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The Ways We Pray project seeks to share and exchange ideas and practices for prayerful presence between people, communities and churches across the globe who are seeking to live, to pray and to go with Jesus, with each other, to the edges.

by Ian Adams, Mission Spirituality Adviser

In God’s grace we have just published our 50th post, and we continue to invite more contributions. The invitation is to send in a photo depicting how we pray, with a few words of text, which can be shared in a harmonised format, initially in the growing Presence WhatsApp group, then more widely through CMS media, encouraging prayerful presence.

What are we learning through The Ways We Pray?

We love to pray alone. There’s something essential about the willingness to be in prayerful solitude, this practice of Jesus finding echo and response in us.

But we are also drawn to pray with others, and recognise the gift and power of communal prayer.

We are drawn into prayerful presence in recognisably religious places – churches, chapels and cathedrals. These much prayed-in places seem to re-arrange us, opening us up to the possibility of divine encounter.

It will come as no surprise that attentive reading of scripture continues to be a particularly important way into prayer. 

Loving attention to the natural world – the great text of God’s creation – seems to be another vital entrance – a kind of narthex¹ – into prayerful presence for many, settling our anxieties, and lifting us into praise and thanksgiving to the Creator God. Being close to, on, or even in open water seems to bring us into prayerful presence in a particularly profound way.

If beauty can inspire prayer so too, we are discovering, can the dust and disturbance – the broken things – that lie all around us. Through attention to that brokenness we are finding  ourselves more readily praying from our own brokenness, and into that of our world.

Stillness, quiet and silence are experienced as vital elements in the journey into prayerful presence.

So too are physical movements and stances. Swimming, body prayer and the making, walking and praying of labyrinths are all experienced as practices of prayerful presence.

These are still early days for The Ways We Pray project – and we know that there will be much more to discover together on journey into prayerful presence.

1. In the context of church buildings, the narthex is seen as the entrance, porch, vestibule or gathering place in and through which the people journey into the church proper. ︎

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We pray. It doesn’t matter how or when – there’s no set prayer book. But a life of pioneering mission is fueled by prayer. We draw on the riches of others to inspire our prayer – the world church, our own traditions, religious communities. And we write and create our own to express our particular longings. We depend on God. We grieve for what is broken. We hope for what can be.

When I reflected on the wonderful gift that pioneers bring I wrote that up as True North with nine facets. One of them is prayer and the words above are what I wrote at that time which I still like. I am not sure what constitutes prayer for you but for me it is a whole mix of things. I am a spontaneous rather than routine person so I like to mix things up. I like variety. Part of that mix is certainly using art, images, music and so on to reflect, as well as contemplative practices, written prayers, liturgy and having informal conversation with God, walking, silence, retreat.

Maybe it is the state of the world at the moment, maybe it is that I have become more aware of privilege and whiteness, maybe it’s the experience of how broken Britain seems, but I especially appreciate what I would call praying from the edges, or praying from below. I realise that the language of centre and edges is not straightforward: who gets to decide what is centre and what is edge? But hopefully it will do for now. It fits well with how we are trying to reflect on what we are about at CMS.

The best possible way to do that is to be with people when they pray and feel the longings of those prayers. There are plenty of communities in the UK to be with who are at the edge in that way. Reading the Magnificat with cleaners from Clean For Good has lingered in my imagination for a few months now since I was with them in December for evening prayer for example. Somehow the words carried a different meaning or resonance when prayed with them.

The best resource CMS have ever been involved in producing, or certainly the most popular and best known, is called The Christ We Share (sorry it’s no longer available). It’s a collection of 32 images of Christ which are representations from cultures all round the world. They include the classic American-looking Jesus from the 50s or Robert Powell from the series Jesus of Nazareth, which I remember being on television when I was a teenager. But those are alongside African, Asian, South American, First Nations representations. There is a set of notes which gives some context to each image. I have always loved it and used it with many groups. What it does is to help you see that your own image is a take from where you are standing, rather than the take. And you quickly realise that you are going to have a richer picture if you have those multiple representations, some of which are quite different and quite disrupting in their own way. It’s a kind of expanding of horizons, drawing the curtains back so you have a bigger view. I think this is all the more important or helpful if your own take has been at the centre of things. When that is the case as it has been for those of us who are white and Western being de-centred is a necessary practice. 

Probably the first window that opened that up to me was praying with women or through women’s eyes. I remember for example Hannah Ward and Jennifer Wild’s Human Rites which was a huge collection and had prayers for example for the first menstruation of a girl. Another collection I loved and still turn to is The New Women Included which is a collection from the Community of St Hilda. This was founded in 1987 by women exasperated by the sexism in the church. One if the things they used to do before the ordination of women in the Church of England was to invite ordained women from other places in the world who could lead. This was in the wake of synod voting against this, so was highly subversive and got them thrown out of at least one venue by the then Bishop of London. I also love Janet Morley’s various collections of prayers which seem to combine that women’s perspective mixed with prayers from an experience of poverty. I recognise some of her writing in the Hilda collection actually. Tess Ward’s Celtic Wheel of the Year is another I have used quite a lot. You can pick these books up online secondhand very cheaply. 

I have enthused about Claudio Carvalhaes’ project Liturgies From Below before – that is the most amazing collection of prayers from various places round the world. They are full of thanks, rage, lament, longing, despair, defiance – quite extraordinary really. Reimagining worship has some in the resources section.

