by Albert Holtz
“Lord, hear our prayer.”
Twice a day, at morning and evening prayer, we monks had included a petition like this in our common prayer. We’d been doing so for a few years now, but so far neither our prayers nor our recruiting efforts had shown any positive results.
Most believers, I thought to myself, have at one time or another experienced the frustration of having their prayers go unanswered, or gotten impatient when God seemed in no particular hurry to answer their prayers. But what should we do then? Should we just stop praying and wait politely for an answer from the Lord? Jesus once offered his disciples some advice “on the necessity for them to pray always without becoming weary” (Luke 18:1). He told them a parable about a corrupt judge and a certain widow.
The judge was part of a judicial system rife with bribery and corruption and that favored the rich and the powerful over the weak and the poor. The widow, on the other hand, was in a particularly vulnerable situation; when she lost her husband she had also lost her status in society. There was no welfare system or Social Security for her to fall back on, so she had to fend for herself as best she could, which is exactly what she was doing when she appeared before the unsuspecting judge.
On the surface the story of her clash with the judge seems straightforward enough, but in fact there are some lively and even humorous images beneath the surface of the original Greek.
The parable begins with the widow coming to the judge to demand justice against her opponent. In the original language the verb “came” is in the imperfect tense, which is Greek’s way of expressing a repeated action: “she kept coming and coming.” We get the idea that the woman intends to just keep badgering the judge until she gets what she wants.
Then suddenly the story comes to a speedy conclusion in a single sentence: “For a while [the judge] refused; but later he said to himself, ‘Though I have no fear of God and no respect for anyone, yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming’” (Luke 18:4–5). In the original this sentence is both more picturesque and perhaps more instructive. First, there is the expression “this widow keeps causing me trouble.” The word kopos, “trouble”7 comes from the root kop-, “to chop, hack.” And this expression too is in the imperfect tense, implying constant repetition. Imagine! This powerful judge felt that he was getting chopped and hacked by this supposedly helpless woman!
“For an end to all racial and religious discrimination in our country, we pray to the Lord.” Our morning’s petitions kept pouring out in relentless succession.
“Lord, hear our prayer,” we answered with one enthusiastic voice.
The parable ends with another forceful image: the judge decides “I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out” (Luke 18:5). The verb translated here as “to wear someone out” is huppiaz, literally “to strike below the eye”8; it is used in describing fistfights.9 It seems the judge is afraid that the determined widow may haul off and literally sock him in the eye!
This three-sentence parable paints an unforgettable picture of a completely powerless person managing to get her way with a mighty judge. Then Jesus draws the lesson for his hearers, including all of us: “Listen to what the unjust judge says. And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them? I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them” (Luke 18:6–8).
The phrase “who cry out to him” is a present participle in Greek, literally “calling out to him” day and night. Once again we have the image of constant relentless asking—but this time the constant calling out in prayer is to be done by you and me.
“That the Lord may move the hearts of leaders of nations to work toward a just and lasting peace in the world, we pray to the Lord.” Now that’s another petition that we’ve been repeating for decades with little noticeable effect, I grumble. But the example of the widow is a powerful reminder to me not to give up easily.
In fact, sometimes when I’m praying for something and am about to cut short my period of prayer, I hear the widow’s voice whispering, “What? Are you finished already? Don’t stop now, you’re just getting started!” I begin to squirm as she continues, “Listen, you just go back and ask again!” She sounds so upset that I’m afraid she’s going to haul off and hit me. “Then after that,” she goes on, “go back and ask again. Keep asking!” Usually it seems wise to go back and do what she says.
The other day she interrupted me right in the middle of a prayer. “Listen! Do you really want those new vocations you’re praying for? Because if you do, you sure don’t sound like it! You’re just rattling on, only half thinking about what you’re saying. You ask that way and expect God to answer you? You’ve got to be kidding!” She didn’t stop, but just kept coming and coming: “You’ve got to throw your whole heart into it! Don’t be shy—that never gets results. Maybe try getting a little loud. You know—make a scene like I did with that crooked judge; let God know you’re serious. Keep after him every day, every hour, every minute. And, above all, don’t give up!”
St. Benedict seems to recommend the widow’s approach to prayer in his Rule. At the beginning of the Prologue, he writes, “Every time you begin a good work, you must pray to him most earnestly to bring it to perfection” (Rule of Benedict, Prologue 4). The Latin says “instantissime oratione,” “ with most insistent prayer.” In other places Benedict connects prayer with tears and compunction,10 and advises us to pray without ceasing and throw ourselves passionately into our prayer. He says “if at other times someone chooses to pray privately, he may simply go [into the oratory] and pray, not in a loud voice, but with tears and heartfelt devotion” (RB 52:4).
And so as we keep trying to think of other ways of attracting new monks, we also keep praying that the Lord will bless our efforts. And until that starts to happen, the Almighty is going to have to listen twice a day to our persistent prayer for vocations. Maybe we’ll eventually start to sound like that pesky widow who got what she wanted because the judge got tired of listening to her.
It certainly seems worth a try.
