Unintentional Prayer. Is that a thing?

We all have our favourite places, and when we need to, we go there. Walking along the edge of a full tide yesterday evening was the right place to be. The rhythm of waves in conversation with the sand, the shoreline washed in pastel colours of fading sunlight, old wooden steps descending to the shore, and a horizon given perspective by support vessels and wind turbines; a place to stop and take a breath was what was needed.

I wonder if that is a reverse perspective of the word breathtaking. Not the beauty that takes your breath away, but the beauty that invites us to breathe. The regular and gentle tumble of waves finally reaching shore and surrendering to the mystery of movement; is there an equivalent relaxing of the soul, when energy is felt as gratitude, and we stand in the moment, heart and mind synchronised with the world around us? 

The past year I've been in search of moments when prayer happens, sometimes even without being conscious that is what it was, till afterwards. Unintentional prayer, is that a thing? Yes, I think it is. If God is out and about in the world, and if that clumsy word omnipresence is an essential truth about God, then I can expect to bump into God when I'm in a hurry and turn a corner without watching where I'm going.

Prayer can't be confined to the constraints imposed by my own whims or disciplines. Prayer doesn't just happen when I say so. Prayer is not, thank God, something I do when God becomes one more resource I turn to for my own needs and ends. Prayer happens when I bump into the God who is at work in the world. That happens more times than I recognise. Grace is God's way of touching our lives. In ways we only rarely and partially recognise, the God of grace is gently resolute, like the waves on the shoreline, a recurring movement towards us of immense patience and creative energy. The omnipresence of God is a presupposition of the life of faith, though often enough we forget the reality, the here there and everywhere of that necessary word.

As a reminder that prayer happens wherever God is, whether we like it or not, there are these slightly scary strangely comforting words:

⁷ Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy presence?

⁸ If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.

⁹ If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea;

¹⁰ Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.

¹¹ If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me.

¹² Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee.

Psalm 139 is a wake-up call. Our busyness and self-absorption in our own life project makes no difference to the reality and the real presence of God in the midst of it all. And where God is, grace is, and prayer happens. If prayer is to seek the presence of God, then that seeking is rightly intentional. But God seeks us, and that is also prayer. That wonderfdul scholar of medieval devotional literature, Helen Waddell, once wrote a prayer with the line, "Thine eternity dost ever besiege us.' The word besiege is a brilliant image of the God who just won't go away.

The 'thereness' of God means that for all our prying and seeking, we are but looking for a presence we would otherwise miss. But whether or not we seek God's presence, God is there, and whether we like it or not. Grace is always there before us, awaiting our arrival, inviting our attention, and evoking our grateful yes to the God who, like those waves on the shore, is endlessly patient in approach. And why? Because God works on the scale of eternity and from horizons beyond our knowing. We are besieged by an eternal and holy Love.

And in the miracle and mystery of the life of any one of us, God is there. It is right that we pray, intentionally and with that seriousness of commitment that every relationship of depth requires to stay healthy. But without our ever intending it, and sometimes when we are least expecting it, on the shoreline of our lives, another wave tumbles, and prayer happens.