Rediscovering Prayer as a First Act

Day 8

It was Worldwide Communion Sunday, so it’s only right that we attended worship this morning in another part of the world — except for the fact that we weren’t included in communion. We took our places in one of the pews of the Church of St. Laurence — San Lorenzo — here in Spello. I found myself having the same experience that members of my congregations have had throughout my ministry: I didn’t have a clue what the priest was saying. Never mind; the visceral participation made up for our lack of a cognizant one. We “felt” what was transpiring even if we couldn’t translate it. The choir sang, the organ played, the congregation rose and sat, recited and responded. And we passed the peace. We understood enough just by the conduct of it all and the augmenting beauty of the church and the warmth of the liturgy that we truly felt like we had worshipped.

Plus, we had help. Our friends whispered condensed translations along the way.

Later this week, unbeknownst to us until this morning, is the Feast of St. Francis. Here, just a few miles from Francis’ home in Assisi, there is a Franciscan monastery at the top of the hill. The Priest from that community was the guest Celebrant, leading the service with fervor, warmth, and grace; presiding over the Eucharist, and preaching. It was truly and movingly beautiful. He spoke engagingly about the twin priorities of prayerful action — a faithful movement in precisely that order. Not, he clarified, our usual knee-jerking propensity for reacting, but rather praying, first, and then acting. Prayer first, followed by purposeful movement.

It took me back to our wedding 20 years ago last week which we are here, in part, celebrating. Convened in the beautiful garden of friends, accompanied by flute and harp, my father called us to worship, led us in a reflection on the character of love, and walked us responsively through our vows and exchange of rings. We reached a point, however, when Lori worried we had gotten off-track. “Isn’t this the time for the kiss?” she whisperingly inquired of my Dad.

“Not yet,” he gently responded. “First we are going to pray.”

The Franciscan this morning would, I believe, concur. Regardless of the question, the answer is, “First we are going to pray.”

There is a patience in that wisdom; a willingness — or at least a determination — to wait for clarity and discernment and divine wisdom. Action is less important than wisdom which rarely if ever comes instantaneously. There is, as was manifest in the Priest’s own bearing, a humility that does not presume.

Unfortunately we were, before the benediction, presented with its antithesis. As the beautiful service drew to a graceful conclusion, the host Priest, who had spent the better part of the service walking obtrusively from one side of the sanctuary to the other — this, after arriving conspicuously late — interrupted the flow and inserted himself into the moment. He made what appeared to be a series of announcements and then continued on — quite pompously we thought — with his own impromptu homily seemingly intended to eliminate any doubt as to who was really in charge. The liturgical strong-arming completely sucked the air and any vitality out of the room; garishly hijacking the spotlight and derailing the spirit of the message and the moment. It was an appalling abrogation.  I'm sure he is a nice guy and a faithful pastor to his people, but this was not his finest hour.  He should have listened more attentively to the Franciscan.

Later, back on the street outside the church, we opted to purge the interruptive stain, cleanse the polluting power play, and hold to ourselves the guest’s more generous message and example: patiently, humbly pray, and by the prayer’s clarifying nudge — and only then — act.

On this Worldwide Communion Sunday we may have been denied the literal loaf and cup, but in every other way we communed.

We pray that we take that wise direction to heart.