I used to picture myself as Mary, sitting in my living room and listening to my guest’s heart-aches while Martha mashed potatoes in the kitchen. I always choose Mary’s stillness over Martha’s work, I thought.
I was wrong.
I left home early one Sunday morning to prepare my heart for worship and preaching. I entered the empty sanctuary, sat in the quiet, and tried to focus on Christ. The minutes ticked by and I remembered I hadn’t plugged in the coffeepot.
That can wait, I told myself, and I directed my thoughts back to Jesus.
Another minute passed. Then I wondered, Are the transparencies for the overhead projector ready? And what about the banner—did anyone remember to change it? And someone really ought to plug in that coffeepot.
Reality struck. I was Martha—concerned about many things, and not about the one thing that was truly needed.
I had written a book on spiritual disciplines and was serving as the prayer editor of my denomination’s magazine, but after my Sunday morning frenzy, I realized my inner life needed some work. I had a sabbatical planned for the following summer, and I determined to use that time to develop my prayer life.
I planned a series of retreats and made a long list of books I wanted to read. I planned to visit 17 churches, sometimes more than one per Sunday. One way or another, this Martha was going to learn how to be Mary.
From that sabbatical, I developed three paradigms for prayer and meditation—centering prayer, temperament-targeted meditation, and a reflection tool called lectio divina. I have incorporated these methods into my prayer life.
Together they have instigated a shift in my spirit from distracted busyness to focused devotion.
Centering on prayer
My first attempts at reforming my prayer life began the way many of us begin—I tried praying more. I read two books that convicted me to increase my prayer time.
But is time really the issue? The question resembles the old parenting issue, quality versus quantity time. We long for quality time with children and for quality time with God, but both prove difficult without enough quantity. Like throwing a rock in the pond and waiting for the ripples to settle, it takes some time to settle ourselves and be still before God.
Rising earlier and taking more time, however, only provided part of my answer. I still found myself distracted. A pastor friend gave me a book on intimate prayer that addressed this very issue. This book instructed me to just stop thinking: if thoughts distracted me from listening to God, I should tell my brain to stop it. He made it sound simple, so I tried it. I told my mind to stop thinking.
I might as well have told my lungs to stop breathing.
Why couldn’t I do what the author asked? My husband Roger can. I, however, am the consummate multi-tasker. My mind readily juggles family, church, and personal commitments. I know God made my brain this way so I can fulfill my roles as pastor, wife, and mother. But what about prayer? Surely there must be some way to pray with my Martha brain.
Then I discovered a wonderful book, Concerning the Inner Life by Evelyn Underhill. She liberated my approach of adoration. Underhill said, “Persons whose natural expression is verbal, and who need the support of concrete image, make violent efforts to ‘go into the silence’ because some wretched little book has told them to do so.”
That was it! I needed to throw that wretched little book in the trash (well, return it to my friend) and try something else! That technique worked for others, but it didn’t work for me. I needed to find another way to center my mind.
The first retreat of my sabbatical summer provided an answer. I submitted myself to the tutelage of a nun, learning about meditative prayer at the quiet confines of a convent. I spent three days learning from a fourteenth century volume written by an anonymous monk about “centering prayer.” A modern Trappist monk, Thomas Keating, also teaches this method in his book, Open Mind, Open Heart.
The goal of centering prayer is to enter totally into God’s presence, discovering communion with him through focusing our attention on him alone. Proponents suggest this practice creates a deeper settledness within us and a greater awareness of God.
Instead of an angry or irritated reaction to unwanted, distracting thoughts, centering prayer teaches us to take a sacred word and gently brush the pesky thoughts away.
Since frustration would be as much of a distraction as the original thought, Keating teaches us to think of the sacred word as a feather brushing away a piece of cotton.
There’s nothing magical about the sacred word itself. Each person chooses their own word that resonates within without carrying intense distracting emotions. The word must be simple, and usually one syllable. Commonly used words include God, Jesus, love, peace, and trust.
Yes became my first sacred word. I chose it because it implies submission to whatever God has for me, yet I don’t find it emotionally laden. When I was practicing centering prayer and distracting thoughts came along, I simply thought to myself, Yes.
Centering prayer has made quieting my spirit easier.
Last week my day started with an angry phone call. Rather than moving on and carrying that anger with me, I sat in my prayer chair and took several minutes to refocus. Brushing away nagging and bitter thoughts with a humbly obedient “yes” calmed my mind to find its peace in God.
Taking time for centering prayer enabled me to begin the day at rest, rather than stewing in anger.
