It has become a regrettable feature of American public discourse that tragedies, like mass shootings and natural disasters are greeted by some public figures and commentators with mockery of the idea of prayer.
I seem to remember, some years ago, when Christian politicians assured the victims of some disaster of their prayers (“our thoughts and prayers are with the victims” and so on), non-Christian commentators would react angrily, saying that what the victims needed was food and shelter, or else that something should be done to mitigate such events in the future, like flood defenses or gun control.
It might, indeed, be reasonable to question politicians’ sincerity if they offer prayer as a substitute for action (see James 2:16), if that were really what was going on. Now, however, we seem to have moved on to a new phase, in which the idea of prayer in itself is ridiculed, because it didn’t save the victims. We have entered a dark place, where the principles of those scoffing at the Crucifixion have found their way into public discourse in a still majority-Christian nation: “Let him now come down from the cross, and we will believe him” (Matt. 27:42).
As Catholics, we need to be able to respond to the misunderstanding, sincere or not, that lies behind this ridicule. The suggestion seems to be that if prayer worked, then Christians would not suffer any misfortunes. This is clearly not something that Christians have ever believed, as a glance at Scripture or the history of the Church confirms. On the contrary, those who pray best, the saints, have often faced great suffering and death, as Our Lord predicted they would: “If they have persecuted me, they will also persecute you” (John 15:20). Insofar as we are united to Christ in this life, we are united to his sufferings; it is in the next life that we can hope to share in his glory (2 Cor 1:5, 1 Pet. 1:11, Rom. 8:18 sic passim).
Catholic spirituality gives great emphasis to this reality. Persecution is a mark of the Church, and the saints are subject to misunderstandings, calamities, sickness, and bereavement, often in an acute form. Nevertheless, ours is a joyful religion, because in these things we can find Christ. This is not easy for outsiders to understand, but let me say something about why we pray at all.
We are frequently encouraged to pray for things—petitionary prayer—but this is not the whole, or even the most important part, of prayer. Traditionally, prayer is divided into four categories: adoration, thanksgiving, contrition, and petition. Prayer itself is defined simply, in the traditional catechisms, as the lifting up of the mind and heart to God. Prayer is paying attention to God—placing oneself, as an act of will, in his presence. It need not involve words, and if there are words, they need not be our own; they could be the words the Psalms, or the liturgy, or formal prayers repeated (for example, in the rosary) until we no longer think about the individual phrases, but employ them as a setting for wordless prayer.
An analogy with human relationships might be helpful. If we love and respect someone, and know that this person cares deeply about us, then we will want to spend time with him. Talking to such a person may help us, in a difficult situation, to calm down and clarify our thoughts, even if the other party doesn’t say very much. Whether or not we bring to such an encounter a practical problem to be solved, such conversations, as a form of communion with another human being, are good in themselves, and necessary to the maintenance and deepening of our relationship.
If we can take a non-transactional approach to human relationships that, as we might say, “feed the soul,” then we should certainly do so with our relationship with God. We spend time with God, we communicate with God, we thank and praise God, because it is good to do so, because the object of human life is the intimacy and union of will with God, which we approach in prayer and which will be perfected in heaven.
A non-believer may ask us if God communicates back to us. Some saints had “interior locutions,” or indeed visions, but for the most part, God’s communication with us is more subtle. A feeling, after prayer, of greater peace, of greater confidence in a planned course of action, of greater strength and courage, is common in the spiritual life. It is also a frequent experience that someone praying about a difficult problem may think of a way to deal with it, or find that circumstances change favorably, or find unexpected help becoming available. Readers can reject this or try to explain it away, but it is a fact about how devout Catholics and other Christians experience their lives.
God wants us to bring him our problems, to seek help at his hands, and to view all our consolations and successes in light of our relationship with him—that is, as blessings. On the other hand, if he wished to, he could solve all our problems in an instant. He could take away our sciatica or our troublesome mother-in-law; he could mend our car, or our roof, or make us win a lottery and become millionaires. The Christian life is punctuated, as we experience it, with God’s assistance, in large ways and small, but he does not simply solve all our problems. That is not how life works. We are in this world to work, to face difficulties, and to suffer, alongside all the experiences we may have of happiness and pleasure, because this is the path of our sanctification. This is the way we can give glory to God, to build up his kingdom on earth, and to unite ourselves with the example and sufferings of Christ.
Sufferings risked or undertaken voluntarily, or accepted with patience, are redemptive. This is why Christ suffered them, and because he wants us to be able to contribute to the work of salvation, He allows us, too, to suffer for the sake of others, to make up for the wrongs we and other have done. As St. Paul exclaimed, “who now rejoice in my sufferings for you, and fill up those things that are wanting of the sufferings of Christ, in my flesh, for his body, which is the church” (Col. 1:34).
God’s way of dealing with us is not like an indulgent pet-owner who wants his hamster to have plenty to eat and a comfortable environment. It is like a father who wishes his son to grow in maturity, to deal with obstacles, and to learn how to do the right thing even when that is difficult. God helps us, but what he helps us to do is to tread the path that Christ trod before us. It is a difficult path, but it is the path that leads to true happiness in this life, as well as to glory in the next.