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Excerpts from. . .

PART I: TRUE PRAYER

1 - Movement Towards Him Who Is

ST. JOHN DAMASCENE's definition of prayer is well known. "Prayer," he says, "is asking God for what is fitting." We must probe this thought thoroughly, draw from the words their substance, separate its parts and, having done so, restore them to the deep life of this substance which sustains them and gives then life.

This definition of prayer falls, then, into two parts which are, as it were, its matter and form. Prayer is an asking, but an asking of God, and consequently bears the impress of him to whom it is addressed.

We can ask God only for what he wants us to ask of him, and he can will only what is conformable to his will. Now since God is one of the `terms' of prayer-that is, we pray to him-and since he is infinite Order, prayer is a request essentially "ordered," in other words consonant with the order of God himself. What is that order? It is what he is-Being himself: that Being from whom, by whom, and for whom all things are.(Cf. John 1.3 and Col. 1.16) He is our Beginning and our End.(Apoc. 1.8.) He is the light of our mind and the strength of our will. He is Truth, Goodness and Beauty unalloyed, the source of all joy and the ocean of all life.

What is "fitting," therefore - what we must ask God for - is himself; to be united with him, to be transformed in him: to possess him and to be possessed by him. We should ask to enter, by grace, into such intimate relations with him as unite us to him; to become his sons by a communication as complete as possible of his Spirit of Love; to share in that joy and in that life which is his joy and his life: in short, to share in joy itself and Life itself. The Scriptures are full of this prayer, which is constantly bubbling up like water-springs on a high mountain. "The Lord is the portion of my inheritance, says the Psalmist (Ps. 15.5) ... For what have I in heaven, and besides thee what do I desire upon earth ... Thou art the God of my heart, and my portion for ever."(Ps. 72, 25-6).

. . . Now there are two kinds of means which lead to this desired union. The one clears the way of obstacles, the other puts us in touch with the object of our love. We pray to God to keep us from all that might separate us from him or delay our union; at the same time, we ask for what will bring about that union. It is vices and sins that separate, temptations that can hold us up. To obtain the mastery of them, therefore, should be the first object of our prayer, and we must not make light of this. Those who are proud or only (and more often) simple and inexperienced, content themselves with asking for union; many, indeed, try to live that union immediately. It does not occur to them that there is danger here. The enemy's blows, they say, cannot touch them. They consider themselves immune, whereas they are simply ignorant and blind. It would be an exaggeration to say that they are endangering their salvation, but they are very much exposed to mark time, and to become paralyzed.

The first act of light is to be separated from darkness (Cf. Genesis 1.4: [God] divided the light from the darkness), and to light up all that it touches. It shines and is visible; it lights up the way and the end only in so far as it separates itself and the other objects from the night. When it emerges from the darkness and wrests a soul from it, the light reveals to that soul the love that has given it being and action. It is now that the Holy Spirit makes his power felt. He draws the soul to himself, and awakens a reciprocal movement toward union. He causes virtues to flourish in the soul, communicating his own dispositions to it, and becomes the hidden cause of all its activity. He prays in it, adores in it, utters cries of love, and pours himself forth in the most wonderful colloquies and unspeakable groanings (Romans 8.26), repeating unceasingly : "Abba, Father."(Romans 8.15 and Gal. 4.6).

St. Augustine's definition of prayer suggests the same thought. "Prayer is a devout movement of the soul towards God," he says, thus putting into words what must have been most certainly his own form of prayer. In all movement there are two terms-the one from which we set out, the other towards which we tend. When we pray, one of the terms does not exist: it is `nothingness', or rather it is a being who exists solely by him towards whom it tends. To let our gaze, therefore, rest on this nothingness as on an end, is foolish. By not looking at ourselves we are, by that very fact continually moving in the direction of our true end, which is God, and our prayer is continuous and one which realizes our divine Master's command "to pray always." (Luke 18.1 and 21.38).

2 - Prayer the Duty of Every Moment

PRAYER is the duty of every moment. 'We ought always to pray, said our Lord.(Luke 18.1) And what he said, he did: therein lay his great power. Action always accompanied his words, and corresponded with them.

We must pray always in order to be on our guard (Matt. 26.41). Our life both of body and soul, our natural and supernatural life, is like a fragile flower. We live surrounded by enemies. Ever since man rejected the light that was meant to show him the way (John 1.5), everything has become for us an obstacle and a danger: we live in the shadow of death (Luke 1.79 and Ps. 106.10).

Instead of pointing to the Creator and leading us to him, things show only themselves, with the result that we stop at them. The devil, to whom we stupidly gave them when we gave him ourselves, speaks to us through their many voices; his shadow darkens their transparence. Beyond their attractive forms we no longer seek the beauty they reflect, but merely the pleasure and satisfaction they are able to offer us.

