I tried this week, guys, I really did. Here’s a little behind-the-scenes snapshot for you: my plan was to start praying regularly using the Book of Common Prayer as a guide and report back on whether it made a difference in my spiritual life. But I. could. not. do. it.
I read the introduction, alright. (The history was fascinating!) I researched recommendations on how to use the BoCP, and prayed the weekly collect. When my eight-year-old developed a cough that sounded kind of like croup, I prayed the very specific “Prayer for a Sick Child” over him while he did a pajama-clad, fist pumping dance around the kitchen. But try as I might, I couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. His recovery seemed to have more to do with cough medicine and rest than divine intervention.
Prayer is so weird. Why do people talk to their gods? Do we think we can change their minds? Do we believe that our prayer makes a difference, and if so, what sort of difference? Is prayer merely for human benefit—reminding ourselves that we are not masters of the universe? And is it meant to be as unpleasant and annoying as mindfulness?
Growing up Evangelical, prayer was very prescriptive. From childhood on, I learned formulas for prayer, such as PRAY: Praise, Repent, Ask, Yield to God’s will. Well-meaning adults reminded us kids often not to spend the whole time nagging God to give us stuff. “God isn’t Santa Claus,” they’d say, then they’d thank God for a good parking spot or their team’s football victory.
In adolescence, I was told that it was important to wake up half an hour early to spend that time reading the Bible and praying. It was a tough sell to a night owl who had to leave for school before dawn, but I set my alarm for 5:30 and tried not to fall back asleep, because Quiet Time was what good Christians did. Nevermind that prayer in church often felt more like a performance or a covert way to share gossip. And don’t get me started on the mysterious allure of those who would simply declare they had an “unspoken” prayer request!
Not all my prayers were born from obligation. Adolescence was also when my depression and anxiety symptoms onset. Without access to mental health care and feeling like sharing secrets about my family members’ addiction was tantamount to betrayal, I turned to God. And in my desperation, I felt comforted. My pain was immense, but through it all, I had faith that it would pass.
Somewhere in adulthood, I lost this reliance on God. Now when I am suffering, I have faith in my support network and in my ability to advocate for myself. But I can’t really believe in a god who intervenes due to prayers anymore. When I view the scale of human suffering and its uneven distribution, I can’t square that with an idea that God chooses some prayers to answer and some to ignore. It feels deeply unjust.
Maybe losing this reliance on God is just part of growing up and facing reality. My life is infinitely better than when I was that desperate teenager, but even so, I can still miss that spiritual connection. The comfort I felt was like an acknowledgement of my pain at a cosmic level—like God knew I was suffering and that it was all part of some grand plan. Now my pain feels ordinary, just another annoying part of being alive. Praying about it feels rather pointless.
But even as my beliefs around my own significance and God’s intervention have shifted, evidence seems to mount on the mind-body connection. As science explores the connection mind and body, prayer, mindfulness, and gratitude practices have entered the zeitgeist as key practices to improve one’s health, reduce stress, and increase feelings of well-being.
Prayer just feels like one of those things you “should” do, and especially something to teach your kids, and yet, I find myself resisting it at every turn.
Maybe it’s time to give up these prescriptions and embrace a fuller definition of prayer. If prayer formulas feel onerous, what about setting an intention for the day? What about using mindfulness to tune into the “higher” parts of ourselves and question the voice of our inner critic? Personally, I would love to tune into my intuition more. Honesty is also a big priority—honesty with myself, honesty with others, and (though it still feels dangerous) honesty with God. Maybe even an expletive-laced rant can be considered prayer? At least that’s what I tell myself after I whisper “oh my fucking God” as my pasta boils over, my kids are wrestling in the living room, and I step on my cat.
Do you pray? If so, what counts as prayer to you? What kinds of prayer feed your soul, and what kinds of prayer do you do out of obligation? How much side-eye would your grandmother give you if you started Thanksgiving Dinner without a “proper” prayer? Chime in in the comments so we can learn from each other.
And if you have a friend who finds church prayers annoying and performative, why not share this post with them?
Can you understand the implications of "trying" and I find the term "Apostate" somewhat bias based in its origins and (ab)use.The concept of prayer,at least in this case,is null.At times I've turned thoughts over to the whatever you'd like to call it and received back sage wisdom but it required more being willing to listen than anything else. Kinda as if the answer was always there,I just had to tweak my attitude to receive it.
Prayer is a strange confusing thing. I'm not sure what to expect for reasons others have mentioned- disturbing world events and my own privilege. I practice centering prayer which is mindfulness really but orientated in your mind towards a loving divine presence. I pray for others but am quicker to think- can I do something?