The Spiritual Dynamics of PrayerWhere Does Prayer Come From? Rabbi Mike Comins In my experience, and in observing others, discussions about prayer gravitate almost immediately to speculation about God. Does God exist? Does God "answer" prayer? Lately, I haven't been thinking about the great mystery to Whom I pray. I've been thinking about where I pray from. The former never gave good results, because thinking about God is often abstract and speculative. But thinking about the source of prayer within me has been fruitful, not because I remove God from the equation or take a narcissistic approach. Rather, I find that thinking about God does not connect me to God. But dwelling on the spiritual dynamics of prayer - focusing on how to create "God-moments" rather than dissecting "God-ideas" - helps to connect me to God on a regular basis. I start a prayer session with two deliberate moves. First, instead of jumping into prayer, I drop into my body. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, taking a bath in my own awareness. Where do I feel tense and agitated? I breathe into points of tension. Sometimes I discover that I already feel calm and relaxed. But usually it takes some time to get there. I try to get out of my own way, by letting go of my neurotic, thinking mind, so that I can listen to the stirrings of my heart without judgment or control. I try to create the space for truths to emerge that are usually covered by the busy routines of my life. Then I'm ready for step two: finding kavvanah by gathering my focus and setting an intention. I listen to my heart. What state is it in? I might get an idea of what I need, and set my intention to fill that need in the course of the prayers I'm about to pray. Sometimes I'm agitated, and I know I need peace. Here I am drawn to personal, spontaneous prayer, where I might express my frustrations and explore the causes of whatever is causing the agitation. Sometimes I'm sad, and I know that I need to attend to it. I don't set the intention of "don't worry, be happy." Occasionally, that may be the best response, but until I listen to why I'm sad, I don't know. Usually, it is more important for me to give my sadness space rather than to try to force it into something else. Sometimes I'm tired, and just need to unwind and get a reprieve from the tensions of work. I look for relaxation and uplift. I pray to feel the embrace of God. Sometimes I'm feeling good, and want to share it with prayers of praise and gratitude. Then I am likely to jump right into the liturgy, which excels in this area. And then I set a second intention: to leave my intention behind, and pray. My stated intention lingers in the background. In the foreground, I aspire to be a blank slate. (Sometimes I feel like a blank state to begin with, empty, not needing or wanting.) I want to let God and the siddur take me wherever we might go. My goal is to drop any expectations of what is supposed to happen and remain alert for what actually does happen. What insight might be triggered by a word of personal prayer or a line in the liturgy? I keep awareness on my body to see what feelings might be revealed. By understanding as best as possible where I am and where I need to be, I bring greater concentration and focus to my prayer. I address God with clarity, even when the address is nothing more than, here I am. More important, my prayer has already been answered. Open, receptive, and alert, I am feeling loved, called, and connected. I am in God's presence. Anything more is frosting on the cake. And if God does send something specific my way, in this state of heightened awareness, I just might hear it. © Copyright by Rabbi Mike Comins. You are welcome to reprint this article in your local newspaper, email list, Temple Bulletin or other communication if the following is appended: "This article is provided by the Making Prayer Real eJournal at RabbiMikeComins.com, where you will find outstanding resources on Jewish prayer."