But the enemy is not only at our door, he is even more within us. And he is at our door, because he is within us. It is we who have invited him in. In turning towards him, we have turned the whole universe away from God. This is why the world is against us. It is inimical, hostile to us, and not without reason. Through the world and by it, we have let war loose within ourselves and in everything. This is only what one would expect, but it is terrible all the same.

What a profound definition of peace is St. Augustine's! Above all, in these days, when the world is convulsed to its center (Translator's Note: These words were written during the second world War), when men and things (the latter through men) serve only to kill and destroy, how necessary it is to ponder well these words, the very sound of which is full of the calm they express: Peace is the tranquillity of order. Order means that everything is in its proper place. God made men superior to all things (Cf. Genesis 2.15), and all things turned to God as to their source, to receive from him their being moment by moment, and to thank him and bless him. That was the way God acted, and this is his order and his peace. It was this that fundamentally constituted the terrestrial Paradise, and will one day be the heavenly Paradise for those who have understood and taken up again this attitude (Genesis 3 passim).

I remember seeing once a frightened and hunted animal that had lost its way. It rushed through an open gate that led into a garden full of flowers, with what disastrous results can be imagined. This is an image, though a very imperfect one, of a soul when it allows the wild beast of the world to enter into it, ever since our first parents turned away from God and listened to the voice of the Tempter. As a consequence, we live in a country occupied by the enemy, and it is our business to drive him out of it; to turn away from him and turn back to God, and so secure our liberty. And we have to do this without any armed or organized forces; with our faculties in disorder, our strength impaired, and surrounded by enemies on all sides or by those who are indifferent to out lot.

No greater helplessness could be imagined, had we not God. And that is why prayer is so necessary, and why our Lord had to tell us so insistently to pray, and to pray always. Hence, too, his saying which can seem so overwhelming: "Without me, you can do nothing"(John 15.5), as well as his invitation so consoling and comforting: Come to me...(Matt. 11.28).

Prayer is the soul's response to that invitation. It comes; it makes known its wretchedness, it pleads for help, for light for the mind and strength for the will. It asks for grace to bring its passions under the control of its higher will, and to submit that will to God, who is order and peace. And God says to the soul: "I am and always will be a Father: I love you and await your coming ... Come!" And the soul replies: "My God, I can do no more. Do you come to me."

Let me add that this truly bears reading, every paragraph of the above. I will cite more as time allows. :)

I'll be waiting. Thank you.

The real war truly is within.. I even ask St Michael now to do battle not only with the enemy without but with my own self will.. I say to him, "How dare I with my self will stand proudly before God and like the enemy say, I will not serve."   Then I say over and over again, WHO IS LIKE UNTO GOD .

Lord protect us from ourselves.  :+:

Amen!

Why We Must Pray

THE reasons for praying are as numerous as they are imperative. They correspond to all our needs without exception, and to all occasions. They are also in accord with the favours we receive in answer to our prayers and to God's rights over his creatures.

Our divine Master's word has explored and lighted up everything, our human world and God's world. He revealed the powerlessness of the first when he said: Without me, you can do nothing (John 15.5).

We have read these words often enough, but without penetrating them. We no more understand the `nothing' than we do the `All'. The nature of our being does not allow us to understand it. We do not look at our tiny being as it actually is in the light of the `All'. We do not compare the hours of our life, so short and transient, with God's changeless eternity. We do not see the place we occupy in the universe as compared to his immensity, which infinitely overflows our tiny universe, and could embrace numberless others, far greater than ours. Above all, we forget that our being is not ours. Moment by moment we receive the tiny drop of being that God designs to give us. The only reason we have it is because he gives it to us; and having received it, immediately it begins to dissolve; it slips through our fingers and is replaced by another which escapes us with the same rapidity. All this being comes from God and returns to him; it depends upon him alone. We are like vessels into which he pours that being drop by drop, so as to create a bond of dependence upon him, whereby his Being is manifested and made known and, when lovingly welcomed, is glorified.

Prayer is this intelligent vessel, which knows, loves, thanks and glorifies. It says, in effect:

My God, the present moment and the light by which I am aware of it, comes from you. My mind, which appreciates it; the upward leaping of my heart which responds to that recognition and thanks you for it; the living bond created by this moment-all is from you. Everything comes from you. All that is within me, all that is not you; all created beings and their movements; my whole being and its activities all is from you. Without you nothing exists; apart from you is just nothingness; apart from your Being there is merely non- existence.

How this complete dependence, upon which I have so often and so deeply meditated, ought to impress me! I feel that it plunges me into the depths of reality, into truth. Nevertheless, it does not completely express that reality. There was a time when this nothingness rose up in opposition to 'Him who is'. It wanted to be independent of him; it put itself forward, refused to obey him and cut itself off from him. It made war on him and became his enemy. It destroyed his image in the heart's citadel where hitherto he had reigned, and usurped his throne. These are only metaphors, and they do not do justice to the real horror of the plight created by sin; but we must be content with them, as they are all we have. We must remember, however, that they are completely inadequate.

