“And she went home, and found the child lying in bed, and the demon gone.” (Mark 7:30).
I have been thinking about prayer. Prayer is a strange and broad concept. It means so many different things to so many different people.
In essence, prayer is a conversation with God. And as such, it is the loving caress of the Beloved on our soul. The love of God is infinite and unimaginable. Saint Faustina described having to almost do herself violence to stay alive after seeing the love and perfection of Heaven. And I have been reflecting on that today, because I believe that if we really understood prayer we would pray unceasingly as the Angels and the Saints in Heaven do.
Saint Josemaria once said that the biggest problem of the world today is that “few people pray, and those who pray… pray little.” Saint Mary Magdalen de Pazzi said that when we pray, we “ought to be humble, fervent, resigned, persevering, and accompanied with great reverence. One should consider that he stands in the presence of a God, and speaks with a Lord before whom the angels tremble from awe and fear.” And I have been reflecting on that too. Because it seems that I do not tremble very much when I pray.
And yet, there was a woman in the Gospel who prayed and prayed loudly… “A woman, whose little daughter was possessed by an unclean spirit, heard of him, and came and fell down at his feet. Now the woman was a Greek, a Syrophoenician by birth. And she begged him to cast the demon out of her daughter… ‘you may go your way; the demon has left your daughter.’ And she went home, and found the child lying in bed, and the demon gone.” (Mark 7:24-30).
That woman prayed without embarrassment or shame. She approached God Himself. She asked for what she wanted. And she did it in a public place. Just imagine how embarrassed she would have been. Imagine the people looking at her and listening to the things she was saying about her own daughter. I can see those people stepping away from her slightly as though whatever was happening with her daughter was catching. I can imagine her neighbours gossiping about her in the coming days. I can imagine the judgement in their tone, the ways that they would criticise her parenting and her gall in approaching a strange man and publicly airing her dirty laundry – so to speak…
And as I imagine that, I can also imagine the little push that she needed to give. I can imagine that she trembled a little before she called out – but desperate people tremble and call out anyway. I can imagine that she felt that this was her last chance and without a call to God Himself – however human He appeared to her at that time – she would not be able to do anything. And I can imagine her push – to herself – to call out to God.
And thinking about that today, I think I need to tremble a little more and push on anyway… For that is how one should pray!
For with prayer, I stand on Holy Ground where everything is clear. Here. At the Foot of the Cross.