In the wake of George Floyd’s murder I was amazed how little the prayers and liturgy of the Church of England had to say to that experience. This may just have been my own experience – and, yes, they always include psalms and intercessions – but I was looking for something much deeper, that connected with this terrible experience of oppression, racism, and violence, to grieve, to lament. In the end I had to look elsewhere and it was Gilles Peterson on his BBC Radio 6 Music show who voiced the grief, pain and anger through black protest, blues, reggae and soul music. It wasn’t where I expected to find the ability to pray or to find comfort but I was really grateful to him.

I recently was given Black Liturgies by Cole Arthur Riley. She is North American and reading her prayers and participating in her exercises gives you a sense of what it is like to pray as a black woman in America. She is a very gifted writer.

When I visited Canada last year and indeed before and after I have been exploring, reading and discovering theology and contextual practice among First Nations people. One of the things I discovered in Harold Johnson’s The Power Of Story is that at the end of prayer many First Nations people will say ‘all my relations’. It’s sort of like an amen. I found that a beautiful practice and often end my prayer now with that reminder of gratefulness for my connectedness with the Creator, all people, all creatures, the earth itself. 

One of the most surprising prayers I came across in the last few years goes something like this:

Jesus is my bulldozer Amen! Bulldoze my case O Lord! Amen! He’s my bulldozer, Amen! Bulldoze the lawyer O Lord! Amen! He’s my bulldozer! Amen! Bulldoze the judge O Lord! Amen! Jesus is my bulldozer!

It sounds slightly bonkers at first but when you realise it is a song sung by prisoners who experience a corrupt justice system it makes sense. If you google it you’ll find it out there with various versions. That is in the book Theology Brewed In An African Pot – a gem of a book which has prayers and liturgies at the end of each chapter. 

As for many others, Gaza and the West Bank has been on my mind and in my prayers longing for an end to the violence, brutality and genocide. Amos Trust’s collections Words of Hope and Seeds of Hope are really well put together and are a mix of quotes, prayers, poems arranged into themes like protest, home, hope. Both books then have some liturgies called words of hope that draw things together. The sources are many and varied but Amos Trust has stood in solidarity with Palestinians for many years so there are some prayers for peace and justice that connect well particularly with that context

I could go on.… but hopefully you get the idea. I should add that there is a kind of praying from the edges that frustrates me. An example for me was when I visited India and in the prayers and worship I felt on one occasion I could have been in a Church of England cathedral and on another I could have been at a Hillsongs Church. It’s understandable that with globalisation there are these circulations and exchanges but I find them to be of very little interest. It’s always good to seek out those prayers that have a soulful articulation that is connected to the soil of a place and draws on language, metaphors and imagery from there.

I am so grateful to alternative worship which in many ways opened up this vista to me, both becoming aware of different articulations that might draw on other cultures, but also encouraging that same adventure of the imagination to connect with the cultures we are in. I still long for more of that kind of practice. In my view the way the Church of England controls its liturgies creates a church where that can be pretty difficult to do, especially for example in relation to communion, and needs breaking open very differently. Leaders of worship should be freed up to improvise much more creatively. But a good start is praying from the edges and then perhaps move on to write your own in defiance of empire.

I would love to know what praying from the edges looks like for you. Are there prayers, liturgies, art, music or whatever you use? Do let me know.

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We live in a time of increasing divisions and polarities, fear and anger. 

So this Lent comes to us with a particularly weighty task: how to allow the examination of self that is encouraged by the season to re-shape us – that we might, in God’s grace and in small ways, participate in God’s healing of our world.

by Ian Adams, Mission Spirituality Lead

One of the markers of the Christian faith story has always been the call to share in suffering. We might wish it were otherwise, but it is at the centre of the practice of the faith. To hunger and thirst for righteousness in ourselves and in our world, is a call to suffer. And to allow the sufferings of our world, in God’s grace, to find in us some small measure of transformation.

As St Paul puts it…

I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings by becoming like him in his death…

Philippians 3.10 NRSV

How might we approach this calling?

Any attempt to share in Christ’s sufferings can only begin through a commitment each day to prayerful presence. We need to be prayerfully present to God, the source of our life. We need to be prayerfully present to those around us and to our wider contexts, in their joys and yes – in their sufferings.

Whenever I speak in person of this weighty call I naturally find myself beginning to open out my arms ever wider, and breathing deep. You might like to try this position in your prayers for the world this Lent.

In this stance we may discern the crucified Jesus, who allowed all the sin and pain of the world to come towards him, and to hold it there, refusing to pass it on to others, enabling it to be transformed within him.

As we seek, in God’s grace to share in that ongoing transformation now, may we have the courage to open ourselves up to the joys and sufferings of our world; and the wisdom to root ourselves ever more deeply in the loving presence of God – Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

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For many years it’s been my practice to pray the Lord’s Prayer with open hands – something I learned from a joyful encounter with a Franciscan community.

by Ian Adams, Mission Spirituality Lead

The practice seems both helpful and natural, enabling me in some way to embody the words that are being said, encouraging me to become more prayerfully present.

I suggest that the idea of praying with open hands – metaphorically or literally – may be of help to us all as we seek to become people of prayerful presence.

I want to reflect briefly on Luke’s account of the disciples meeting the risen Jesus. And in Luke’s telling of this episode Jesus’ hands are a key element…

…Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, “Peace be with you.” They were startled and terrified, and thought that they were seeing a ghost. He said to them, “Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.” And when he had said this, he showed them his hands and his feet.

