prayer

Wendy Cadge asks, What happens to religion when hospitals, many of them founded by religious groups, are secularized or otherwise constrained to serve patients beyond their founding communities?

In the pristine white glare of the airport corridor, the linoleum became my prayer rug. But my solitude was short lived.

Deo gratias. That’s what the sign in my office says. It’s not fancy, just two words laser-printed on office paper and tacked up over the computer monitor so I can read it dozens of times a day. 

The phrase—which means “Thanks be to God”—is the traditional Benedictine greeting that monks offer visitors.

The answer that comes out of a tornado is not the kind of answer we want.

When I cling to anxieties or resentments, my whole body is like a clenched fist. Contemplative prayer requires unclenching it.

I see the monastery sign and drive past. I know two monks there, and I've been grabbing at every possible lead. But I'm too ashamed to turn in.

How did evangelicals develop their belief in an invisible God? T. M. Luhrmann argues that they created a space in their imagination.

It turns out Louie Giglio won’t be giving the benediction at Obama’s second inauguration. Who will?

Jack Jenkins is right: Minerva Carcaño, Otis Moss, Gary Hall and Brian McLaren are all fine options. Joanna Brooks is right, too: so are Pratima Dharm, Sharon Braus, Sanaa Nadim, Anapesi Kali and Valarie Kaur. Ed Kilgore suggests his own pastor, who’s related to Ron and Rand Paul. Sounds okay, too.

I work remotely, out of my home office. As such I am dependent on the smooth and ready operation of computer equipment. Recently I encountered some hitches.

Prayer is not a violation of the laws of nature. It's woven into God's ongoing act of creation, as fully as the tides.

Sister Carol Bernice told me once that when she milks the cows she whispers "Yah-weh" as she alternates hands milking the teats.

“Silence gives me freedom in both real time and psychic time. When I talk less, I see more. And silence gives me time to pray.”

“There is the danger of protecting ourselves from God by striving to be passive. The ‘I’ is very active in its attempt to surrender.”

Just as I’ve come to appreciate how seasons transform the land, I’ve also become aware of my internal landscape. The two seem bound together in many ways.

Prayer is not something we do first and foremost on our own. We pray with other Christians.

Just as an injured athlete needs to take a break, my friends needed to take some time to rest. And like the paralytic at Capernaum, they could depend on others' faith and not just their own.

We're all perpetually longing for love. Fortunate are those who realize early that another human being can't meet this unrequitable need. Even more fortunate are men and women of prayer who realize that peace comes by embracing the longing itself.

I have never felt comfortable praying. I almost feel I should put the word in quotes, as I'm never quite sure that what I do deserves the name.

Prayers linger in choir stalls, soak into walls. Centuries of prayer can make you feel buoyant in medieval European cathedrals. Gratitude settles over you like a benediction within busy urban shrines.