PRAYING SHAPES BELIEVING: HOW THE BOOK OF COMMON PRAYER SHAPED MY FAITH
Praying shapes believing. After spending my entire life as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (you probably know them as the Mormons), I turned away and joined the Episcopal Church. And it was this promise — the promise that Episcopalians are united by how they pray, and that how they pray shapes what they believe — that I was hoping for when I bought my first copy of the Book of Common Prayer (BCP) after joining the Episcopal Church. It was a hope rather than an expectation, because I was nearly certain I would never be able to abandon some of the core theological beliefs from my upbringing. The big one of course being my lack of belief in the Trinity. “Haven’t you read the Bible? Isn’t the Trinity so obvious? Especially in the gospel of John!” some of you may be thinking. Well, I had. I had spent years learning about the scholarly work, historical criticism, the beauty of Jewish and Christian commentary of the Bible, and listened to podcasts about the latest in Protestant theology. Despite all that knowledge, my view on the nature of God had become even more entrenched, not less. Yet, I knew that the Episcopal Church was my new faith home. So, I put my feelings of being less-than- or other-than-Christian aside, and, like many eager converts, made the Daily Office my companion into my new faith. Little did I know how essential this little book would become.
The Daily Office did not let me sit idle in my theology. Twice a day, it would hammer away at my theological certainty about the nature of God. And its favorite hammer of choice was the Apostles’ Creed. At a surface level the Apostles’ Creed is compatible with Mormon theology, so at first, I had no problem reciting it. But every Sunday when the congregation would recite the Nicene Creed, I would remain silent. I didn’t want to be disingenuous, regardless of whether the creed said “we” rather than “I.” Eventually, the reality that the Apostles’ Creed can only be understood in light of the Nicene Creed dawned on me, and my comfortable confidence became uncertainty. From then on, I recited the Apostles’ Creed knowing I was merely practicing for joining my fellow Christians in reciting the Nicene Creed.
But the Nicene Creed was not the only way the Daily Office invited me to the deep Love that is the Trinity. Almost every prayer was unabashedly Trinitarian, especially the collects. For example, the very first collect I ever heard ends:
“…through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever.” [emphasis added].
To understand how radical this language was to me, you have to understand how all prayers are structured in my childhood tradition. Prayers always open addressed to “Heavenly Father”, and conclude with “in the name of Jesus Christ.” This separation between God the Father and God the Son was so explicit that there was not even a concept of a prayer to Jesus. Opening a prayer with “Our Lord Jesus Christ” would almost assuredly get you some confused stares. Even though it felt radical, I didn’t omit phrases like “one God” or shy away from praying to Jesus. Instead, I clung to the BCP’s promise that praying shapes believing.
And slowly, it did. When I read the appointed scriptures every day, I began to see the Trinity within its pages. The collects went from foreign, radical, almost heretical, to familiar. I wish I could tell you when it was, but one day I joined the congregation in reciting the Nicene Creed. I didn’t, and still don’t, understand the grand mystery that is the Trinity. But I did know that, along with the saints past, present, and future, I believed that God’s love only makes sense in the mystery of the Trinity. That is, that God’s nature is inherently one of relationship, yet oneness. In less than a year, the BCP completely shaped what I believed when years of Bible study had not. I think this is because praying, over time, leads us to grow closer to God and to the Body of Christ. As I got to know God better through prayer, the truth of God as Trinity began to be revealed.
We could end the story there, but the BCP has shaped my faith life far beyond changing some of my theological beliefs. If that was all it was good for, then I would have stopped using the BCP a long time ago. We as a church could set it aside completely if we were all “on board” with the theology within its pages. But the BCP is far more than a means for shaping belief. No, rather, the BCP has become my means for a consistent connection to God and the communion of saints. Like the rector of my first parish said, the BCP is our identity and heritage as Episcopalians. He also, mostly jokingly, said that every “good” Episcopalian would have their BCP with them at all times. Joking or not, I decided to take up his advice, and see what it would be like to make the BCP a key part of my identity as an Episcopalian.
Whether in a cardigan pocket or in my bag, the BCP is always somewhere nearby. And sure enough, as the makers of your smartphone know, more accessibility often turns into more use. Whether it be the Thanksgiving for the Beauty of the Earth (BCP 1979, p.840) before our family hikes, or a prayer for a birthday, I have found myself turning to the BCP for prayer. Especially when I don’t know what to say, the BCP provides the words to praise, lament to, or simply talk to God. This consistent lifeline to God has helped me not only feel God’s presence more fully and frequently, but it has also helped me feel connected to the communion of saints. Whether I pray alone, or with our morning prayer group, I know that someone in the world or in heaven is praying alongside me.
This consistent lifeline to God’s presence is comforting during the normal flows of life, but it is absolutely essential during the deepest challenges. Times when, at least for me, the temptation not to pray at all is strongest. The essentiality of the BCP in my life became most clear to me during one of these great challenges of life. That is, when about five months ago, my dad unexpectedly died at the age of 53. After we held a small, non-religious memorial service for my dad with family and close friends, my wife asked if there were some sort of set prayers that we could use with his urn that I had placed on my prayer table. The closest thing, of course, is the Burial of the Dead. If you can bear it a moment, I invite you to walk with me through some prayers that we used for that little service we held that night.
After opening with an anthem, I prayed the collect:
“O God of grace and glory, we remember before you this day our brother James. We thank you for giving him to us, his family and friends, to know and to love as a companion on our earthly pilgrimage.”
As bitter as the pain that he is gone was and is, I am grateful. I am grateful for my dad’s life. The way that he laughed, his love of putting lights on just about any object you can think of when it would make even a little bit of sense; every thought and action, good or bad. We acknowledge that all of it, his very existence and by logical extension, all humanity, is a gift from God.
After the readings and the psalms are the Prayers of the People. It reads, in full:
For our brother James, let us pray to our Lord Jesus Christ who said, “I am Resurrection and I am Life.”
Hear us, Lord.
Lord, you consoled Martha and Mary in their distress; draw near to us who mourn for James, and dry the tears of those who weep.
Hear us, Lord.
You wept at the grave of Lazarus, your friend; comfort us in our sorrow.
Hear us, Lord.
You raised the dead to life; give to our brother eternal life.
Hear us, Lord.
You promised paradise to the thief who repented; bring our brother to the joys of heaven.
Hear us, Lord.
Comfort us in our sorrows at the death of our brother; let our faith be our consolation, and eternal life our hope. [emphasis added]
It was the hope of eternal life with Jesus Christ — and with those who had gone before me — that kept my faith alive as I left my old tradition. Though my father dying has tested my hope in a way it never had been before, I continue to believe the promise of the BCP: that praying shapes believing. When I doubt that my dad is, somehow, alive in Christ, I cling to the prayers and theology in the BCP, which proclaims Jesus as the hope of eternal life.
In the gospel reading we chose for that mini service, Jesus says to Martha, whose brother Lazarus had died “I am the resurrection....”. But the reading ends before Lazarus is raised. Like Martha before her brother was raised or the disciples as Jesus lay in the tomb on Holy Saturday, I wait and pray. I wait and pray with the entire communion of saints, past, present, and future, during that great waiting period that we call the changes and chances of this life. And the entire way, I will be using the BCP as my guide to connect with God.