Reflection
1. Do you ever pray passionately and repeatedly for a particular intention? If so, what do you pray for? If not, what keeps you from praying that way? What do you do if your prayers are not answered? How quickly do you give up trying?
2. Most of us have been taught to pray to God tentatively, that is, to add at the end of our petitions some statement like, “However, Lord, if you don’t want to grant my request, that’s fine too. I will gladly accept whatever it is that you decide to do.” How does this accepting, seemingly disinterested attitude during prayer square with the widow’s forceful approach that was recommended by Jesus himself?
Sacred Scripture
The Psalms contain many examples of insistent, forceful prayer. Psalm 86, for example, begins, “Incline your ear, O Lord, and answer me, for I am poor and needy. Preserve my life, for I am devoted to you; save your servant who trusts in you. You are my God; be gracious to me, O Lord, for to you do I cry all day long” (Ps 86: 1–3). Compare this with Luke 11:5–10: “Ask and it will be given to you, etc.”
Rule of Benedict
Every time you begin a good work, you must pray to him with most insistent prayer to bring it to perfection (Prologue, v. 4).
20. Opening Up
I WAS COVERING A CLASS OF SENIORS; their teacher had been called out for a family emergency and told me to give the students a study hall. Seniors are always great, they actually take advantage of the extra time to study. Sitting at the teacher’s desk in the front of the room, I picked up a copy of the school newspaper. A front-page headline asked in bold type, “Has God Stopped Calling People?” The subtitle was “Lack of Vocations in the Monastery Raises Concerns.” As I read it I saw that it was an intelligent and sensitive article. The student reporter had interviewed a few monks, and especially the Director of Vocations. So, I thought, the monks of Newark
Abbey are not the only ones wondering what’s going to happen if the number of monks keeps declining.
I thought of the title of an article I once read in a Catholic magazine that also asked a question about the decline in vocations: “What Vocations Crisis?” The gist of the article had been that if a community that once had 300 members now had only 75, one need not conclude that the members were doing something wrong or that God was abandoning them. The author argued that it may be that the Lord was now expecting that group to seek and serve God as a community of 75 rather than a community of 300. But letting go of the ideal of the “good old days” when everything was “the way it was supposed to be” is not easy. And even if one is willing to let go of the past, adjusting to the new circumstances requires a kind of creativity and vision that are foreign to many religious and their superiors.
I kept reading the newspaper article while keeping an eye on my charges, who seemed to be intent on their work.
I asked myself, if Newark Abbey has fourteen members who are praying and working together peacefully, who care about one another and help one other and lots of other people to get to heaven, maybe God doesn’t see this as a crisis. Maybe this is exactly what the Lord has in mind for us right now. Maybe we are being invited to envision new, unheard of possibilities that could only be seen from this new position in which we find ourselves. Maybe it’s more of an invitation than a “crisis.”
The real “crisis” would be if we let ourselves get discouraged, and so were no longer able to see and accept new possibilities. A real “crisis” would be if we kept looking back longingly, wishing we could return to the good old days when there were more of us. A real “crisis” would be if we were each to close inward on ourselves and stop caring lovingly for others or stop being open to God.
I stood up to stretch my bad back, and then walked around the room for a few moments on an inspection tour.
As I sat down again I thought how necessary it is for us to stay open to new possibilities and opportunities. I thought of a Greek word which I’d meditated on so many times that it was like an old friend—a helpful friend, too. The New Testament word dianoig, “to open”11 is used in such a wide variety of passages that it gives a pretty good summary of what a Christian is called to be and do.
Take, for example, how it runs throughout the story of Christ’s appearance to the two disciples on the road to Emmaus (Luke 24:13–35), in which it is used three separate times. You recall that on the first Easter day, two discouraged disciples were making their way home to the village of Emmaus when suddenly Christ appeared and walked along with them, conversing with them and explaining the Scriptures. When evening started to fall, the two disciples invited the stranger to come in and stay with them. As the three were seated at supper together, Jesus blessed the bread, broke it, and gave it to them. “With that their eyes were opened [dianoig] and they recognized him” (Luke 24:31). While walking with them on the road, the risen Jesus had been a stranger to them because he didn’t fit their preconceptions—they had not been looking for a failed Messiah, and they were certainly not open to the possibility of a suffering and crucified Savior.
Then, as soon as their eyes were opened and they recognized Jesus, he vanished from their sight; at this point they said to one another, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he spoke to us on the way and opened [dianoig] the scriptures to us?” (v. 32).12 This time it was not their eyes that had been opened, but God’s inspired word.
Then they ran all the way back to Jerusalem to the room where the apostles were assembled, and started telling their story. While they were still speaking, Jesus appeared in their midst, greeted them and told them not to be afraid, and “then he opened [dianoig] their minds to understand the scriptures. And he said to them, ‘Thus it is written that the Messiah would suffer and rise from the dead on the third day . . .’” (v. 45). Once again, “opening” was connected with the mystery of Christ’s redemptive suffering and death. This time it was the disciples’ minds that were opened to the saving truth.
The classroom was getting stuffy, so I stood up and walked over and opened the window next to the teacher’s desk. A cool, refreshing breeze rushed in. I stood there breathing in the fresh air.