And every day we add to this predicament, already so grave. Every personal sin of ours is an acceptance of this state: we choose it, we love it and prefer it to union with God. We lap up, as it were, these sins like water. We take pleasure in plunging into them as into a stream, the waters of which rise persistently, and in time overwhelm us and carry us away. They toss us about like a straw, and submerge us. Thoughts, feelings, words, really bad acts and innumerable omissions fill our days and nights, and intermingle, more or less consciously, with our every movement, and at all hours. They spoil the purity of our ordinary actions such as eating and drinking; they introduce themselves into our sleep and mix with our waking movements, and with our external acts as with our most intimate thoughts. Because of our fallen state, everything becomes matter and occasion to drag us down further into evil.

I added the italics to the above.

"Moment by moment we receive the tiny drop of being that God designs to give us. "

This I truly can just appreciate in silence.

What a tragedy that every day, somewhere along the line my will stands in opposition to God.
Just one little sin as spoken about in the other thread is beyond imagining and how little account I take of my many sins. Be ye perfect the Lord commanded.
The many times I do my own selfish will I can magine St Micheal with a thundering voice shouting, "Who is like unto God."
The angels must be barely able to look upon the horror of a human being doing his own will.

How patient and merciful God must be.

How this complete dependence, upon which I have so often and so deeply meditated, ought to impress me! I feel that it plunges me into the depths of reality, into truth.

How unutterable and endless is God!

 :D

That really is so scary to realize. It puts a whole new light on the examin of conscience.

A Dangerous Fire

THERE is in the soul of man a fire of concupiscence constantly burning, inherited from our first parents. It spreads its noxious heat to the soul's powers; it gives rise to sensuality in the flesh under a thousand varying forms; to error and illusion in the mind, so that we mistake what is not for the God who is. It causes us to seek as our good what in fact draws us away from it, while the will finds itself drawn to the transient pleasures offered us by our senses, leaving us powerless to follow its deeper urge to seek its true spiritual good. In the course of time, successive generations have greatly increased these tendencies, whilst our personal sins add to the burden daily. As a result, our whole being has been reduced to a state of disorder and anarchy, from which we continue to suffer so long as we retain any sense of order and discipline. We can unfortunately end up by becoming more or less accustomed to this state of affairs, and this is the worst misery of all.

We walk on a downward and dangerous slope, and have done so ever since we were born. All our energies are inclined towards evil, and are drawn by it. Our mind is distorted and no longer faithfully reflects the truth. All too readily, ignorance, the love of falsehood and vain curiosities find a welcome in it. Our will is weakened and no longer takes command. Badly enlightened by the mind enticing it in wrong directions, and carried away by unchecked passions inflamed by external objects, at every moment it is mastered by servants who have ceased to obey, if they have not actually gone so far as to subject the will entirely to their caprices.

What hope is there for us without help from on high, opposing its higher movement to this lower movement? We must pray, therefore, for this aid that we need so badly; f or the forgiveness of our sins, and f or that true contrition which blots them out. We must pray for the graces of expiation which offers all the reparation of which we are capable, and for that charity which gives us new life. We must have the courage to welcome that divine light which shows up our sins, more numerous than the sands of the shore, weighing us down with their load and crushing us like the suffocating air which presages a storm. Like the snows of an avalanche and the rocks they bring with them, our sins pile up one on the other, erecting a barrier between the soul and heaven, until we forget that there is a heaven at all! We must pray that we may realize all the horror of one single sin, and the great number of which we have been guilty. We must ask for that frightening light which reveals them all-the sins we have committed knowingly and those, far more numerous, which we have committed almost unconsciously, just as we take in the germs which fill the air we breathe.

A frightening passage!

God help us! God help us to pray, to truly reform, to truly repent and recant and expiate, with true contrition our sins! To seek out our fearful, hidden sins, in the light.. and become new creations..

Holy Mary, pray for us!

O Jesus!  Deep abyss of mercy, I beg of Thee, in memory of Thy Wounds which penetrated to the very marrow of Thy Bones and to the depth of Thy being, to draw me, a miserable sinner, overwhelmed by my offenses, away from sin and to hide me from Thy Face justly irritated against me, hide me in Thy Wounds, until Thy anger and just indignation shall have passed away.  Amen  :crucifix:


By the intercession of St Michael and the celestial Choir of Cherubim, may the Lord vouchsafe to grant us grace to leave the ways of wickedness to run in the paths of Christian perfection.  Amen   :crucifix:

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God,
have mercy on me a sinner!   :crucifix:

Original sin bogs us down while on earth, but God in His great mercy has given his poor children several means of grace to overcome this evil, the Mass, Sacraments, prayer ( Rosary), intercession of Saints etc etc.....We have so much to be thankful for :crucifix: :thrones:

The Deeper Search

THE saints and spiritual writers constantly return to this idea of the disorder within us, which is the consequence of sin, and they are right in doing so. Like them, I repeat: Life is not literature. Before we can assimilate anything, we have to turn it over in our minds again and again. To take in and to assimilate is a slow process. The mind has to concentrate on its object a long time, if it is to take on its form and live it.