Luke 24:36b–40 NRSV

Look at my hands Jesus says, opening them up to the disciples.

These are the scarred hands which, just a few days earlier, had been open on the cross, there holding and transforming for all time all the world’s sin and suffering, damage and loss.

These are the scarred hands which now gesture the disciples to go into the world to proclaim, to witness, filled with the Holy Spirit.

…and he said to them, “Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. You are witnesses of these things. And see, I am sending upon you what my Father promised; so stay here in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high.”

Luke 24: 46–49 NRSV

And these are the scarred hands which will bless the disciples as Jesus ascends, enabling those disciples to be people of joyful and prayerful presence.

Then he led them out as far as Bethany, and, lifting up his hands, he blessed them. While he was blessing them, he withdrew from them and was carried up into heaven. And they worshiped him, and returned to Jerusalem with great joy; and they were continually in the temple blessing God.

Luke 24: 50–53 NRSV

I’ve been thinking a lot about how we might live with prayerful presence in an increasingly fractured, polarised world.

It’s impossible to truly fix things – although there’s a lot of good work that we can and must do. Friends, in God’s grace, keep on!

But it is possible to pray – to seek our own transformation in the presence of God, and to pray for the transformation of the world, step by step. This is the vital work that undergirds all that we hope to be in God.

And I suggest that praying – literally and/or metaphorically – with open hands, may be really helpful in this endeavour.

Open hands don’t seek to impose solutions, but open hands are ready to receive from God.

Open hands don’t negate the challenges of our time, but they do enable us to carry some of the pain and suffering around us. To share in some small ways, as St Paul suggested, in Christ’s sufferings.

Open hands don’t protect us from harm, but they do encourage and enable us to be prayerfully present, and there to find ourselves held and beloved.

So, an encouragement to us to pray today with open hands…

Risen Jesus
As you opened your hands for us and for the world
help us to live and to pray with open hands
ready to receive from you.
Give us strength, by your Spirit, we pray
to hold open hands for those around us;
give us strength to share in their sufferings and in yours;
and so to enable your healing love to flow
in us, around us and through us.
Amen

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Across the globe people connected with CMS are engaged in brilliant endeavours, seeking to participate in God’s redemptive work in all areas of human society and creation.

by Ian Adams

We all know that these callings are challenging, requiring us to be rooted deep in Jesus Christ, resilient in his strength, shaped by his love. Our prayer needs intention and devotion! We need to be practising prayerful presence.

You are invited to join in a conversation around nurturing practices of prayerful presence. This conversation is beginning in a WhatsApp group  – Presence. We hope in time that the conversation will evolve into a community of practice across the CMS movement.

#TheWaysWePray no.50

The Ways We Pray project (see below for more details) recently hit a milestone with the 50th image being shared. This beautiful picture was captured by mission partner Alison Giblett in Ukraine, all the more poignant for being taken in a country ravaged by war.

FIND OUT MORE

We are opening up this conversation with three questions, linked to CMS’s vision: with Jesus, with each other, to the edges.

1. What is your key personal prayer practice?
2. What is your community’s key practice of thanksgiving and praise?
3. What are you discovering about God’s presence at the edges?

You might be interested to know one key early learning emerging from the conversation – engagement in some form with the natural world as a way into prayerful presence seems to be vital to many…

FAQs

Q. Who is Presence for?

Presence is open to people across the CMS movement. Partners, staff, supporters, intercessors – you are all welcome. If you are new to CMS but interested in the possibility of prayerful presence to Christ we also invite you to get in touch.

Q. What’s given rise to it? Was there a gap noticed somewhere?

As we seek as a movement to go with Jesus, with each other, to the edges, it seems clear that we are particularly adept at action – the projects, ventures and partnerships in which we are involved. Our focus is strong there and will continue to be so as we seek to act in response to a Jesus who never gives up. We are good at doing!

It’s also clear that we are adept at intercessory prayer – praying specifically for our work. Prayerlines is just one obvious example of this long-term and continuous commitment. We are good at praying for what we do!

But we are perhaps not so adept at being prayerfully present to God who is, the tradition teaches us, always present to us – “Be still, and know…“, “I am with you always…” We are not so good at being with!

Q. Why might this be important? And how is this related to mission?

The work we do across the movement is demanding. Our own energy, skills and sense of calling are powerful, but to be sustained long term in this redemptive work we need to be rooted above all in the presence of Christ. We are seeking to live and share his presence.

Our own transformation – of course gradual, and always in the grace of God – is a vital element at the heart of the redemptive work. Such transformation only comes about through long-term commitment to presence to God.

There’s also a link between being present to God and being present to the people with whom we work. Loving God and loving neighbour are closely linked.

And a thought on the nature of mission at this time. There is so much that needs to be done to reshape society and world for good. It’s also apparent that people are increasingly sensing that they need (what we might call) practices of presence, engaging with the natural world, engaging with each other, and engaging with the possibility of God.

The Presence venture may be one way to help us to address these needs.

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Grounded in not knowing: a sustaining spirituality?

A conversation on mining ancient apophatic traditions, finding energy and wisdom for pioneering sacred terrain.

This video recording of Janet and Richard in conversation was made at the 2022 CMS Conversations Day on 5 April.