Four meditation temperaments
Mary sat at Jesus’ feet and listened to him. She found that one needed thing. Good for her. But is it right to expect Martha to sit on her hands and listen while the bread is burning?
I know God created Martha and me to be complex and multi-tasking individuals. Is there a way to sit at Jesus’ feet that works with, and not against, the personality and temperament God gave me?
That question led me to select Chester Michael and Marie Norrisey’s book Prayer and Temperament for my sabbatical reading list. In it I found four forms of prayer and meditation. Each form is designed to accommodate one of four temperaments (based on the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator).
• The first meditation style, designed for “intuitive feelers” like myself, stresses creative exercises involving imagination, imagery, and journaling.
One exercise is addressing Scripture passages to yourself. To bring this to life, just insert your name into a passage and meditate on it with the personal application. For example, Jesus says, “Come to me, Kathy, and I will give you rest.” Stirring the heart with the recognition that the promises and commands of Scripture are meant for me personally opens a depth of feeling that is too often buried under the busywork of ministry.
A related technique employs imagery to release emotions as we interact with God. Some people like to use artwork depicting biblical scenes to help imagine the power, the love, or the beauty of God. Others pick up on the depth of feeling found in the colors and images of other forms of art.
I remember a painting entitled “Grace” on the cover of a Christian magazine. It depicted a free flowing image in shades of blue and white. In the swirl of cool motion, a human figure was being lifted up by the waves of color. As I meditated on the painting, its imagery gave me a sense of being buoyed by grace, of being lifted up by the hands of God.
• Scientifically minded folks, labeled “intuitive thinkers,” may benefit from taking a Scripture passage and asking basic investigative questions: who, what, when, where, why, and how. Going beyond those questions, you may ask yourself, “What area of my life will this help with?” This investigative type of meditation can help draw us into truth and discover how it applies to our lives.
• For those driven by duty,”sensory judges,” a concrete, orderly system of meditation appeals to the spirit more than abstract notions of peace, grace, and joy. Using the senses to see, hear, and smell the scenes of Scripture as though actually there brings ancient truth to modern application.
During Holy Week this year, I used this form of meditation to focus on Christ’s passion. I imagined the two thieves and Jesus with a sign over his head, “King of the Jews.” I imagined the jeers of the crowd, the weight of sin, and the sting of sweat and blood. Then I imagined a sign over my head saying “Beloved Child of God,” and I realized anew how much it cost him to give me that title.
• The fourth form of meditation engages action in prayer. Fishing, hiking, and swimming can all be meditation-enhancing activities. And while outdoor enthusiasts may enjoy this kind of prayer, the key for “sensory perceivers” is not just being outside, but moving and working while they pray. Like Brother Lawrence, my friend Kim likes to pray while washing the dishes. What a Martha way to be Mary! Do the work and sit at Jesus’ feet at the same time!
Michael and Norrisey explain that regardless of which style you prefer, people benefit by occasionally using prayer styles preferred by other types. It adds variety and breadth to our relationship with God.
A change of place
My husband Roger and I have taken years to develop familiar patterns of communication. Those patterns suit our relationship and enable us to function smoothly on a daily basis. We can, however, grow overly familiar with and unresponsive to the same old messages. So when I break the norm by writing Roger a love letter, my words make a deeper impact—on Roger and on me—than my usual “I love you.”
The same is true of our prayer lives. When we use our usual prayer pattern, we find a comfortable and efficient way to spend time with God. That is good. And that is what is needed most of the time, especially when we are weary. But occasionally, if we try communicating with God in a different way, he opens a fresh understanding of himself.
The last of my three retreats during the sabbatical was spent at a friend’s house in rural Kentucky, far away from anyone and everyone. Though the first of the four meditation styles is best suited for me, I decided to attempt the fourth—active, nature-appreciating prayer. Hiking seems a strange form of prayer to me, but I spent days in the open fields and forested glens of Kentucky trying to hear God through his creation.
One prayer suggestion asked me to find two trees: one that represented me now, and one that I would like to be. I ventured out to a grove of walnut trees to try the exercise. Within that grove, I journaled (my fallback prayer form) several lessons from the trees.
The grove was planted by a man who, at 60 years of age, would never harvest the wood. He planted the trees for those who came after him. He could have harvested walnuts if he wanted, but as the young trees grew, he pruned off the lower branches to force the trees to grow upward and straight. One day, not only walnuts, but solid, straight lumber would be harvested from this grove. Pruning the trees when they’re young doesn’t hurt them, but enables them to grow straight. Waiting to cut a tree until it’s older, however, is more painful to the tree, leaving scars that mar the wood’s quality.