This object is a positive one: it is God, the ideal form and the perfect model. But it is also, on the other hand, all that is opposed to his pure image, and to his communication of life. God wants to transform us into sons of light, but he finds us children of darkness. He wants his Spirit, the Spirit of Love, who is the Gift of Self, to live in us, but he finds us possessed by another spirit which is the love of self. This negative element, which surrounds only after a struggle, must disappear. Life is a battle, a battle between God and the spirit of evil. When a soul ceases to fight, it may be counted as hopelessly lost. And a soul that does not pray is one that has given in without a struggle. It possesses a kind of peace, but it is the peace of an occupied territory, conquered by the invader and resigned to his domination.

What we find blameworthy in spiritual writers is not that they insist on this too much, but that they do not insist on it enough. We are living in an age of knowledge rather than of understanding. Pure reasoning and memory hold the day. The whole object of so much of our writing is to satisfy these cravings, to provide men with ideas rather than to enrich their souls and deepen their lives. It is the fashion today to write popular works and articles in magazines for people living in the world. They must know everything, and be able to talk about the latest book or the most recent discovery. Men's minds are like those artificial floral displays we see on festive occasions. We arrange beautiful flowers, which we enjoy without having cultivated them. We do not even know their names and by the morrow we have forgotten all about them.

With prayer it is not just a matter of having read and realized for the moment its necessity, its grandeur, the immense blessings it confers, its increasing comfort, the glory it gives to God and its mission to the world. We must return to these thoughts again and again; we must constantly reflect on them and live them. This is what the Holy Spirit does in the Scriptures, what the Church does in its offices, and the saints in their daily prayers and constant meditations. We must continually look for the essential Beauty behind the external beauty of things. We must turn from the weakness of our fallen nature to the strong tenderness of the Son of God, who became our Redeemer and is ever ready to receive us back into his favour. We must turn from the perpetual menace of the devil and of the world which hangs over us, to the unfailing help which is offered us by our Savior, whose great desire is to rescue us from their tyranny.

Our principal danger is a spiritual one, the danger of losing our true life; all other dangers are directed towards this. They are the various ways in which each of us may be put to the test. We must pray, therefore, before all else, that God may live in us and we in him. We must pray that our trials may contribute to that divine life, which is the only true life and the only true good. We may ask that God will in his goodness preserve us from persecutions, injustices, calumnies, attacks of one kind and another on our interests and rights, illnesses of body and mind- but always subject to the designs of his love, which must be out chief rule in all we ask for.

In his loving plan, God has foreseen that we must be tested, but he knows also that the patience with which we bear such trials in union with our divine Lord can prove an exceptionally rich and pure source of merit and of grace to expiate our sins. He knows that our natural and supernatural growth (the latter bringing the former within its scope) will in general be proportioned to such trials, and that the divine image, the reflection of the model of infinite Beauty, will shine resplendent in us as a result of these trials. In spite of myself, I return to these thoughts again and again; they do not exclude others, but they seem to me to embrace and assimilate them.

 

 

I had to stop myself from bolding and italicizing a good deal of the first two paragraphs of this.. I only minimally noted a few pieces..

'It possesses a kind of peace, but it is the peace of an occupied territory, conquered by the invader and resigned to his domination.'

How many people have the peace of an occupied territory and do not know that they must struggle and make more progress? I am thinking of all the quotes about God sending crosses to people -- And the quotes about people who live happily sinful material lives being lost.. they 'have their reward'. .

What peace is true, what peace is false? We require peace to wage the battle at the same time.. So.. prayer.. when we can pray.. and we pray for progress with faith.. and truly seek it with openness.. then progress can be made.. flexibility.. the willingness to change fundamentally.. as often as is needed..

I keep thinking.. In Heaven people are very different from the people on earth.. but God wants us to be like them before we arrive.. Not waiting till the very end of our lives for some sort of change we never truly willed in life..

But what a goal.. to become truly children of light..  :D The beauty of such an interior life with God is striking..

Different Forms of True Prayer

THERE is only one essential prayer-it is the movement drawing the soul upwards towards God, and the relationship which follows. As soon as the soul turns from the dark valley to the heights where there is light and gladness, it prays. It meets him who has never been absent and who is always turned toward the soul, his hands full of blessings, his heart overflowing with eternal love, and the relationship which is love and life begins.