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Treasure seeking: sustaining personal spirituality

by Caroline Kennedy

The other week, having dropped off my son for a train to London, I sat in the car for a few minutes sipping coffee and (unusually for me in the early morning) listening to the news. Radio 4’s Thought for the Day came on as I headed back to my desk and I heard Rhidian Brook, the Welsh writer and broadcaster, talk about teachers, priests and the connection between their vocations.^[1] As someone who is a priest and has been a teacher, this caught my attention and it felt like a gem; a gift. Brook used a phrase that resonated powerfully: “A good teacher knows where the gold is buried and is able to show others how to find it.” The ability to sense the gifts of others and to signpost what might help these gifts grow and flourish is important in the vocation of both teacher and priest. And the search for gold, for something of great value, is strongly connected to sustaining personal spirituality. In fact, for me, the process is akin to treasure seeking.

There are activities, abilities and attitudes in a human life that could be described as treasure. These are the things of deepest value on our journey. Jesus used the image of his father’s kingdom to point to them and said to his followers, “Set your mind upon his kingdom and all the rest will come to you as well.”^[2] For those of us today who might be termed pioneers, weighing up virgin territories beyond traditional church (and possibly without some of its resources), being sustained spiritually is vital. We may understand ourselves as trying to “sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land”^[3] as Psalm 137 says. New lands have to be navigated carefully, and a spirituality to sustain us here needs to signpost God’s presence and keep us encouraged. What are the tools that can help us find treasure in task-filled days and keep us close to God under the pressure of productivity, even when the product is a fresh expression? I’ve identified some that quench my thirst and feed my soul.

Attitude

The first is Attitude. Pope Francis says that “God acts in the simplicity of open hearts, in the patience of those who pause until they can see clearly”.^[4] An attitude of trust means that my shape is open to the action of God. I make a note to put this attitude on, like an item of clothing that is familiar, at the start of each day, and I verbally commit to being open to the unexpected and to trusting in the movement and encounters that the day will bring. I step out of the belief that I can control and nail everything down, however efficient I might be.

In connection with this I try to be intentional and discerning about my use of time, staying open to the fullness of the moment. In his book Four Thousand Weeks Oliver Burkemanhas some interesting things to say, including giving advice about letting go of the “limit-denying fantasy of getting it all done” and focusing on “doing a few things that count”.^[5] He also advocates deciding in advance what you’re going to fail at in order to give room for priorities! Time to think something through or to silently seek discernment is time well spent in the business of treasure seeking. Without the discipline of this, I could sink into discontent and lose my joy among the strong and seductive powers of the world.

Recollection, connection and reflection

In addition, the tools of what I call “Recollection, Connection and Reflection” work well together. I need and use them daily. “Recollection” defends against forgetfulness, reminding me of the story I’ve stepped into and the teachings I try to live among. In my own practice the tool finds a home in the shape of the Anglican Lectionary’s Eucharistic texts, read slowly in the early part of the day so that words or phrases can sink into my inner life. These have the power to surface unbidden later, doing their work of connecting and reminding. Taking communion regularly is another dimension of this. Yesterday I was at an ancient priory, noticing wells of stillness while waiting at the altar and sensing the deep faith and present struggles of those I kneeled among. I usually leave these services feeling humbled, gently nudged in direction, reshaped and anchored in a historic and living faith. Keeping a journal to record insights connected to the day’s readings and moments of encounter or change helps me to remember, reflect and spot attitudes that block love. Being able to access this when things feel tough can be a great encouragement, bringing the strength to hold to good decisions.

The tool I call “Connection” works effectively when I’m very present in the activities of the day and open to the possibilities of wonder. If I’d been the teacher of the Law in Luke’s Gospel who asked Jesus what he had to do to inherit eternal life, and was asked himself, by way of a reply, to reflect on his understanding of the Law (“Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbour as yourself”), I think I would have preceded the lawyer’s question “And who is my neighbour?” with “And how do I love God? How will I know I’m loving in the right place and in the right way?”^[6]

The answer for me is connected to encountering treasure. When I love in the right places, my heart is opened and I feel joy and delight. I may also feel totally absorbed, either via wonder and awe or through a state of flow where I am challenged enough for my mind to be occupied with a task that is enjoyable and satisfying. I notice this “hit” with treasure when I connect with nature, feeling love and gratitude for landscape and wildlife. It also happens when I listen carefully, share in the concerns of others or act for good. I can access this heart-opening through music, playing sport, dancing, being part of community, writing, spending time with children or animals and using my abilities in a focused way. In all these activities, the God of life is present and I am loving him there.

James Martin, writing about the life of Thomas Merton, says: “The most important spiritual insight I’ve learned… is that God calls each of us to be who we are. ‘For me to be a saint means for me to be myself,’ said Thomas Merton.”^[7] When we are being most ourselves, God is there and we are loving him. Realising this can take away the habit of comparison that Roosevelt described as the thief of joy. And it can help us to prioritise activities and tasks that bring this heart-opening experience to us.

So I spend some of each day outside, whatever the weather, and make time to stand and stare. Early this morning I watched a stream bounce and flow in clear waves over red and brown stones and tonight I saw a deer on a path to my left. We watched each other for a few moments before it moved silently to a barley field. I also took in the round curves of Scottish hills in the distance, crowned with pink. For me this is the opposite of a waste of time. It might sound hard to justify to your archdeacon but I’m pretty sure mine would understand, especially if I link standing and staring to the practice of mindfulness or becoming more present. I believe focusing on beauty contributes to building what might be termed headspace, and that this in turn strengthens awareness of a gap between thought, action and speech in which there is time to make choices about habits and decisions. Living in a rural location I don’t have to dig hard for the treasure of nature, but without understanding it as illuminating I could easily pass it by, charging on through the task of exercising our crazy Border collie or burning calories.