I still mull the lessons learned in that grove, but on that particular day, God had a specific lesson in mind for me. Two trees stood in contrast to one another. One was tall and straight, a pillar that extended to the sky. Great lumber would come from that tree. Another was thick and strong at the base, but its limbs branched in several directions, and each branch distracted the tree from its upward course.
I realized that the straight tree was what I wanted to be. But my life was better characterized by the second, distracted from my goal by moving in too many directions. This exercise outside my characteristic form enabled me to hear God in a fresh way, directing my life to be more focused on him.
Finding the fullness of the Word
Perhaps the method I learned during my sabbatical that had the greatest impact on my everyday prayer life was the ancient lectio divina. The name means “divine reading.” This form of meditation is designed to deepen Bible reading, though other books may be used.
This guide has four steps. Each step, interestingly, correlates to one of the four temperament meditations discussed above. By using all the steps, the pray-er can both enjoy his or her natural expressions and exercise weak spiritual muscles to greater strength.
• The first step is called lectio, or reading. Lectio is preferably done aloud. Sometimes I tape myself reading and then play it back, so I can truly listen. The different inflections and emphases within my voice can be indicators of hidden or unrealized attitudes about the truths contained in the passage.
• The second step is meditatio, trying to imagine the scene described by the passage. When I read about Jesus clearing the Temple, for example, I imagined the bleating of sheep and cooing of doves. Then I asked, “How does this relate to me?” As I pictured the determination it would have taken for Christ to wrestle his way through the crowd of objectors, I asked, “Do I have the kind of zeal Jesus demonstrated?”
• The third step is oratio, or responding. After reflecting on what God is communicating, I, in turn, respond to Him. Recognizing I was lacking the zeal of Christ to wrestle through obstacles, I prayed that God would light his fire underneath my zeal.
• The final step is contemplatio, or resting. This simple step is often the most difficult for the Martha-minded. Contemplatio means resting in God’s presence—without words, without agenda, simply sitting with God, much like centering prayer.
When I meditated on the passage where Jesus storms the temple, I focused on the word “zeal” and even chose during that time of contemplation to make it my centering prayer sacred word.
Opening my ears
The fruit of deepened prayer shows in my professional and personal life. It deepens my understanding of Scripture, which deepens my preaching. I don’t purposefully use lectio divina to explore sermon texts, but often something I have been meditating on fits perfectly with what I need to share with my congregation.
Sitting at the feet of Christ has deepened my love for him. My heart began to break over what breaks the heart of God. I discovered a fresh and moving compassion for the lost, because I knew how much it pains God’s heart.
Best of all, my hearing has improved. For years I bemoaned the fact that God didn’t seem to talk to me much. I realize now that a Martha brain is often so diverted by today’s to-do list that it doesn’t hear the gentle whisperings of God. In fact, my Martha brain fought against God’s intrusion into its plans.
Developing Mary’s heart, on the other hand, has taught me to listen for and obey God’s agenda, instead of following Martha’s.
One Thursday morning I had a few moments before leaving for an early meeting. I was glad to see an e-mail from my friend Rayna, for she had been out of touch for a couple of weeks. She asked a question about an upcoming date and apologized because her mind hadn’t been functioning well lately. I wondered what she meant by that. I couldn’t really explain it, but I felt compelled to check on her.
My inner Martha had already planned to go to the meeting and then do some shopping. There were some things I needed to pick up, and I had just enough time to cover the bases before the rest of my schedule stacked up. But when I left the meeting to do my shopping, I could only think about visiting Rayna. The sense was so strong, I pushed Martha’s agenda aside and went to Rayna’s house.
When Rayna came to the door, she looked distressed, her clothing disheveled. She asked, “Why did you come, how did you know?”
How did I know what? I wondered. I stood there confused, having no clear reason for why I dropped by.
Then she burst out with the admission that she had just been trying to harm herself. Rayna’s husband was out of town, her other close friend was out of the country, and her therapist was booked for the day. God had sent me at just the right moment. Besides the immediate rescue from that dangerous situation, the fact that God would act in such a clear way communicated a message of deep love to Rayna.
I had heard my marching orders for that moment. In the past, Martha’s agenda would likely have overruled the very instructions that saved my friend’s life. I’m convinced that cultivating Mary’s heart by sitting with the Father has increased my ability to hear from God.
I wish I’d started this focused listening, abiding, and obeying a lot sooner, but I’m encouraged by Thomas Merton’s comment about prayer, “We do not want to be beginners. But let us be convinced of the fact that we will never be anything else but beginners, all our life!”
Copyright © 2001 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership.