Luke continued the theme of “opening” in the Acts of the Apostles. For instance, as Lydia listened to Paul in Philippi, “the Lord opened [dianoig] her heart to pay attention to what Paul was saying” (Acts 16:14). This time it was someone’s heart that was opened, so that she could hear Paul’s message about Christ. In the next verse she and her whole household were baptized.
I stood at the open window enjoying the chilly breeze and the view of downtown Newark and thinking that it was pretty obvious that, just as when St. Benedict’s Prep closed in 1972, the Lord was asking us monks once again to open our hearts to a new situation. We certainly hadn’t planned for either situation to happen, nor did we find either one particularly enjoyable. But the so-called “vocations crisis” was another opportunity for us to have our minds opened to the new possibilities arising from our new position, and, while doing so, to have our hearts opened in love so that we can serve one another, our students, our parishioners, and everyone who relies on us to bear witness to the Good News.
I heard behind me the sound of books closing and conversations starting. I turned away from the window and glanced at the clock: The period had flown by.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” I said as the students stood and started walking toward the door.
I turned to close the window. But the fresh air was such a treat that I changed my mind. Instead, I put both hands under the half-opened window and heaved it upward all the way. I walked out leaving it wide open.
Reflection
1. Think of a time when God opened your eyes, your heart, or your mind. Was this a comfortable experience? Disconcerting? Joyous?
2. Do you tend by nature to be more open or more closed to new experiences, to meeting new people and so on? In what circumstances would you say that you are most open to God?
Sacred Scripture
Verbs for “to open” [dianoig or anoig] appear in the Acts of the Apostles in a few other passages that offer additional food for meditation: Acts 5:19; Acts 7:54; and Acts 14:27.
Anoig is used in Ezekiel’s promise, “I am going to open [anoig] your graves” (Ezek 37:12), and Matthew shows us that prophecy fulfilled as Jesus dies on the cross: “The earth quaked, rocks were split, tombs were opened and the bodies of many who had fallen asleep were raised” (Matt 27:51–52).
Rule of Benedict
Let us open our eyes to the light that comes from God, and our ears to the voice from heaven that every day calls out (Prologue, v. 9).
1. John the Baptist uses the image of fire three times within a few verses: “Therefore every tree that does not produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire. . . . He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. . . . the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire” (Luke 3:9, 16–17).
2. The noun bia (bee´-ah) means “violence, physical force,” as in “the violence of the mob” in Acts 21:35. The adjective describing the wind in the Pentecost story is biaios (bee´-ah-yos), “violent.”
3. Jerome Oetgen, An American Abbot: Boniface Wimmer, O.S.B., 1809–1887 (rev. ed.; Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1997), 369.
4. Gregory Mayers, Listen to the Desert: Secrets of Spiritual Maturity from the Desert Fathers and Mothers (Liguori, Missouri: Triumph Books, 1996), 77.
5. The verb merimna (mer-im-nah´-o), “to worry, be concerned,” and the noun merimna (mer´-im-nah), “a worry, a care” are both based on meriz (mer-id´-zo), “to divide, distribute, deal out portions.”
6. Paul connects “to worry” with “to divide” when he is making his case for virginity: “An unmarried man is anxious about [merimna] the things of the Lord, how he may please the Lord. But a married man is anxious about [merimna] the things of the world, how he may please his wife, and he i
s divided [meriz]” (1 Corinthians 7:32–34).
7. Kopos (kop´-os), “difficulty, toil, trouble.”
8. Huppiaz (hoop-o-pee-ad´-zo), “to strike;” from hupo, “under” and ops, “the eye.”
9. Paul uses this word to describe his own spiritual self-discipline: “I do not fight as if I were shadowboxing. No, I drive my body and train [huppiaz] it” (1 Corinthians 9:27). He toughens his body the way a prizefighter does, by striking it repeatedly to get it in shape.
10. In the Rule of Benedict, prayer is twice mentioned in the same sentence with “tears.”
11. Dianoig (dee-an-oy´-go), “to open, to open wide,” comes from dia- (an intensifier) and anoig, “to open.”
12. The word is used in this way also in Acts 17:3 to describe Paul’s preaching in Thessalonika, “expounding and explaining (literally dianoig, “opening) the scriptures,” namely, that “the Messiah had to suffer and rise from the dead.”
CHAPTER SIX
THE KEY TO TROUBLED TIMES
The Paschal Mystery
The major assumption that underlies this book is that if we wish to survive and indeed profit from walking our “valleys of darkness,” then we need to keep in mind that our sufferings are our special way of sharing in Christ’s passion, death, and resurrection, the “paschal mystery.” This final chapter, then, instead of describing some specific period of struggle, looks at four occasions when I became aware of the paschal mystery at work in my life. A saintly old monk showed me what it means to witness to the risen Lord, a group of little children gave me a glimpse of Easter joy, the congregation in an African-American church shared with me a vision of Christ’s victory in the midst of a tragic disaster, and a young monk professing his vows reminded me of the paschal dimension of my own monastic commitment.
21. Witnessing to the Risen Lord: Father Maurus