Being open to encounters is another priority. These are the heartbeat of my work as a chaplain and they often spark long-term connections and give rise to ideas and activities. I understand the unexpected ones not as unwelcome obstructions on my worthy way to efficiency but as gifts and opportunities to exercise imagination and compassion. They are places of learning and sometimes healing, and the experience of being allowed a glimpse into the life of another is a great privilege. I may not be able to put encounters on my CV but I know they hold life, and that when I’m engaged in them I am being myself and bringing powers of concentration and receptiveness to bear.

The tool of “Reflection” is something I use frequently and it works in tandem with Recollection and Connection. Reflection can find hospitality in the wells of stillness I described in communion services and it can be comfortably at work during walks outside and as part of the Examen, which is itself an important tool in Ignatian spirituality. In this exercise, events of the day are allowed to surface and are sifted for clues to the presence of God. Reflection oils and waters the process of treasure seeking and learning, and the Examen, used regularly, can build skill and resilience.

Finding rest

If sustaining personal spirituality is about being able to grow into the people we really are, periods of rest will help our growth. Where are the places of sanctuary for you? Where can you sleep peacefully? Identifying physical locations that promote a sense of rest and a feeling of being closer to God can be a real resource. Learning from Ignatian spirituality and spending time with guides at St Beuno’s has brought me rest and a new way of seeing.^[8] On silent retreats there I’ve received the wisdom of others who are more experienced, and I’ve connected with the story of St Ignatius. I’ve also been able to access the Exercises coming out of his teaching.^[9] The Scottish island of Iona is another place I return to annually. The story of St Columba, who journeyed there from Ireland in the 500s and set up a monastic community, speaks to my context. As a chaplain working in a multi-campus university, I identify with the shape of Columba’s life: stillness and contemplation equipping him for movement and encounter in the lands around.

Both Iona and St Beuno’s are places of rest and possibility for me, but we can probably all identify places much closer that do a similar thing in short bursts. I know a priest who regularly drives 15 minutes to a stretch of coastline for refreshment and connection; another who sits in a favourite coffee shop beyond his parishes. And there is benefit in a designated space at home for prayer. I’ve been going to the same corner for years and associate it with stopping and receiving. Are there places in your house (or garden) that lend themselves to this more than others?

I began by referring to the kingdom and its treasures, and I’d like to end there too, thinking again about that place of new horizons and flourishing life. Jesus said to his disciples:

When… a teacher of the Law has become a learner in the kingdom of Heaven [he] is like a householder who can produce from his store both the new and the old.^[10]

Sound anything like a pioneer?

About the author

Caroline Kennedy is chaplain to the northern campuses of the University of Cumbria. She was the first ordained chaplain at Trinity School, a large 11–18 academy in Carlisle and before ordination taught French in comprehensive schools as well as rural primaries.

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Notes

[1] “Rhidian Brook – 26/07/2022,” Thought for the Day, BBC Radio 4, 26 July 2022, https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p0cp3234.

[2] Luke 12:31 (NEB).

[3] Ps. 137:4.

[4] Pope Francis and Austen Ivereigh, Let Us Dream: A Path to a Better Future (London: Simon & Schuster, 2020),61.

[5] Oliver Burkeman, Four Thousand Weeks: Time and How to Use It (London: Vintage, 2021), 44.

[6] Luke 10:25–30 (HCSB).

[7] James Martin, SJ, Becoming Who You Are: Insights on the True Self from Thomas Merton and Other Saints (Marwah, New Jersey: Paulist Press, 2006), 71.

[8] St Beuno’s Jesuit Spirituality Centre, St Asaph, North Wales.

[9] The Spiritual Exercises of Saint Ignatius.

[10] Matt. 13:52 (NEB).

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By Ian Adams, mission spirituality adviser at Church Mission Society

Ian Adams explores the Emmaus story as a guide for living through constantly changing times

It can feel as if the ground is constantly shifting beneath our feet. Culture and climate, politics and work, church and relationships – all seem to be in states of rapid and continuous change.

This can be a disconcerting experience. And it is tempting to look back and yearn for times past. To take the road back to where we have been rooted before. To hunker down, and to fold in on ourselves.

But instinctively we know as Christ-followers that such a path is rarely the one to be taken.

Rather, we are called, as beloved of God, to live with forward momentum, open-handed, open-hearted, as some small gift to the world. To be people at home in changing circumstances.

How then are we to live when the ground is constantly shifting beneath our feet?

The Emmaus story (Luke 24:13–35) may be a guide to us in this task.

Now on that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognising him.

Luke 24:13–17 (NRSV)

Cleopas and another unnamed disconsolate follower of Jesus are taking the road back. Seeking some reassuring stability, returning to the place they know. Going back to the familiar.

But unrecognised by them, the risen Jesus draws alongside them on the road.

How encouraging for us. Whatever path we are on, whatever direction, however downcast we may be, we can imagine the Christ drawing alongside us, asking if we might allow him to walk with us, to talk with us.

The disciples tell him their story. It is one of loss and anguish. And a key moment comes when they declare: But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel…

Luke 24:21 (NRSV)

That phrase “But we had hoped” conveys so well the pain of enforced and unwelcome change. And its presence in the Gospel story as told by Luke suggests that it is an important principle for us to note and speak of our discomfort. The non-appearance of whatever we had hoped for is not to be ignored. It needs to be recognised, spoken of and allowed space to be. When that happens, in trust, a new thing becomes possible.

