Oftentimes people ask me, “Father, how can I pray? I do not know how.” This is one of life’s major dilemmas. In this article I am going to share with you a method of prayer not well known. However, I believe that, if approached seriously and patiently, this form of prayer may become a faithful guide on your journey toward the Lord and a vital source of lasting joy and peace.
We go to pray because we need comfort and consolation. We need our spirit to meet the One who is all in all. However, there are many times when we find we cannot pray, when we are too tired to read the gospels, too restless to have spiritual thoughts, too depressed to do anything. Acting, speaking, and even reflective thinking may at times seem too demanding.
The verbs “see” and “hear” are among the most-used words in the gospels. Jesus says to his disciples, “Blessed are your eyes because they see, your ears because they hear! In truth I tell you, many prophets and upright people longed to see what you see, and never saw it; to hear what you hear, and never heard it” (Matt. 13:16–17). Seeing and hearing God are the greatest gifts we can receive, since both are ways of knowing. But throughout Scripture I sense that seeing God is the more personal of the two.
This is confirmed by our own experience. A telephone conversation is a poor way of being together compared to an encounter face to face. And don’t we often say on the phone, “I look forward to seeing you soon”? Seeing is better than hearing. It is much more intimate.
We see clearly or vaguely, but always we find something to see. And we have a choice: We can choose what to see. Unfortunately, we live in a time when the powers and principalities control many of our daily images. We experience dark powers: fears, anxieties, apprehensions, and preoccupations. Television, videocassettes, billboards, movies, and store window displays continuously assault our eyes. They inscribe their images upon our memories and invade our inner space where we should keep our eyes fixed on the beauty of the Lord.
Jesus prayed for his disciples’ protection from evil (John 17:15–16). Spiritual life keeps us aware that our true house is not the house of fear—this mutilated and divided world—but the House of Love. It is here God resides. Be in the world but not belonging to it, Jesus warned his disciples. And by praying at all times, we gradually move from the house of fear to the House of Love.
I find this House of Love best expressed in the Russian icon of the Holy Trinity painted by the monk Andre Rublev, probably around 1425, in memory of the great Russian saint, Sergius (1313–1392). Sergius founded the Trinity Monastery at Seergeev Posad (in Zogorsk).
To Western sensibilities accustomed to the paintings of Rembrandt, Michelangelo, Marc Chagall, and Claude Monet, Rublev’s icon might seem off-putting at first. However, icons offer us another perspective. We admire, for example, the beauty of Chagall’s subtle and gentle colors, or the detailed, life-like portraits of Rembrandt, but we tend not to memorize them. Icons, on the other hand, because of their simplicity, have a tendency to imprint themselves so deeply upon your inner life that they appear every time you need comfort and consolation.
The secret to appreciating an icon is to give it long and prayerful attention—talk to it, read about it, and gaze at it in silence, and you will gradually come to know it by heart. We have to gaze at it. Here I make an important distinction between how the West and the East consider reality. Benedict set the tone for the spirituality of the West, and he put great emphasis on listening. On the other hand, in the East, the Byzantine fathers focused on gazing. This is the core of Eastern spirituality and is the reason icons are revered in the East in a way they are not in the West. Still, it is an art form that many Western Christians are gradually discovering can have great meaning in their lives.
You may not think a “stilted” icon can help your spiritual life. I would ask only that, after you read this article, you would—like the little blue engine in the children’s story—say to yourself, “I think I can.” After you have discovered their significance and prayerfully contemplated them, icons will begin to speak to you in a unique way. They will guide you by night, day, in good and bad times, when you feel sad, and when you feel joyful.
What is an icon?
The word “icon” comes from the Greek word eikon, meaning “image.” An icon is an expression in color and shape of Eastern Christian theology. It is an attempt to capture the transcendent in the physical world. Typically, these beautiful images depict the mystery and wonder of God, angels, and saints, including the Blessed Virgin Mary and scenes from the life of Christ.
Icons are painted to lead us close to the heart of God. They are made according to age-old rules. Their forms and colors are handed down through scores of generations. The painter of icons is called an iconographer. There is no signature on an icon because the iconographer’s main concern is to proclaim God’s kingdom through his art, not to seek personal glory. Icons try to give us a glimpse of heaven.
At first glance, you might see the images of icons as rigid or lifeless or dull. It is only gradually, after a patient, prayerful presence, that they begin to speak to us. They speak to the heart that searches for God. Other forms of art may speak to the other senses, but icons are a window looking out upon eternity.
Rublev painted this particular icon to offer his fellow monks a way to keep their hearts centered in God while living amid political unrest. He fasted, prayed, and meditated on the gospels and then translated what he had heard in prayer in the colors and gestures of the three angels represented. Looking at Rublev’s work, we notice that the palette of colors is limited but intense. As we gaze at the icon we come to experience a gentle invitation to join the three divine beings around the table and participate in their intimate conversation.
The invisible circle
If we take a look at the Trinity of Rublev we see there is an invisible circle which forms a movement from the Father (on the left) toward the Son (in the center) and the movement of both Son and Spirit (right) toward the Father. If we take a mathematical compass and anchor it in the in the center of the icon, we discover that the three figures can be enclosed in a circle. However, since this circle is only an invisible one, the figures are not closed in upon themselves. There is openness. The circle becomes a movement in which the one who prays is lifted up and held secure.
We are invited to enter the circle wherein lies the House of Love, because the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit have no boundaries and embrace everyone who wishes to dwell there. When we contemplate this icon we come to see that all engagements in this world can bear fruit only when they take place within this divine circle of God’s love.