This relationship can assume very different forms, which vary according to persons, times, needs, with the varying circumstances of everyday life. There are times when we find comfort in the thought of God's greatness in general, or in some particular perfection of his. For instance, we invoke his love, his mercy, his goodness, his holiness and his truth. These perfections serve to raise us to the contemplation of those vast horizons where the God who is becomes ever greater in our eyes. We do well. God has only himself. He cannot resist such praise. We were made for that: to praise him eternally. Hearing on our lips this exiles' song of the Fatherland, he knows that we want him more than any created thing, and that we belong to him completely. The Scriptures are full of this prayer. "O my God, hear me" cries David, "for thou are all goodness and mercy."(Cf. Ps. 68.17: Hear me, O Lord, for thy mercy is kind) And Daniel: "O Lord, hear (and) he appeased: hearken and do. Delay not for thy own sake." (Daniel 9.19).

Often we turn to someone dear to the divine Majesty. Obviously our Lord's sacred humanity occupies the very first place, far above everyone and everything. In this respect the Litanies of the saints are wonderful. We first invoke God himself, then Jesus, his Mother, the great saints of our immense and loving family in Heaven. Then we recall the difficulties of the way and the dangers which threaten us and finally, gathering it all up in an immense and powerful finale, we recall the main details of all that our Redeemer has done for us in giving himself to us.

We end on a note of supplication, on our own behalf and for others, for the souls in Purgatory as well as for those who are still on earth: We beseech thee, O Lord...

The diversity of our requests also imparts to our prayer an infinite variety of shades. We can ask for the absolute Good which is God himself, and for the eventual possession of this supreme good. We can ask for the means that lead us to him. Among these means, some are directly and essentially directed to that end, others less so. Our prayer varies according to these objects. There is the prayer which consists solely of praise and adoration; another restricts itself to thanksgiving. But all are essential prayer, for they raise us up to God. And although in some cases we may not make our request explicitly, it is none the less hidden under the words, and even in the intention. Those who praise the divine greatness, those who thank him for favors received, know (although they may not advert to it explicitly) that at his feet we are always souls in need, and that his goodness cannot fail to be moved at the sight of our indigence. Often we collect together in one formula all the different kinds of prayer. In a word or two, we adore or thank, we ask for pardon and help, and approach the Father in the steps of the Son, in the arms of Mary, in union with all the company of heaven. I cannot think of anything that could be dearer to the God of Love or make a greater appeal to his love. In the Gospels there are many forms of prayer ideal for all circumstances. The most beautiful, needless to say, is our Lady's "They have no wine"(John 2.3). The request itself is lost in the perfect act of trust. Mary is so sure of being heard. She feels that it would wound her son's tenderness by asking directly for the wine. Jesus' love for her, his unfailing thoughtfulness for others, leave no doubt in her mind as to the answer. She speaks, and then waits, as all mothers do. And she invites us to do the same: "Whatsoever he shall say to you, do ye."(John 2.5).

And so do those two beloved of Jesus whom the Gospel calls Martha and Mary, at the bedside of Lazarus their brother. They know that Jesus loves them, and so they ask for nothing. They simply say: "Lord, he whom thou lovest is sick."(John 11.3) There is no actual request, no word of their grief. They say, in effect: `You love ... and someone is suffering'. In that home, so united, the brother's sickness is their sickness, and they have not the slightest doubt that their common grief will find an echo in the heart of their Friend.

I was reading St. Thomas in the Summa on prayer recently, as a person recommended it, and I think I should like to share some of that too in a bit.

"it is the movement drawing the soul upwards towards God"

7 - The Soul Breathes

PRAYER should be continuous (Cf. Luke 21.36: Watch ye, therefore, praying at all times). It is the soul breathing. Just as we have to breathe continuously, so we must pray continuously. Prayer is the deep interior movement of which we are barely conscious. To become aware of it, so far as we can, is indeed a great grace. To live, conscious of this movement and of him who is both its source and term, is the greatest of all graces; indeed, it is heaven on earth.

On to this deep movement, the continuity of which is unhappily perceived by so few, should be grafted special prayers: that is, those that are more conscious and willed. It is these we properly call "prayers," and which call for fixed times. The times for these prayers in the case of priests and religious are so precise that they are called `Hours' - that is to say, certain prayers are attached to certain hours during the day and night. They are so determined that the whole day is, as it were, one continuous prayer. The repetition of these prayers turns our vacillating mind, so easily and so often distracted, back to God. Just when our mind could be caught up by some superficial thing, the time for the Divine Office comes round, and our mind is called away from the pressing vanities that might have occupied it, and plunged again in God.