The story unfolds, the stranger opening up the deeper truths of the events the disciples had witnessed. The disciples are drawn in; we can sense that their view of what has happened may be changing.

But what will happen when they reach their home?

As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on. But they urged him strongly, saying, “Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.” So he went in to stay with them.

Luke 24:28–29 (NRSV)

Even as they come to the destination that they imagined would give them stability, the disciples intuitively understand that they need another source of stability. The place is not the thing. The stranger’s presence is what they need. Stay with us.

And he stays with them. And it is as he breaks bread with them that he is revealed to them as the risen Christ. He is their source of stability, their source of life.

When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognised him…

Luke 24:30–31a (NRSV)

In times of great change – even of loss and of anguish – our source of stability and life can ultimately only be the risen Christ. Other things bring comfort of course. Place, people, work and recreation are great gifts and need to be enjoyed and celebrated. But this story suggests that as Christians it is ultimately the risen Jesus who we need – his words burning within us, his presence sustaining us.

It is important to note here that the Emmaus story implies that the risen Christ’s presence may usually be experienced as fleeting.

… and he vanished from their sight.

Luke 24:31b (NRSV)

A glimpse of the risen Christ, the story implies, must usually suffice. That will be enough. Having recognised their source of stability, the disciples sense renewed momentum.

That same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem…

Luke 24:33a (NRSV)

Their life of following Jesus enters into a new era – that of witness to the risen Christ. They tell of what has happened to them on the road, and of how he was revealed to them as bread was broken and shared.

How then are we to live when the ground is constantly shifting beneath our feet, when all seems to be in a state of rapid and continuous change?

As tempting as it may be to return to our sources and places of comfort, the Emmaus story suggests that the risen Christ alone who can provide us with the stability and momentum for which we yearn.

Unseen he draws alongside each of us. May our prayer – however unknowing – be one of faith.

Stay with us.

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The empty pool: persistent presence

by Ian Adams

It’s just a space – concrete painted in a bold blue – and it is slowly fraying.

But what I saw one morning in the empty pool, what I felt, as if for the first time, sparked something within me.

A desire first to see, that became a need to remain, and a yearning to return.

For over two years now I have been returning to this paddling pool on Lammas Land – a park near the centre of Cambridge – taking photographs, making prayers, anticipating the day to come or reflecting on the day drawing to a close.

In summer the shallow pool is enjoyed by families with children and grandchildren.

It’s a joyful, noisy place.

But my interest is primarily in the pool out of season, emptied of water, the families long gone.
No longer the centre of attention, its quiet, persistent presence draws me in, calling for my quiet, persistent presence.

And so I have returned there throughout the year, in all weathers, in changing light, from dawn to dusk.

Often in a pause on an early morning run – itself an act of body-prayer – through which the pool has become a sanctuary, a sacred space, even a place of encounter, and so perhaps the site of some small transformation in me.

When [Jesus] had said this, he spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva and spread the mud on the man’s eyes, saying to him, “Go, wash in the pool of Siloam” (which means Sent). Then he went and washed and came back able to see.¹

I wash my eyes in this empty pool, so that I may see.

In this article and with these images I want to reflect what might become possible when we prayerfully and creatively engage with a particular place over a prolonged period of time. I will share my experience that such persistent presence can reveal what is true – about ourselves, about our world and even about the nature of God – and open us up to encounter.

I will suggest that such persistent presence, shaped by the making of art, theological reflection and prayer may have a prophetic character, beginning to reveal new possibilities of what may yet be.

And I will reflect on how such persistent presence may enable our participation in the bringing about of those what-might-yet-be possibilities, in God’s healing of all things, in mission. In this way art can act as a kind of sacrament, reshaping us and transforming our world.

I will conclude by suggesting that such persistent presence is a way of being that both requires and inspires devotion.

THE EMPTY POOL: PLACES OPEN UP SLOWLY

What might become possible when we engage prayerfully and creatively with a particular place over a prolonged period of time?

My experience is that places open up slowly. Rather than constantly moving on, we need to root ourselves in a particular place, to tune ourselves into a place, to allow that place to be and to speak.
And we need to keep turning up.

At first glance the pool out of season is unremarkable. Without the splash of its water it can be ignored, or missed altogether.

But as I committed to returning to the pool, it slowly began to reveal its being, its beauty, its truth.

I sense that the truth of everywhere is to be found by going deep somewhere.
It does not matter too much where that somewhere is. What matters is that we give ourselves to the place that catches our attention.
And that we engage with that place, allowing its being to shape ours.

And of course the first thing that any engagement with a place does, if we are attentive, is to reveal to us something about us.

My response to the empty pool has revealed much about my fears and losses, and about my hopes, yearnings.

The pool has asked me to engage thoughtfully and lovingly with my own life at this stage.
How will I face empty pool experiences in life?

The pool, of course, is going nowhere.
It has reinforced in me the need for me to be still, to be attentive, to be prayerful, to be present.

So I return to the everchanging pool, noticing new shapes, angles, textures; the accumulation of leaves, of debris, of discarded things.

I find it revealing my questions; helping me to reflect on the nature of the struggles I face; bringing to the fore my sense of wonder and of gratitude; reshaping my prayers.

But if persistent presence reveals something about me, it reveals much about all that exists.

The pool becomes the world.