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The Spiritual Dynamics of Prayerby Rabbi Mike Comins Prayer works quite differently for different people. Some pray to talk to God, others to listen for God. Others pray despite God. Some turn outward, others inward. Some like singing, others silence. Regular pray-ers learn what works for them. One person may spend some time in silence before opening the prayer book, another may stretch their muscles in a Yoga pose; a third might read a Torah commentary or a book on spirituality. Some people concentrate on the meanings of the Hebrew words; others may ignore the content and let the sounds, cadences and melodies of the prayers carry them forward. Some people pray every word of the liturgy; others might focus on a single line that jumps out at them; others close the prayer book and address God directly in their own words. Some do some of the above; others do most of the above. In my interviews for Making Prayer Real, I discovered that experienced pray-ers love the variety of prayer experience. They learn which techniques work best for them at different times. What should one do when one arrives at synagogue stressed? Which techniques work best when one needs to engage in introspection and do teshuvah? Which prayers command attention when one is outraged by injustice and suffering in the world? And when one takes the time to listen before speaking (or while speaking, or more likely, while singing or chanting a prayer) in order to discern the stirrings of the heart and which modality of prayer will best serve, another dynamic kicks in. The element of surprise! Often we hear the complaint: prayer is boring. We repeat the same words over and over. It is boring, if the words have no interaction with our hearts. But if we learn the art of connecting our yearning, aspirations, pain, gratitude, regrets and self-reflections to words of sprit—our own words or the words of the liturgy—we discover that repetition often helps rather than hinders. Generally speaking, the problem is not in the relevance of this or that part of the liturgy. Rather, most contemporary Jews lack the theory and the techniques for developing an inner life. That’s a topic for another article. But once a person learns the skills of a fruitful inner dialogue, the liturgy is like the score for the musician or the script for the actor, and personal prayer is like a paintbrush for the painter or a pen for the writer. Prayer is the heart’s enabler. In liturgical prayer, each reading is a performance, and each performance is an adventure. The score or the script does not change. But what the artist brings to the rehearsal is different every time. Thus, the performance is different every time. And often unexpected and surprising. But we are unaware, if we do not take the time and develop the skill to notice the changes within ourselves. Such discernment is straightforward mindfulness—paying attention to what is really happening in our hearts, rather than thinking of the next activity, or praying with a pre-conceived notion of what should or ought to be happening. When we discern the nuances in ourselves, we discern the nuances of prayer. Seeking to articulate and understand its own yearning, the heart speaks words to God (or divinity or the universe) by saying its own arrangement of the inherited, spiritual vocabulary or by reciting the words of the liturgy. Either way, when prayer is true, the words mirror our inner being; our inner being mirrors prayer. In this dialogue with the heart, prayer gives spirit voice; we discover ourselves through speaking to the Holy One. And sometimes—startled, humbled and awestruck—we realize that the Holy One has discovered us. © Copyright by Rabbi Mike Comins. You are welcome to reprint this article in your local newspaper, email list, Temple Bulletin or other communication if the following is appended: "This article is provided by the Making Prayer Real eJournal at RabbiMikeComins.com, where you will find outstanding resources on Jewish prayer." From the SourcesRabbi Mike Comins on the TalmudR. Elazar said: Always let a man test himself: if he can direct his heart, let him pray; if he cannot, let him not pray.
Talmud Bavli, Berachot 30b If a man is riding on an ass [and the time for prayer comes], if there is anyone who can hold his ass, let him get off and pray; but if not, let him remain on the ass and pray. Rabbi said: In either case let him remain on the ass and pray; the only important thing is that his heart should be directed. Tosefta Berachot III, 18 In the great debate over whether praying according to one's obligation (keva) trumps praying according to one's ability to concentrate, focus and emote (kavanah), here we see those who favor kavanah. Note that neither Rabbi nor R. Elazar advocate disregarding one’s prescribed, halachic duty to pray the liturgy at certain times. Rather, to keep that obligation, one cannot parrot the words. The message seems clear to me. God wants the heart. Rabbi Mike Comins Quoted from: A Rabbinic Anthology C. G. Montefiore and H. Loewe New York: Schocken Books, 1974 p. 347 Rabbi Mike Comins on the TalmudRav said: Whoever has it in his power to pray on behalf of his neighbor, and fails to do so, is called a sinner.
Talmud Bavli, Berachot 12b If there is one thing that characterizes Jewish prayer, it is the emphasis on praying as a community, both across time and across space. Whether the constant use of second person, “we” language in our prayer book’s petitions, or the insistence on daily prayer in a minyan, the context of Jewish prayer is communal. So much so that even when davenning alone on top of a mountain, one does not pray in a vacuum. Even my personal, unscripted prayers emerge within the deep sea of my People’s yearning. In this statement from the third century, Babylonian rabbi Rav, the communal context receives philosophical articulation and is taken to the next level. To pray only for oneself is worse than not praying at all. Surrender and humility are essential moves in spiritual life. But the way to submit to God is not always to focus directly on God, something particularly difficult for those who do not share the traditional take on a personal God. One important way to serve God, Rav reminds us, is to serve others. Rabbi Mike Comins Quoted from: A Rabbinic Anthology C. G. Montefiore and H. Loewe New York: Schocken Books, 1974, p. 351 |
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