The ordinary Christian is not held by so strict a tie. Regular hours for prayer, filling the day and canalizing everything toward God, is not for him a duty and a daily task. But what for him is not an obligation he may, of course, do out of love. I say out of love, but it is a love which is in his own interest. But even for him, there are fixed times when he ought to recollect himself and renew the divine contact. "In the morning, says the Psalmist, thou shalt hear my voice ... in the morning I will stand before thee (Ps. 5, 4-5) And the prophet Isaias: "In the morning early, i will watch to thee (Isaias 26.9); as if, for him, there could be no other awakening than this, and all time not so occupied was but night and sleep. Still more relevant is that other word of the son of Sirach, falling gently and spreading like dew: "[The wise man] will give his heart to resort early to the Lord that made him, and he will pray in the sight o f the Most High.(Ecclus. 39.6)

Sleep brings renewal-that is what the word `rest' or repose implies. It revives us, provided we put entirely out of our mind everything that has disturbed us during the day. If on the other hand we pursue in our dreams the things that have attracted us during our waking hours, our sleep only wearies us still further, instead of bringing us rest. Night is thus like a new creation: it relaxes the limbs, gives assurance to the mind, renews the soul and restores our whole being. These hours of repose are hours of unconsciousness. We do not live this deep, restorative contact with our Source; the soul does not perceive him. It wants this contact, and indeed achieves it, but it is not conscious of it. During these hours of sleep, it does not offer to God, who is still its All, the homage of the whole being for which it is responsible. There is a kind of break in the divine intercourse, for although the soul holds the first place in our being, it does not constitute, as we must recognize, our all. When the body awakens in the morning, and the soul becomes again conscious of this "whole," it resumes command and becomes once more the link and interpreter of the created world, thus renewing its conscious contact with the Creator. That is why in the Psalms at Lauds, we invite the whole of creation to take up again its interrupted praise: All ye works o f the Lord, bless the Lord; praise and exalt him above all for ever (Daniel 3.57).

Thus sings the soul to all creation, which it salutes anew. These are images of him whom the soul loves, and all creation responds as with one voice: "We are, because he is; we are, because he gives us being, and we are what he gives us to be."

During the night, these voices continue their praise, but the body, which is the link between the soul and creation and conveys these harmonies to the soul, is asleep. But once awake, those voices beat loudly but calmly at the gate of the body's senses; the soul hears them again, and the great hymn of praise - if man takes his place in it - is resumed.

Yet how many do take their place in this mighty hymn; how many are conscious of their role in it, and execute it with love? How many, having rested and having awakened refreshed, put themselves once more in communion with this immense reservoir of energies that God offers them-physical energies of renewed light, so rich even in corporal resources; energies of the air refreshed and purified; energies of the vegetation which has renewed this air, carrying away all the unwholesome things accumulated by animal breathing; above all, spiritual energies. The very language of creation seems something new; everything comes to life, everything speaks, invites, pleads to make contact, to be admired and interpreted. Between this renewed world and the rested man a harmony, a perfect understanding, is created, which becomes a fullness when united to the Source from whom it proceeds. It is prayer that achieves this union, and completes the body's rest. It is the prelude to the day's movement, and is its preparation. Mankind dies through not understanding this.

Thus plunged anew in God, who is in that creation to which he has given himself, man can take up again his daily toil. In this he is not alone. He leans upon Him who is: he draws from him both light and strength. Beyond what he does, he sees him for whom and by whom he acts, and is united with him in his task. His every act takes on an immense importance, outstrips the brief moment in which it is done, and is engraved in eternal duration. A day is no longer just a day, it is a preparation and already a participation in eternity. Upon these heights, men can face the difficulties of this quickly passing life. He is not crushed by the testing time, nor frightened by temptation. When these things come he renews, with one elevation of his soul, with one bound as it were toward God, his contact with the source of life, and resists the temptation. To obtain such a consummation, prayer must really be prayer: that is, a raising of the mind and heart to God, a turning away from all created and human attractions.

OFFERING OF LOVE AND PRAISE
Variation of a Prayer Recited by  St. Gerard Majella

MY GOD,  I make the intention of offering to Thee as many acts of love and praise as the Blessed Virgin, all the Saints and Angels, as well as all the faithful on earth have ever made. I desire to love Thee as much as Jesus Christ loves Thee. I wish to renew these acts at every pulsation of my heart.

NIGHT PRAYER IN RESPONSE TO A REQUEST FROM OUR LORD

ETERNAL FATHER, I desire to rest in Thy Heart this night. I make the intention of offering to Thee every beat of my heart, joining to them as many acts of love and desire. I pray that even while I am asleep, I will bring back to Thee souls that offend Thee. I ask forgiveness for the whole world, especially for those who know Thee and yet sin. I offer to Thee my every breath and heartbeat as a prayer of reparation. Amen.

...

Let's pray to breath with God, to have this interior movement of the soul be formed, strengthened in intensity, depth and brightness, and increased to its fullest. Amen.