Living within this circle is not only a protection but also a revelation of the inner beauty of God. The Russian mystics say that prayer takes place where heart speaks to heart, where the heart of God is united with the heart that prays. Knowing God becomes loving God. The mystery of God is revealed to us in this circle.
Rublev’s icon represents an episode from Genesis, chapter 18, when three angels appeared to Abraham at the Oak of Mamre. There they ate the meal Sarah and Abraham offered them and announced to their hosts the birth of a son, Isaac.
In the story we find the hospitality not only of Abraham and Sarah but also of Yahweh, who through an heir welcomed the aged couple into the joy of the covenant. Rublev’s elimination of details of the story—including, amazingly, Abraham and Sarah—allows him to concentrate on the three angels and their representation of the Trinity.
In the icon the three persons are all young and appear equal. They seem quiet, gentle, anxious, sorrowful, detached, meditative, contemplative, and intimate. They each wear the color blue, which is a sign of divinity. This icon alone conformed to the strict rules of the orthodox doctrine of the Trinity. Their angelic appearance is the prefiguration of the divine mission by which God sends us his only Son to sacrifice himself to our sins and gives us life through the Spirit.
The Father, represented on the left, is a figure at rest within itself. His blue garment is almost hidden by a shimmering, ethereal robe of red (knowledge). Why is his garment covered? Because, as Jesus told us, one has even seen the Father. He is the Creator who can be seen by his human creatures only through beauty, which is knowledge of his creation (the color red represents this notion). Both hands c.asp a staff—a symbol that all authority in heaven and on earth belongs to the Father. He calls his Son and with his hand blesses the cup at the center. He encourages the Son with a blessing gesture.
Behind him is a house—the dwelling place of God. Jesus said to his apostles, “In my Father’s house are many mansions—I go to prepare a place for you.” “Those who love me will keep my word and my father will love them—and we will come to their home and make our home with them.”
The Son is the sacrificial lamb who forms the center of the icon. He is wearing red, the color of blood (and in some icon interpretations the Son is wearing a yellow or gold stole, which speaks his kingship.) He too c.asps a staff of authority.
The Son understands the will of the Father and accepts his role as the Bread of Life to man. He bows his head in acceptance toward the Father and blesses the cup with two fingers, thus laying on the table his divine and human natures.
The Christ figure in turn inclines towards the figure on the left and with the movement of his right hand, calls for help to the Holy Spirit, who is the consoler. Behind the Christ angel is the figure of a tree. This could be the oak tree at Mamre under which the three angelic visitors rested. The tree may also represent the Tree of Life, the cross on which our Savior died. By this action the tree of death becomes the tree of eternal life—lost to humanity by the disobedience of Adam and Eve, it is restored to us by the obedience of Jesus. It emphasizes for us the paradox of the cross, the place where death and life confront each other, where death gives way to resurrection and eternal life.
The Holy Spirit is at the right. His blue robe also speaks of divinity. He is God who gives new life. That is why he wears a green robe—green is color of living things. He is the life of friendship with God, who comes to him. He accepts the will of the Father for the Son. Notice his hand on the table and how he inclines toward them: He wants our attention to be directed to the central, Christological figure. He wants to be obedient before the Son while abandoning himself to the Father.
We say in Mass, “Lord, you are holy indeed, the fountain of all holiness. Let your Spirit come upon these gifts to make them holy.” The Spirit, who holds the same staff of authority as the Father and the Son, points his fingers to the rectangular opening in the front of the altar. Behind him is a mountain. Mountains are places where in biblical history people often encountered God, places where heaven and earth seem to touch. Moses met God on a mountain. Jesus was transfigured while in prayer on a mountain.
What does the icon reveal about our vocation?
This icon reveals the intimate life of the Holy Trinity. And as this mystery of love is revealed to us, our eyes become increasingly aware of that small rectangular opening below the chalice. It is called the Space of the Martyrs, those who give their lives for their faith. We must attend to that open space, because it is the place to which the Spirit points and where we become included in the divine circle.
This small rectangle speaks to us about the narrow road leading to the house of God. It is the road of suffering. Its four corners represent the created world, including all people from north, south, east, and west. Its position in the altar signifies that there is room around the divine table only for those who are willing to become participants in the divine sacrifice by offering their lives as a witness to the love of God. Thus, gradually a cross becomes visible, its vertical beam formed by the tree, the Son, and the world and its horizontal beam including the heads of the Father and the Spirit.
My place in the icon is found in the space that forms a chalice. Notice how the outward and inward curve of the torsos and legs of the Father and Spirit form a larger chalice around the chalice on the altar. This is the cup of suffering that Jesus had to drink in order to save all humanity.
Thus there is no circle without a cross, no eternal life without death, no gaining life without losing it. Circle and cross can never be separated. The beauty of the three angels is not a beauty without suffering. This is the only way that leads to God, and it is the way that many have chosen to walk, even if they had to die as witnesses to the God of love.
Saint Sergius, in whose honor Rublev painted the Trinity icon, wanted to bring all of Russia together around the name of God by contemplating the Holy Trinity so that the hatred that was destroying Russia would be conquered. Praying with this icon helps us to understand how to commit to the struggle for justice and peace in the world while remaining at home in God’s love. Jesus tells us to stay awake, and Paul tells us to pray at all times. These two elements help us to survive in the midst of hostility and violence.
I pray that Rublev’s icon will teach us how to live in the midst of a fearful and violent world while moving always deeper into the house of love.