The Power of Prayer
Why do we pray?
As a chaplain, I’ve observed that people pray for many reasons. Some seem to think prayer will protect them, or get them right with God, or solve their problems. Others pray as if out of habit. Then there are those for whom prayer seems to be sacred, a moment of true connection with something bigger, larger, grander than our own essence. Still others appear to experience grace and affection when they pray. Most of us pray for all these reasons at one time or another.
For most of my life, I didn’t pray. I never thought of it, really, not even when I started seminary. Later, as a chaplain on a detox unit, prayer was a minor part of my ministry.
Now, though, I’m a hospital chaplain. Every day, I offer prayers for successful surgeries, for healing and comfort, for peace, for an easy passing, for God’s presence, and God’s will. There are prayers of gratitude and supplication, expressions of grief raised to that which sees and hears all. Jewish Kabbalists believe prayer mends the fabric of the universe. Sometimes, I recite the Lord’s Prayer, or bring patients rosaries, or teach meditations. Stillness can be a kind of prayer, as can sound. Taize uses music to bring us into union with the divine, and gospel singing likewise connects us with the holy.
Just as there are many reasons to pray, so there are many ways to engage in the practice.
Praying for Happiness
It seems, however, that we pray primarily to find solace. By engaging in a ritual that connects us with worshipers around the world and into the past, by lifting our voice to the holy or laying our burdens at God’s feet, by honoring the gifts we receive, we feel comforted. Maybe it’s a superstition. Maybe it’s a childish yearning for someone who can fix the wrongs of the world. Either way, prayer can soothe our weary hearts, and most people appreciate that.
If it is solace and comfort we seek when we pray, then we could also say we pray because we want to be happy. Whether we’re trying to discover God’s will for us, or thanking the universe for keeping us alive through the night, or looking for the right word or phrase that will convince God to grant us our desire, we do this with the hope that, in this way, we might find happiness.
In our effort to be happy, we seek to influence God, such as by praying for material comforts or cures for cancer or a better relationship with our spouse. In more humble moments, we ask only for God’s will, or we praise God’s majesty and grace. Then we might feel happy because, through these prayers, we discovered an inner stillness, experienced self-compassion, lifted our hearts with gratitude. Prayer connects with that ungovernable force we name God, a force that could crush us with its breath, but is infinitely loving. That wild divinity can feel intimidating, but if we surrender ourselves to it, we might discover we are completely safe. Through this total trust in a being who loves and protects us, we find healing for our souls. We also find happiness, for that which is good for the soul, makes us happy.
We Just Want to Be Happy
According to Joan Chittister, surveys of people around the world reveal that how we define happiness has a lot to do with the society in which we live. People in Venezuela, for instance, value relationships over money, while the Finns consider health to be the key to happiness. Lithuanians, apparently, seek happiness in wealth, while in the United States, most people believe that getting along with their coworkers brings contentment. [1]
Then there’s the traditional American dream, the house, car, two children, and one dog. It’s not a bad life, and if we find a job to sustain it, a job we like, we might well be content, even happy, most of the time. If so, we’ll work hard to protect our happiness, because once we find it, we dare not lose it. This fear can tarnish our happiness, for it’s hard to be happy and anxious at the same time.
Also, not everyone is living the American dream, and, though some of us have acquired the outer trappings of it, unless we have the love and satisfaction that makes that dream worthwhile, we can end up suffering. In response, we might clamber over people’s backs to reach some career pinnacle, thinking that will make the difference; or drink ourselves to oblivion, fill our bodies with adrenaline through danger, gambling, or violence; or seek love or sex or the roar of the crowd.
Contentment
Regardless, we seem to know happiness when we feel it, even if the ways we try to find it don’t work very well. Rich men can be miserable, and sick ones full of joy. Material goods, prestige, and authority guarantee nothing. Sensual pleasures bring only momentary bliss, and addictions lead to despair. Even relationships don’t promise we’ll be happy. We can’t force happiness into our lives, and we can’t buy it. And maybe that’s part of the problem. We want to ensure that we’ll be happy. Much of what we do is done with some misguided idea that we can protect ourselves from suffering and loneliness.
Yet this strategy will backfire. When we can’t tolerate pain and misery, we often turn to addictions or obsessions. These don’t work. Eventually, our high fades. We fail ourselves and others. Then we are left cold, bitter, ashamed, and confused. After all, we can’t be happy all the time.
When I was a child, I asked one of my mother’s friends if she was happy. She was single, having gotten divorced before I was born, and had no children of her own. Yet she had the kind, calm gentleness, as well as the booming sense of humor, that I associated with happiness.
She didn’t think “happy” was the right word, however. “I’m content,” she said. “Happiness comes and goes. Contentment stays.”
