For awhile after moving to New Mexico I took part in a weekly gathering of similar-minded pilgrims for what is called morning prayer in that mainstream Christian tradition. The ritual followed prescribed prayers and readings from the scriptures. It was a quiet, formal experience in a beautiful setting behind the altar rail of the church sanctuary that afforded a view through a large glass expanse east to the mountains. At times it felt what I then understood to be holy.

In time I found myself in a very different setting with a group of similar-minded pilgrims. We met in an essentially functional room off the small kitchen of that place devoted to one’s spiritual journey. For someone who had for many years become accustomed to kneeling and bowing and processing and recessing, it was a distinct change—at least on the surface.

What comes to mind at this very moment is something from the scriptures—“heal thyself”. I had to look it up. “Then he said, ‘You will undoubtedly quote me this proverb: ‘Physician, heal yourself’—meaning, ‘Do miracles here in your hometown like those you did in Capernaum.’” (from the Gospel of Luke, 4:23). The source goes on to explain that the “moral of the proverb is counsel to attend to one's own defects rather than criticizing defects in others”. (from Wikipedia)

Now what this has to do with contemplation and prayer, I am not sure. It’s just where Richard Rohr’s meditation has taken me today. He says, “Unfortunately, in the West prayer became something functional; something you did to achieve a desired effect—which puts you back in charge. As soon as you make prayer a way to get something, you’re not moving into a new state of consciousness. It's the same old consciousness. “How can I get God to do what I want God to do?” It's the egocentric self still deciding what it needs, but now often trying to manipulate God too.”

As part of the weekly gathering in the functional room off the kitchen that became my habit for the better part of a year, we had an opportunity to say intentions for ourselves—68 seconds, a mighty long time. Some people, any one of us on any given day, were effectively lost for words. The advice of our spiritual guide—simply say “God is my source”. Say it over and over and over until something else comes to mind. If nothing else comes to mind, what more is there to say. God is my source.

Years ago I said to the minister (lay vicar by definition) of the mission church I attended in rural east Texas that my praying was kind of atypical. I don’t recall my exact words, but maybe the word “weird” was even part of what I said to him. I do recall his comment—”that doesn’t surprise me”. I didn’t ask him what he meant, but I did go on to think about my prayer habits. What I thought at the time now seems silly and naive. Some say that every thought is a prayer. Some prayers are elaborate, some simple—at least in terms of the words that make up the prayer. What seems especially real and true on this day is what Richard Rohr points out in his meditation: it’s not about getting God to do what I want God to do.

God is my source.