I see that the Catholic webzine Godspy is up and running again (via Kevin Jones). One particular article I liked was blogger Eve Tushnet’s commendation of repetitive prayer. This hits home for me:

In “falling back on” other people’s words I can admit that I can’t express myself very well, and I need help even to understand what I might want to say. Helplessness and a sense of terrible distance from God lend themselves naturally, I think, to these shy borrowings of others’ speech. (Jesus on the Cross uses the Psalmist’s words when He cries, “My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?”)

St. Josemaria Escriva touches on a similar theme in The Furrow, with added bite: “For those who use their intelligence and their study as a weapon, the Rosary is most effective, because this apparently monotonous way of beseeching Our Lady, as children do their mother, can destroy every seed of vainglory and pride.” So it isn’t only that the repeated prayers can help us when we already feel as weak and small as a child; it’s also that we need to put ourselves, voluntarily, in that state of spiritual littleness, overcoming our pride. It’s good to put aside our very own, special-snowflake words sometimes, and accept others’ words as an act of humility. The repetitions push us to recognize how much more there is in these humble words than we might initially realize. It’s good at times to pray patiently in a way we did not choose, and see what others’ practices can teach us.

I notice that often when trying to pray “in my own words” I end up praying, not simply and directly, but in what I imagine to be “theologically correct” language, as though I’m trying to show off my knowledge and erudition to God. Which is, of course, completely ridiculous (not least because I don’t have much knowledge and erudition when it comes to theological matters).

I’ve also found the Rosary in particular to be the best way for me to focus my prayers, not on my own needs, but on the great story of God’s love for us. By meditating on the Joyful, Luminous, Sorrowful, and Glorious mysteries I sometimes find that my own needs (or more often wants) which seemed so pressing are put in their proper perspective. Such prayers focused on what Christians believe to be God’s own story help, I think, to orient the self to reality, rather than trying to manipulate reality in service to the self.