Accepting Sadness
In the past, I have talked about joy as that thing that stays, that undercurrent of acceptance and connection that gives us a sense of peace, no matter what terrible things are going on at this moment. I think that’s what my mother’s friend was talking about. That undercurrent, that trust that all is well, even if we don’t have the fancy car or house or job or spouse, even if all we own and all we love are at risk. When we are content, we feel connected to life itself. This can bring us a deep and abiding awe. It can also leave us feeling tranquil. That, it seems to me, is happiness.
Yet happiness doesn’t last forever. All things ebb and flow, move and change. Nothing is permanent. When we try to cling to something, such as happiness, we lose it. Trapped within our fist, it withers and fades. To experience happiness, we must be willing to let it go. That means, we must be willing to be unhappy.
Most of the time, we try to bypass our pain. We think that if we’re connected enough to the flow of the universe, to the sacred or holy or divine, we can experience loss without suffering. When someone we love dies, for instance, we chant louder or pray harder. Christians might tell themselves that they shouldn’t be sad because they know there’s no such thing as death. Their loved ones live on in heaven, and they will be united one day. Practitioners of Eastern traditions might cling to living in the moment, as if grief were not part of that moment.
The measure of our sadness is the measure of our love. If we cannot face loss, happiness will elude us forever.
Letting Go of Happiness
So how do we relinquish our struggle for happiness? How do we allow ourselves to fall in love, over and over again, knowing that everything we cherish will fade, disappear, die? We, too, will die one day. Then we will lose everything. If we believe happiness is in the having of material goods and in the clinging to relationships, we will be reluctant to let those things go. How do we do it, anyway?
We engage in spiritual practices like prayer. We learn to bind our individual spirit with that universal one or still the clamor within. This is the peace that holds our discomfort and eases our longing. Chittister writes, “Happiness, whatever it is, has got to be what enables us to go through stress one more time in life.” [2] It is what holds us, what contains our sorrow, so that suffering can pass through us without destroying us.
Like a surfer, we may ride waves that toss us this way and that, and it might look easy, but it’s not. No matter how expert a surfer we are, there will be times when we feel tension in our shoulders, roiling in our stomachs, the nervous rush of adrenaline through our veins. When we crash, we will feel pain. At times, the suffering will threaten to drown us. Equanimity does not take these feelings away, yet it can make our misery less overwhelming.
Prayer Provides
When our practice is strong enough and our prayer deep enough, the calm of equanimity encircles us. The contentment of happiness cradles us. When we experience this deep peace, we will no longer feel alone as we face the pain of living. Our faith, the love of the life force, the sacred, the beautiful, will sustain us. This does not happen right away, and the strength of our pain will ebb and flow, but as we honor our suffering without trying to push it away, our misery will flow through us, lighten, even pass away. When we learn to let go of happiness, we also learn to let go of suffering.
This is the greatest power of prayer, that it allows everything within us to be possible, to be what it is, without judgment or the need to change it. Prayer gives us the strength to withstand the battering of the waves without dying inside or seeking someone to blame. By touching that which is sacred, whether it be a god or a stillness, we can tolerate what life brings.
This is the kind of prayer that says, “Your will be done.” It asks not for riches or favors or reprieves, but for the courage to accept what is. This goes against the American urge to do something, to be someone, to battle the elements and win. Not that these things are bad. Life is meant to be lived with passion and purpose. Yet doing and succeeding and coming out on top are not what bring us happiness. What makes us happy is the joy in being who we are and doing what fits with our true nature.
The Mystery Beyond Imagining
Most of us figure this out eventually, even if it’s only on our deathbed. Happiness cannot be bought, taken, or caught. It is found when we let it go.
Prayer is one way we learn to let go. By offering prayer to the holy, by sitting in stillness and watching what arises, we experience peace. In this peace, lies courage. Out of this courage, we learn to face the losses we fear. Through prayer and meditation, through a connection with the holy, we discover that our thoughts, no matter how tempting, have no substance of their own. Reality is deeper, kinder, larger, and more awe-inspiring than our sensations, our beliefs, our goals, even our hopes and dreams. All the emotions that make up a life, that flow through our day, the insidious beliefs that frighten and shame us, that trap us in our anger, fall away when we practice.
Like happiness, our thoughts, feelings, and desires come and go. When we allow pleasure and sorrow to flow through us, what remains is a contentment that shimmers like joy. We don’t get there by clinging to the things of this world, but rather by embracing our connection with the spirit, with that which lies beyond and within. That’s why we pray, to touch that stillness inside us that provides comfort, and to humble ourselves before the mystery that is greater than anything we can imagine. This is where find true succor. This is where happiness dwells.
In faith and fondness,
Barbara
Credits
- Chittister, Joan, Happiness, Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eardmans, 2011, 41.
- Ibid 44.
Photo by dusan jovic on Unsplash
Copyright © 2021 Barbara E. Stevens All Rights Reserved
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