Praying into the storm
One of the most powerful ways to interact with creation is to go outside and pray. When I take enough time for this so that I run out of words and just have to stand there silently, God can sometimes get my attention in a memorable way. He can direct my eyes or ears to something around me, and he can fill that physical thing with meaning. It can become my own personal metaphor, something that can help me grasp a truth and remember it.
Our pastor pointed out that using something in creation, such as burning coals or bolts of lightning, as a metaphor for a life lesson or an aspect of God is something we see a lot in the writers of Psalms. One psalm chock full of metaphors is Psalm 18.
What happened on my retreat
I could give you many examples from my own life, but I’ll pick one story, a story I was thinking about yesterday.
It happened on a prayer retreat at a place called Sacred Heart Jesuit Retreat House. I go there once a year if possible and spend a couple of days reflecting on my work and praying through everything I’m doing. One year, perhaps fifteen years ago, I was facing a fair amount of conflict with coworkers. It was late autumn, so the air was crisp as I left the main buildings and headed out on a trail to a gazebo about a half mile away. This retreat center has a lot of property in the foothills of Colorado, and as I trudged out into it I felt intimidated at the painful, frustrating situations I planned to bring up with God.
At first I spent time repenting of my own part in the problems I faced. I remember getting down on my knees in the dry leaves. Then I also tried to pray for each person I worked with. As I did so, I tried to stop myself when I found myself praying for them to change. I wanted to just bless them. I took a lot of time with each person, trying to pray in every way I could think of. As I did so, I was pacing back and forth outside the gazebo and I became aware that the sky was getting darker and the wind was picking up. I kept praying as I noticed dark clouds forming in the north. The wind was blowing toward the south, so the clouds were heading for me. I considered leaving, because I knew it would take a while to cover the distance back to the retreat center, and I didn’t want to get caught in a downpour.
But I didn’t leave. I stayed because I sensed there was something about that weather that fit with what I was praying about.
I walked into the gazebo, and started praying about the conflict itself. The dark clouds filled the sky now and the light had almost disappeared. I faced the icy wind, and as I did so it felt like I was facing the whole mess of disagreements, accusations and broken relationships. As I thought of things to pray, I had to almost shout them into the wind. Rain started hitting me but I stayed, yelling out what I wanted God to do.
Lessons that stay with me
Ever since that afternoon, the act of praying into the storm has become my own personal metaphor. There are so many bad situations that come up that I want to avoid. Some of them are hard issues with people, like what I faced on my retreat that year. Some are less weighty but still annoying, like a weird noise my car is making. I want to just entertain myself and ignore the problem. But often this experience in prayer comes back to me. Along with the memory, the lesson comes to mind. Face it. Turn toward the storm, not away from it. Pray about it. Ask God for what you want.
That lesson happened because I prayed outside, and I gave my prayer an abundance of time. It doesn’t require a two-day retreat. I’ve had many significant experiences in prayer during my lunch hour in a grove of trees just down the hill from my house. In an earlier blog I mentioned how watching birds take baths now reminds me to enjoy the little things of life even if I face troubles. I could also tell you how the full moon reminds me that God is present even if I can’t see him. I suppose as I’m getting older I’m getting more forgetful, but fortunately in the prayer times out in creation God sometimes gives me lessons along with personal metaphors to help me remember.