Oh Lord, I ask of thee to bless this day, from beginning to end, and every hour in it. And within every hour, every minute. And within every minute, ever second. So that within every second, coming and going, there will be no time wherein my thoughts stir from thee, my Beloved. Amen.

8 - Answers to Prayer

THIS is a difficult subject to write about, because it is so vast. And yet I must say something about it, because it reflects God's glory so much. History is full of the answers to prayer. All the saints of the Old and New Testaments were great supplicants. Their lives were a continuous colloquy with God. He entered into everything, and they sought his assistance in all their needs. And God, they said repeatedly, always heard them. The movement of their souls toward him, whether to ask for grace or to thank him for it; whether to beg for the forgiveness of their sins or to praise the greatness of this best of Fathers, so real to them and so solicitous for their good - this is invariably the theme running through the Scriptures, or at least the predominant one.

The Psalms are full of the same idea. It runs through them like an incredibly rich and abundant sap, the sap of true life, simple yet strong, and expressive of all that is deepest in us. It is a theme we can repeat endlessly and, like all love's expressions, it never tires. It would seem to possess eternal youth and freshness and, ever new, grows with repetition ever greater and more splendid.

At times, it seems to us as though God departs from the order he has established, when he hears the voices of his friends begging him to do so. This order is beautiful indeed. The divine perfections are reflected in lines we can barely discern, but which we are never tired of admiring.

Dearly would I love to follow up this thought, but I would not know where to stop! Let the following suffice.

... Springs gush forth from rocks in the desert (Numbers 20.11); the waters of the sea of rivers divide to allow a vast concourse of people to pass over (Exodus 14.21; Heb. 11.29 and Josue 3.16). The walls of cities fall down (Josue 6.20 and Heb. 11.30), enemies are put to flight (Cf. Levit. 26.8), and manna descends daily from heaven (Exodus 16.15). The sick are healed, the lame walk (Matt. 8.16)," and the dead are raised to life (Luke 8, 54-5). Hardened sinners are touched by grace, while the minds of men are elevated so that they perceive beyond them perspectives of light by which they almost seem to enter into the very truth of God. Wills are strengthened, and at once take control of passions till then unleashed. Divine Love comes so near to souls that he seems almost to consume them, and to transform them into his own likeness (Cf. Deut. 4.24).

Such and even more wonderful things which can only be revealed to my dazed sight by the light from beyond - this is what prayer can do. This is what it has done and is continually doing. In face of all this, I can only remain silent. When discussing these things it is easy enough to find words and phrases in which to express the movement of the mind when concerned with the things of God. But when it is a question of making known God's action to the world, above all to the world of souls, mere human language is altogether inadequate to describe the reality. We must either give up the attempt or return to the unfailing simplicity of what the Holy Spirit tells us in the sacred Scriptures.

9 - Prayer Asks

WHEN praying to God, we can only ask for God, since he is everything, and in giving himself he gives us all. In asking for himself, we ask for all. When we possess him, we can wish and ask for nothing more. Once we grasp this truth, there is no point in writing or saying anything; we are content simply to pray, and even then we would ask for nothing. The whole of the first part of the Our Father keeps us on these silent heights. That is all we see there, for God is both the source and the object of our asking. Hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done.... (Matt. 6, 9-10). What more can we ask?

We could even do without the words, content with the interior movement of the soul which says all in silence. Or we can think of the words and develop them. This is what so many profitable prayers do in fact, both in public and in private, according to the temperaments of different people. In so far as they remain on this essential level of God's glory, the coming of his kingdom and the fulfillment of his will, they are good. The actual words or thoughts with which we clothe them matters little. When one loves, one is conscious only of love. Now God is our Father: that is to say, he is all love. Holy Scripture is never tired of telling us that he knows perfectly well what is good for us. We cannot do better, therefore, than leave all to him.

We may nevertheless make known our needs and express our wishes to him, on this indispensable condition of our submission to his loving will. This is what our Lord would have us learn from the second part of the Pater Noster. This is what the innumerable and beautiful prayers of the Church, the collects of the Mass and the prayers of the Divine Office, teach us. For they all come from the Holy Spirit who has inspired them.

The first question to be considered is what order we should follow in our prayers. This has been decided in principle long ago. The order to follow is God's order. We must ask for all that may contribute (and in the measure in which it will contribute) to his glory, and the advancement of his kingdom. That is why the first and essential object and the one we must never lose sight of, is our eternal salvation and our union with God. This is the end of all prayer and of every movement of the soul-to praise God, to be united with him, to be transformed into his likeness for ever; to become for ever his image and his child.