Nineveh is like a pool whose waters run away.²

How these times seem like a pool whose waters have run away.
And to be powerless to change the empty pool in its gradual decay is to experience something of the powerlessness we all feel at the challenges we face in this time of COVID-19, populism and environmental crisis.

But within this powerlessness something else begins to emerge.

THE EMPTY POOL: REVELATION OF WHAT MAY YET BE

“Why are you taking photographs of the pool?” said a fellow early-morning runner.
“It’s a beautiful place,” I said, “even in slow decay.”

He seemed unconvinced;
we talked a little more, of the passing of all things, of the beauty all around us,
of the mountains near his home in the Congo.

And then of the goodness of God,
and of the kingdom of heaven that is all around us.

He ran another circuit around the pool and as he passed me again, and the pool filled with light, we blessed each other for the day.

I sense the divine presence here; and hints of what may yet be.

It has been interesting to notice how my engagement with the pool seems to have permeated different areas of my life, breaking down barriers between them.
Persistent presence (the being there), the making of art and prayer have merged into one. And that has been a hopeful experience.

The apparent plight of the pool is just one aspect of the truth.
And I’ve come to realise that the pool has its own story beyond my personal knowledge of it.

The pool has clearly had seasons of vitality in times past. It now knows a season of abandonment and neglect.
There are other priorities in the season of COVID-19.
So it is slowly corroding.
And I don’t know what future it has.
But, if I can personalise a painted concrete space for a moment, it seems to be happy with that.

In making the Empty Pool photographs I’ve realised again that all things shall pass.
And it has become clear to me that I need to do more work on the letting go of my own agenda. But I have been reminded too of Mother Julian’s words that “all shall be well”.

My experience of persistent presence at the pool has been above all a hopeful one. Despite the cracks in the concrete, the peeling paint, the growing weeds and the accumulating rubbish, the beauty of the pool seems to continue, and even deepen. The empty pool hints that transformation from form to form will continue.

Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city. On either side of the river is the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, producing its fruit each month; and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations.³

Lammas Land has long been a place of joy, a source of restoration and site of celebration.
The empty pool hints that this will continue to be so.

One day this past summer we took our nearly-three-year-old grandson to the pool. Empty of water and empty of children because of COVID-19, he stepped right down into it, and began to splash in the muddy puddles, oblivious to the pool’s usual or hoped-for state. Before we knew it, he was skinny-splashing. It was a moment of great joy for him. A moment of all shall be well.
A revelation of what may yet be, a hint perhaps of the healing to come.

THE EMPTY POOL: A KIND OF SACRAMENT

Lammas is the Celtic festival of midsummer and the first harvest festival of the year, a time of great celebration sometimes celebrated on 6 August – the Feast of Transfiguration.

The pool has become for me a place where transfiguration seems possible, a glimpse of paradise, here and now.

In the process of making art here through photographs I have found myself in collaboration with the pool, receiving lessons in learning to see, in learning to be. In some small ways I have been changed.

The Empty Pool project has lent weight to my instinct that art can act as a kind of sacrament, bringing into being what it points to – transformation of individual, of community and of the world.

In spending time with the empty pool I have found my internal landscape being quietly reshaped.
I would go as far as saying that spending time with the pool changes me.
I sense that I may be kinder, more loving and a more creative person through engaging with it.

Taking one of the stones of the place, [Jacob] put it under his head and lay down in that place. And he dreamed that there was a ladder set up on the earth, the top of it reaching to heaven; and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it.

Then Jacob woke from his sleep and said, “Surely the Lord is in this place – and I did not know it!”⁴

Unexpectedly, the empty pool has become a place of holy encounter, bringing change.
And my hope is that through my images and writing on the Empty Pool, something of that experience may also become a gift to others.

In making this suggestion I am aware of the gap that can seem to exist between such hints of the divine and their possible effect upon us, and the apparent specifics of divine revelation recorded in the texts of the tradition.

Of course, this gap may be the essence of art.
Art seems to be most persuasive when it opens up possibilities, rather than specifying exactly what the artist wants to say or how the work should be received. In my pictures or poems I don’t want to attempt to spell everything out – in any case an impossible task – but rather to invite exploration.
Art is at its best when it hints, when it gives it a glimpse, when it opens up possibilities.

Nevertheless, there is a received quality to the Christian tradition in which I am rooted, and which continues to sustain me. Theologian, academic and musician Jeremy Begbie is sceptical about our ability to “fill in the gaps” with the Christ story after the infinity suggested by artists like Rothko. How does the Christ story, the Triune God story, fit in and shape our understanding of and approach to art? He makes a plea “that when we make claims about the arts affording an awareness of divine transcendence – or meet such claims made by others – we should be prepared to explore, and where appropriate, make explicit and assess, the theology those claims presuppose”.⁵ Begbie also offers an invitation “to enter far more deeply into the peculiarities of… a “scriptural imagination”.⁶

There remains more work for me to do in this area, but my attempts to understand what is happening in my engagement with the pool seem to take on new clarity when they sit within a pattern of prayer, of engagement with the texts of the faith, and of devotion.

THE EMPTY POOL: LOVE AND DEVOTION

I love being at the pool.
I invariably have my camera or camera phone with me when I visit.
And I always arrive with a sense of anticipation.

Art inspires our deep attention, even our devotion.
The more we give ourselves to art
the more it will offer to us.

As we give ourselves, we may discover a burning within us beyond art;
a renewal of our love and devotion for God and for neighbour,
for the earth and for the cosmos.

