, I focus, I fiddle. You may be much better at this, but I’m grateful if prayer has occupied the larger part of my time in a place of worship! Alone in my space for personal prayer, it’s much the same.

LET US DO THE DESERT

On the cusp of Lent, I echo the nursery chant: “Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.” My personal plague is falling down and failing any resolutions I make. When I lamented this to a confessor, he suggested short-term resolutions, a day or a week or some shorter span I might be able to manage.

I now realize that managing isn’t the idea at all. I’m not meant to manage Lent, but to slog through, to intend, to hope, and, most of all, to remember. I am remembering that Jesus wandered in a desert, wanting to face up to the mission that lay ahead. He was gathering courage, practicing self-discipline, acquainting himself with loneliness, and facing the devils of distraction, desire, and desolation. Not to put too fine a face on it, but me too.

I’ve come to believe that Lent is not about doing. It’s about not doing. It’s not about trying, but letting ourselves take that ramble through the desert. Prayer is the backbone of Lent. I reject Satan, however evil manifests itself in my desert. I affirm my belief that I can make it through, and that prayer is that way. And prayer is not primarily doing; prayer is letting, allowing, even embracing the mysteries.

LET US SKIP SANDCASTLES and where the divinely human awaits. When I traveled through the Mojave I’m not asking for insights or visions Desert, I saw firsthand that deserts are or comfort. I’m just repeating: “Let far from empty. Jackrabbits and Joshua us pray. Let me pray. Let me finish or trees abound near cav- refinish.” Or I may be erns, abandoned silver silent. The less of a mines, and prickly rule I make for myself, pears. My own Lenten Let it be. the less likely I will fail desert has a large Let me begin. to observe it. I don’t population of distrac- Let me finish. want to box out any tions and delights. possibilities. I want to My prayer is similarly be open to uncertainty. populated. My current I want to be in the motto: Let it be. Let me begin. Let me desert, but not be deserted, please God. finish.

This year, I am wandering the LET US NOT LOOK FOR STATISTICS Mojave in my mind and heart. If you’ve OR ACCOMPLISHMENTS experienced the Judean wilderness or What am I doing for Lent? I blush to Jordan’s Wadi Rum, go there. Just go. say, “Nothing.” This is so hard. I love Jesus stayed for 40 days. I’m staying to do two things or more at once. It just one day—actually one fragment offers me a kind of dizzying pleasure. of a day—at a time. I’ll sit down. I’ll be But let us pray that our Mother Church quiet. I’ll stay. No timers, no music, no repeats and repeats. script. I just mean to stay until I know This Lent, I’m planning to respond. where I am. I may be in a cavern. I I’m going to allow nothingness to reign may be in a field of wildflowers. I may in my desert of prayer. I’m going to be lost in a barren sandscape. When I hope to run into Jesus in my Mojave, know where I am, I may say, “Let me but I’m not counting on any revelafinish,” or I may say, “I’ve got to rush tions. I have realized that let and Lent off.” But I will have been in the desert are two words separated by a single of Lent, a place where Jesus has been letter. Or not.

PRAYER

IN THE DESERT

God of the desert’s wildness: Let me linger with you. I am here. I bring no baggage, no petitions, no worries. I ask you to continue what you have begun in me, to forward my faltering self, to strengthen my irresolute self, to sit here with me in this desert.

Amen.

PRAYERFUL TIPS FINDING YOUR WAY 1If you are an introvert, you may need a different invitation in Lent. Thomas Merton had a revelation on a street corner in Louisville, Kentucky, where he realized that he was one with all the people. For you, a place that is not isolated, a place filled with people may be the greater effort. Allow people to grace your life.

2Some of us need more props as we picture ourselves in a desert. Seek out a photo book of the desert or a moonscape. Open it randomly for your prayer time. For others, a miniature sandbox in which you can trace a path can be a tactile invitation to enter a place of prayer.