This end necessitates certain means which lead to it. We cannot ask for our salvation without asking for virtues and grace. Grace is divine life in the soul, the virtues are the means through which grace is effective. Grace is given to us in the form of a seed, and we are, as it were, newly-born children. In us, as in a child just born, is the seed of all subsequent development of life, and this seed is given to us in baptism. As yet the developments have not taken place, but they are there just as the stem, the branches, the leaves and the blossoms are in the seed cast into the ground. We cannot, therefore, reasonably ask for union with God without asking also for these developments, which will go to the making of the desired union. To do otherwise would be to prevent ourselves growing in him (Cf. Eph. 4.15: "But, doing the truth in charity, we may in all things grow up in him who is the bead, even Christ"), or to want grace to remain an undeveloped seed in the depths of our soul.

So far all is clear, and the object of our prayer is obvious. But there are certain things which may or may not serve to bring us closer to God: we do not know. It is the same with what we call natural evil. I have gold in my keeping. I can use it for the glory of God and the good of my soul, or the precise opposite. An illness can help to sanctify me, provided I bear it with patience and for the love of our heavenly Father, since he permits it. Or I can accept it, but in a spirit of rebellion and hating God for sending it.

In view of all this, what attitude must I adopt when I pray? I must wait quietly in a spirit of confiding trust, without wasting any time in reasoning on vain suppositions, but rest in the great reality. That great reality is this: God is good, and he is love. He wants only my happiness, and I entrust to him the care of obtaining it for me. It is the same even with supernatural values. A very young child-what does it do? It nestles against his father's heart, happy in his love. It just stays there, content to wait. This quiet expectancy is not a passive indifference; it is an unwavering trust, which is the form desire takes. Only the desire must be there always, and it must be the real source of the repose; otherwise this repose would be mere idleness.

As a rule, the Holy Spirit who inspires our prayers, tells us to make them more explicit. There are advantages in this. The thought of the supernatural happiness awaiting us, of how enviable it is, stimulates the desire, which must always be ardent yet always remaining calm. All the saints possessed ardent desires. Ardor, however, is not the same as violence. What we should keep before our minds is the wonderful power of grace and virtue; of what grace is accomplishing in our souls; of the eternal salvation which is our goal, of the glory it will give to God and the boundless happiness in store for us. To contemplate long these truths is one of the highest forms of prayer that we can have in this life, and it will pass one day easily into the vision of God in the life to come.

Oh what a happy quote you've chosen from the chapter! :D

I was attracted to the same passage as Brigid.  I feel closer to my God in my circumstances.  Sometimes I see couples and I think how I could have been protected if my husband was here, but then I remember someone more powerful than a human being who protects me and watches me lovingly and tenderly and all my anxiety vanishes. O:)

Yes, and your husband is also in His arms praying for you.

I once had the complete works of Dom Guillerand. The Benedictine Sisters of Priscilla, Rome made a limited edition of his entire works.

There are 5 french books available on Amazon that represent about 2/3 of his total works. This one (Prayer of the Presence of God) seems to correspond to "Face a Dieu": I did notice some differences so maybe the choice of texts are not the same.

"Face a Dieu" was the original without any alterations as far as I know.

"Vivantes Clartes" contains a wonderful commentary on the Pater Noster. He was writing it for the convers brothers of the "Grande Chartreuse" and gave conferences between 1942 and 1944 on the "Pater". Unfortunately he did not have the time to finish it and the last part of the commentary is for "hallowed be Thy Name". Nevertheless it remains one of the great commentaries on this prayer that was taught to us by Jesus Himself.

In Christ,

Welcome to the Saints' Discussion Forums Richard! Very glad to have you here! :D

I wish I could read French, if only my classes in school had gone better. But they could hardly have gone worse.

I hope someday some kind soul translates at least those passages from Vivantes Clares on the Pater Noster. I am always looking for more insight into the prayers folks pray the most. How did you become interested in Dom Guillerand's works?

Thank you for the welcome !

The meditation on the Our Father by Dom Guillerand forever changed my perception of this great prayer. Most importantly, it became a source of contemplation.

I am presently working on a potential English translation of the Our Father sermons of Dom Guillerand.

I first learned of his writings from Fr. Stanislaus OCSO, a cloistered monk.

I enjoy reading posts from this website.

In Christ,

Now there's a prayer no sooner said than given a happy answer!

Very glad to hear you enjoy reading the site!

The more I learn about prayer the more I learn how important it is, how important it is that it is from the heart!

I am beginning think learning to pray better is a lifetime experience of development!

Good afternoon Richard!

Have a cup of coffee and chat sometime if you feel like it! We have a nice everyday cup of coffee thread (http://saintsworks.net/forums/index.php?topic=269.msg42158#new)!

 :teaandcoffee:

Thank you for the invite Shin,

Will drop by during the holidays.

In the meantime, lets pray for one another.

Have a pleasant evening,

In Christ,

Certainly Richard! May God help you and keep you and yours!  ;D :+: