Good to be here!

...He took Peter, John and James with him and went up onto a mountain to pray. As he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became as bright as a flash of lightning. Two men, Moses and Elijah, appeared in glorious splendor, talking with Jesus. They spoke about his departure, which he was about to bring to fulfillment at Jerusalem. Peter and his companions were very sleepy, but when they became fully awake, they saw his glory and the two men standing with him. As the men were leaving Jesus, Peter said to him, "Master, it is good for us to be here. Let us put up three shelters—one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah." (He did not know what he was saying.)
While he was speaking, a cloud appeared and enveloped them, and they were afraid as they entered the cloud. A voice came from the cloud, saying, "This is my Son, whom I have chosen; listen to him." When the voice had spoken, they found that Jesus was alone. The disciples kept this to themselves, and told no one at that time what they had seen. Luke 9:28-36

Have you ever really listened to yourself pray? Therapists call this awareness process "spectatoring" or "reflexivity." Our prayers offer insight into what we think of God, ourselves, the process of prayer, and a great many other things. What we say to God, or to ourselves--how we say it--these things are immensely important to take a moment and think about.

In the scripture passage above, Peter started in speaking before he had taken adequate time to prepare his heart before God or to consider what he was viewing. The Bible cryptically states, "he did not know what he was saying." In response to his inane comment, God's voice could be heard saying in essence, "Listen and pay attention to the One I have chosen." And all the glory faded.

I was thinking about this today as I sat in my recliner, poised to start my morning prayer time. A whole bunch of hackneyed, platitudinous comments came out of my mouth before I'd even stopped to think about Whom I was addressing. I had not silenced my soul or given myself a moment to conjure up an image of Christ and the inexpressible love and warmth on His face as He sat on the couch across from me, listening. "Oh Lord, thank you for a new day." The prayer began in the reverse pyramid style of writers: most important things last and introductory comments first. The "ping" comes at the end.

My prayer had no ping to it and I quickly lost interest in what I was saying. My mind wandered to what I wanted to do with my day off; whether or not I should check in with Mother in the morning or afternoon; when I should cut up the ripening peaches and bake a cobbler out of it; if my eyes are healed enough to wear makeup yet; whether or not I should go over to the office and enter data or pretend that nothing exists except leisure and quiet and sleep. Out of the midst of these swirling thoughts, it dawned on me that I was supposed to be praying.

"Please bless Dawn and Roy and Jerry, and remember Sheila and her son Manny, and my friends Betty, Gillian, and Etta and ..." It was all rote.
"It is good to be here. Let us make three shelters..." I had not entered into what I was saying and was just like Peter--shooting off onto a verbal tear before I considered what was happening or Whom I was addressing.

There are lots of prayers like this in church, especially if the service is televised or recorded. People sometimes read prayers--some are beautifully crafted and meaningful and others are trite, silly things that seem a sacrilege. Other prayers sound as though the speaker likes the sound of their own voice more than what they are saying--their prayers are full of aliteration and whimsical imagery. Some prayers are full of groveling "Worm Theology," reminding the congregants that they are miserable sinners in the sight of God. Other prayers are full of passive aggressive commentary that the supplicant doesn't seem to be able to say to the face of those whom he wishes to really hear it: "And we know, Lord, that if we are truly following in your footsteps, we will not have squabbling and backbiting in our midst when we do not receive what we think we ought." That was aimed straight at a church member whose leadership role was not renewed by the nominating committee and who had raised a stink about it.

We say all sorts of things to God in prayer that wouldn't hold the interest of any but a babbling, preverbal child, mostly because we do not stop to consider the circumstances that allow us to address God.

Reflecting on this in my armchair this morning, I recalled a time at an international training institute, I once went round and round with a Danish Lutheran pastor about using Gestalt therapy. None of the founders of this approach had any belief in the hereafter, God, or anything spiritual that resonated with me. How could a pastor use an approach that emphasizes self-awareness and reflexivity, focus on what is right for oneself (to the exclusion of the good of others, or morality itself), and feelings--that can be capricious and predicated on anything at all--how could a pastor use these ideas with churched people?

His answer has had considerable impact on my approach to life, therapy, and God. In essence, he explained how he would discuss the concerns his clients brought in. Then he would ask if the client had spoken to God about it. Most of the time, the client hadn't--affairs, anger at children or parents, drug use--these things were not what they would want God to associate with them. So my friend would move an empty chair into view from the corner of his office and say to the client, "Here's God. Would you like to talk about it to Him now?" Clients would finally have God out in the open where they could get to Him. They would cry, shout, plead, confess. It was a most powerful intervention, one that often shed light on the presenting problems as nothing else could.

I was sold.

It has only been recently that I've been able to make the connection of Gestalt therapy to prayer--my prayers. Martin Buber was a religious philosopher whose theory found its way into Gestalt therapy. It goes like this: we have two main ways of relating. One is called I-Thou and the other, I-It. When we truly connect with another individual, see their soul, take the time to hear them and be clear with them that we see them and want to be connected to them, we are two clearly distinct entities. I and Thou. In fact, Buber wrote a book by that title. I-Thou takes time. But being I-Thou with a child calls forth comments like, "Mom! She talks to me like I'm real!"

This kind of connection is not necessary with objects, and is actually a sign of pathology if we try to embody it in relationships with things--the I-It. Me and a thing. When my sleeve gets caught on the stair bannister, I shout out, "Oh, come on!" and storm down the rest of the stairs. I do not pause to gaze at it and be sure that I am truly seeing and connecting with it. When I close the curtains, I do not try to savor the texture of them or become one with them (this is the stuff of comedy!). I just interact with the curtains as though they are a thing without a personality or character. But there's not a one of us who wants to be on the receiving end of an I-It encounter. When we are, we angrily call Customer Service in a huff and register complaints about how insulted we are about being treated in impersonal ways.

I think that we as Christians too often think of God as a great heavenly Thing. We often address Him as though we are in that I-It type of relationship. We forget that He is a One, not a Thing. There is not always time taken to connect with God, to treat Him as though He is real, present, or interested in connecting with us. In the Bible verses above, Peter's response was I-It. God corrected this by saying, "Listen to my Son," thus encouraging an I-Thou connection.

It's ironic that I have taught Gestalt therapy and the I-Thou skills for years, yet my prayers are so often I-It in nature: rushed, rote, irrelevant. When I was single, I took much more time conversing with God and waiting in His presence, quietly. I used to envision myself kneeling at His feet, leaning on His lap. It was the most comforting thing I knew and those prayers were powerful and soul filling. I have had two such instances in which I was sure that should I open my eyes, God would be sitting there looking at me. I left those moments with an unusual richness of trust and peace.

I-Thou.
Our friends, clients, and families need it.
God deserves it.
And we cannot survive spiritually without it.

But from there you will seek the LORD your God, and you will find Him if you search for Him with all your heart and all your soul. Deuteronomy 4:29