Richard Rohr has a lovely phrase about the eucharist.
But I believe that it may equally apply to great art.
If you can see it here, you’ll see it everywhere…

If you can see in bread and wine the life and love of God you’ll begin to see the life and love of God everywhere.

If you can glimpse in a piece of art the life and love of God you’ll begin to see the life and love of God everywhere.

The task of being present to the empty pool encourages me to be present with love to the pool, to the moment, to others, to God.

It encourages me to love.
It draws me deeper into devotion.
And it reminds me that, in God’s grace,
love will prevail.

About the author

Ian Adams is a poet, writer, photographer and priest. He is mission spirituality adviser at Church Mission Society, chaplain at Ridley Hall Cambridge and partner in the Beloved Life project.

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Notes

1 John 9:6–7 (NRSV).
2 Nahum 2:8 (NRSV).
3 Rev. 22:1–2 (NRSV).
4 Gen. 28:11–12, 16 (NRSV).
5 Jeremy Begbie, Redeeming Transcendence in the Arts: Bearing Witness to the Triune God (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2018), 184.
6 Ibid., 185.

The post The empty pool appeared first on Church Mission Society (CMS).

Spirituality. Fundraising. In the same sentence? Really? Spirituality – that’s about God and faith and worship; a way of life, choosing to follow Jesus. Fundraising, well, that’s about money…

By Heather Ramsey

Asking for money, or being asked for money. It’s a profession, requiring specific skills and expertise. Why do we need to do it, especially as people of faith? Why don’t we have more faith, simply pray that God would provide for our needs? Asking for funds is awkward, a bit embarrassing. Or is it?

Fundraising as a ministry

Indeed, God does and will provide for our needs. We ask him to give us our bread for each day and he gives in abundance – we live because he has loved us first and knows exactly what we need. So why should we ask for money? Why do we give, as a response to the asking?

Henri Nouwen, renowned in his lifetime as a professor, pastor and as author of books on the spiritual life, was convinced that spirituality and fundraising are bound closely together. In fact, he believed that, “Fundraising is first and foremost, a form of ministry… [It] is proclaiming what we believe in such a way that we offer other people an opportunity to participate with us in our vision and mission.” [1]

Sharing a vision, sharing a cause

Nouwen’s vision for fundraising goes way beyond asking for pennies and pounds. It’s about participating together in mission, shared vision, growing relationship. The blend of confident asking and joyful giving will result in mutual blessing. “When those with money and those who need money share a mission, we see a central sign of new life in the spirit of Christ. We belong together in or work because Jesus has brought us together, and our fruitfulness depends on being connected with him.” [2]

We at Church Mission Society count it a privilege to be able to ask, to share the cause of mission and work to see God’s kingdom being extended around the world. We are also very blessed in receiving from faithful individuals and churches like you who are committed to partnership and give sacrificially of time, prayer and money.

People like CMS Advocate John Harwood. Inspired by Captain Tom’s fundraising success for the NHS, John decided to embark on his own fundraising mission, but to raise funds for CMS. He planned to take on 94 walks, one for every year of his life, between his home in Emsworth, Hampshire, and his church, St James, Emsworth – a total distance of 47 miles.

The continuing need

Speaking of his reasons for taking on the challenge, John, long since a CMS mission partner in Nigeria and Sierra Leone, said, “I now wish to raise £1,000 for the work of CMS. Why? Because I am convinced of the continuing need to support the Christian mission in the UK and world-wide.”

John completed his walks in June 2020 and raised nearly £13,000, hugely surpassing his initial target. His courage and sense of slow, steady adventure caught more than 200 people’s imaginations and inspired them to support. And in the process, he has promoted awareness of CMS’s mission around the world. Not only that – perhaps his efforts have inspired a thought – ‘If John can do it, why can’t we?’

So – what do you think? We would love to hear about your experiences of fundraising, as advocates for mission in your church. Do Henri Nouwen’s principles resonate with you and your congregation? And can we support you or resource you to fundraise for mission in your church? Or, what advice would you give us as we look for ways to fund God’s mission through CMS? We’d love to hear from you. Email the team.

[1] Nouwen, H. (2010). A Spirituality of Fundraising, The Henri J Nouwen Spirituality Series. p.16
[2] Ibid. p. 22

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Join us in offering this psalm of lament for the nations of North Africa, written by one of our mission partners.

You are free to use this new psalm however you wish. Here is a suggested format for use in a group or congregational setting. All say the words in bold.

O Christ, you know how it feels to be
led into the wilderness.

You who have known hunger and thirst,
Remember now the dry and desert places of our world.

In the wilderness of political strife,
Do a new thing, O Lord.

Among the disenfranchised and the disregarded,
Extend your invitation to belong with you, O King.

Where churches are being closed down,
Make a way for your people, dear Christ.

For Christians facing clashes with Muslim neighbours,
Cause waters of friendship to flow, dear Jesus.

May those who face instability and loss of homes
Find in you their safe and secure abode, our King.

Amid many goodbyes, connections made and then lost,
Be a cup of water to the grieving, our Spring of Life.

We lift to you, O Lamb of God, the dry and dusty nations of the Sahara.
United in longing, our hearts cry out to you,

That artesian wells of your Spirit might open up
And that the waters of Life would flood these parched places.

Make a way in the wilderness!
Give drink to your people!

We have waited so long for your Life to come.
Do a new thing, O Lord.

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