It’s been a while since I’ve posted on this blog. My last post was in November! I had planned on keeping up this blog every week, posting something each Thursday. But things get in the way, especially when you’re a priest and it’s Advent and Christmas. These are busy times for priests, and so I had to let something go. Alas, it was this blog. My apologies for that.

There are many small “deaths” in the Christian life, and these deaths prepare us for the final death that is the end of our lives here in this world. Life continues after death, however, be those deaths large or small – as long as those deaths are good deaths, that is. Part of the Christian life is discerning good deaths from bad deaths. What must be sacrifice to gain greater life in God, and what must we retain because there is a call from God within it? Ahh, well, there is something to discern, both on our own or in community, though always with God.

Many parents I know struggle with finding time for their spirituality among their busy lives as parents. This is especially true for parents of small children, because the younger the child, the more that child needs us (usually, at least). We are called on to be parents, but we are also called on to deepen our faith lives in God. It would be nice to have both, but so often we are faced with the very real decision between praying for twenty minutes or playing with our kids (or even just caring for their basic needs!). We feel forced into an either/or relationship with our prayerlife and our kids, instead of what we really hope for, which is a both/and relationship.

That said, we don’t have to accept this either/or ultimatum as much as we think we do. Lately, I’ve been noticing something about my mental state in my prayers. I may have mentioned this before, but I feel that God is calling me to contemplative, silent, and non-verbal prayer lately instead of the strict and verbal rituals of the daily office. My practice is to read through our church intercessions, then lay down with a timer on and just turn my heart towards God. Some days I question God about things in my life; other days I tell God what he surely already knows about what’s going on with me; and sometimes my mind just plays through the various things that have happened to me throughout the past few days.

At the moment, I feel that it’s simply important enough that I go to God and give him twenty minutes of my time. In the past, I’ve lived with other people’s expectations of what my prayer life ought to be, and only now am I actually trying to pray in ways that God (I believe) is leading me to prayer). So if I think about Star Wars for twenty minutes, so be it. At least I’m thinking about Star Wars with God.

And it’s here that I come to what I want to write about (sorry for the long preamble). There’s a difference between thinking about whatever fills our day and thinking about whatever fills our day with God. I recently read a beautiful quote from George MacDonald, that great, indirect teacher of C.S. Lewis, that basically describes Jesus as always being and acting with his attention on the Father. I would love to be able to do this, because I know what it feels like (I know the experience of) giving just twenty minutes a day to God.

What is this experience? What does it feel like? It feels like each and every mote of my body, each individual cell, is illuminated by some gentle light. And that illumination makes those cells tender and kind. I imagine that God is in some direction (up, let’s say), and that all my cells have turned in that direction and are being held by God Almighty. It is a comforting feeling, and it’s one that frees the thoughts of my mind and the meditations of my heart to think about things (be they about my relationship with God or a science-fiction franchise) with a true heart.

I’m really interested in how other people experience this state of being. If I thought it would work, I’d conduct a survey about how people experience God’s love, but I know that a survey wouldn’t get to the heart of such a thing. We learn about other people’s relationships with God through our relationship with them. They share these experiences with us, because they trust us, and that trust is part of that sharing. One of the privileges that I have as a priest is that people are open to sharing these important things with me, though I have to say that all Christians should be places of safety and respect where people can express these truly beloved parts of their inner life.

My hope now is that, when I choose to play with my children for a few minutes before they go off to school instead of going into my room and closing my door to pray, I can play with them in the same way I pray – with all my cells turned to God’s love. That’s what all parents hope for, I think, and it’s my prayer for you this day (whether you are with your children, your grandchildren, another person, or simply going through the normal and various things in your day).