Sung Eucharist and Matins, Christchurch Priory, 15 March 2020.
This was part of a series of sermons where the vicar asked those who regularly preach at the Priory to talk about their favourite prayer. The following week, we entered lockdown in the UK.
Exodus 17.1-7
Romans 5.1-11
John 4.5-42
Notice how at the end of the gospel reading we’ve just heard, the Samaritans ask Jesus to stick around. Which he does, for a couple of days. So more people get to meet him and hear what he has to say. And these other Samaritans then proceed to tell the woman who had originally told them about Jesus, “It is no longer because of what you said [about Jesus] that we believe, for we have heard for ourselves and we know that this is truly the Saviour of the world.’
They’d shifted from knowing about Jesus from what someone else had said to knowing Jesus for themselves.
And there’s all the difference in the world between the two. Between hearing someone else talk about knowing God and knowing God for yourself.
But I’ve found, and maybe this is true for you, too, that getting to know God for yourself is not quite as straight forward as some people make it out to be.
For example. About 15 years ago or so, I was at a service with about 50 people. It was a regular act of worship. Hymn sandwich kind of thing. Nothing fancy. But I found myself surrounded by people who were so obviously passionate for the Lord in their worship that I was really rather unsettled. Many had their arms raised in adoration as they were singing. Others were simply standing with their eyes shut, hands held out, praying intently as they swayed to the music.
And then there was me. Arms resolutely not leaving my side. I clearly remember looking around and thinking to myself, ‘Well, I know I believe in God. At least, I thought I did before this service began. But I sure as anything don’t get it like these people seem to.’ On the one hand, I felt as if I was missing out on something and on the other, I was wondering if there was something wrong with me.
You see, my experience up till then had been that when I prayed, for example, I didn’t hear anything. There was nothing. Just silence. No voice in my head other than my own, saying, OK, here you go, praying again, making time to be with God as you’ve learnt you meant to do and … nothing.’ I was like one of those grumbling Israelites. I was thirsty. I wanted to know where the water was.
Thankfully, a while later, I was given a lifeline which has changed everything for me ever since. And that lifeline was the prayer that you have printed in this week’s bulletin. It’s called the Jesus Prayer, and it’s a very simple prayer that many of you will know that’s been prayed for thousands of years. It goes like this ‘Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’ That’s the full version, but you can shorten it right down to just ‘Jesus, have mercy’ or even just, ‘Jesus’.
In and of themselves, the words of the prayer are profound. You could reflect on them for the rest of your life. But that’s not how I was shown to use the prayer primarily. No, the way I was shown has its roots in the tradition that goes back all the way via the Desert Fathers in the Egypt in the 3rd century and beyond them to Jesus himself. In this tradition, the teaching is that that it is in the interior silence that we encounter God. Understood this way, what I was experiencing as silence was in fact the overwhelming presence of God. What I experienced as darkness was in fact the blinding light of God.
Part of me, when I was introduced to this tradition of prayer, thought this was just a clever spin. It’s not the silence of nothing. It’s actually the silence of God. It just feels like the silence of nothing. Hmm. But the practice of prayer that I was shown was so simple—sit in silence, preferably in not too comfortable a chair (otherwise you fall asleep in a matter of minutes) and just be in the silence—so I thought, ok, I’ll give it a go.
Now, if you’ve ever tried to sit still in silence for any length of time, you’ll know that within seconds, and for my part, we’re talking nanoseconds, thoughts crash into your head that distract you completely. You find yourself thinking out of the blue of a holiday you went on when you were a child, an argument you had at work the day before, worries about a hospital appointment coming up, what you’re going to have for dinner, dinner, hmm, what did I have for dinner last night? Oh that’s right, fish & chips… Hang on—I’m meant to be praying!
In the silence, such thoughts are relentless. And that’s where the Jesus Prayer comes in. Every time you realise that your attention has been stolen, you simply say the Jesus Prayer. As you breathe in, in your mind you say ‘Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God’ and then as you breathe out, ‘have mercy on me, a sinner.’ And again, ‘Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’ In other words, you give your discursive mind–that’s the part that goes ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta with all these thoughts–you give it something to do. The tradition teaches that we’re always going to get distracted and so we simply give our minds something to attend to. And the beauty of the Jesus Prayer is that as we do, it’s like a constant act of interior repentance, as we redirect ourselves back to God in our hearts and minds.
And when you enter into this way of praying, over time the most extraordinary thing starts to happen. It doesn’t happen often but once in a while the silence remains silent but instead of being the silence of absence, it reveals itself to be the silence of presence. A silence which holds you and knows you and loves you It’s the silence of God. And then you go, hey, I’m experiencing God. Cool! And that thought, of course, is just another form of distraction. And so, what do you do? You do what you always do. You simply return to the prayer. As you breathe in, Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God, as you breathe out, have mercy on me, a sinner.
Over time, in the silence, you slowly find your relationship to these distractions begins to change. As a contemporary writer, Martin Laird, puts it, it’s as if we start to be able to look over the shoulder, as it were, of the thought that’s distracting us as we become aware of this vast silent stillness that knows us and loves us which surrounds us and which is both within us and beyond us. In the silence you find yourself with and in God.
And the question that the Israelites asked in the wilderness is answered. Is the LORD among us or not? Yes, the LORD is among us. In fact, no matter the circumstance we face, we are in the Lord. As St. Paul puts it, ‘the life you now have is hidden with Christ in God.’ (Col 3).
But, as I said at the beginning, there’s all the difference in the world between hearing someone like me talk about experiencing God, and experiencing God for yourself. So if you’ve ever been like me and found yourself looking around at other Christians thinking, I don’t seem to get it like them—is something wrong with me? If that’s ever been your experience, then please give this prayer a go and the practice that accompanies it. Find somewhere quiet to sit — remember, not too comfortable!—close your eyes, nice and relaxed, breathe in, breathe out, and when the distractions come, which they always do, simply say the Jesus Prayer: Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God, have mercy on me, a sinner.
Amen.