I had read of this 19th century British writer, WH Hudson, since way back in grad school. He had written a book called Green Mansions about the Amazon that anthropologists had found amusing because of its projections of European sensibilities and desires onto the aggregate communities of Amazon Indians. Lately, I have come upon him again and again in my investigations of the spiritual, and at last I looked him up on our digital Amazon to see what they had on him. Since he is dead and his works are long past the copy write laws, old Hudson came cheap: 12 of his complete works for $1.99. Having little to lose, I clicked on it almost as an afterthought.
What I met with on reading the first book, A Crystal Age, was both less and more than I had expected. Less in that I had forgotten just how – let’s say – baroque, or curly-cued the writing of that time and country was. On and on went each description, and more, on and on went tales of passion, of burnings in the breast, of “lingering melancholy,” and so on. It was astonishingly boring, although I say this with caution. I have often looked at my own writing and thought that it, too, presented too many words for what I wished to convey. I, too, am trapped in the style of my time. To date, experimental writing has not solved the problem. Perhaps it will never be solved, as words are only symbols of ideas, but, man, that Victorian era stuff was thick as a Highland brogue.
Back to the point: it was also more than expected, for it broadly and honestly explored religion and spirituality and the human condition. In A Crystal Age, a young man falls down a hill and is suddenly transported to earth 100,000 years later. Here, people have learned to live as the Good Book tells us (although without the exclusionary presence of the Good Book), in gentle brotherly love. Trouble is, most have lost the thorn of sexual passion. That is where our interloping primitive Englishman comes into the equation. But there are many other ideas considered as well. For instance, at one point, our hero hopes for the health of the one ‘mother of the clan’ by proclaiming, “I hope to God that she is relieved of her suffering and regains her health,” (my recall), whereby the father of the clan admonishes him sternly. (Here, again my recall): “Why would you do that? Does not our Father know all that is best for us, and is he not the most loving father? Then why would you ask Him to intercede with one’s life, for it is already as it should be. If there is pain and sickness, He put it there for our best purpose.” And so on.
Which brings us exactly to the notion and utility of prayer. When we read of Jesus when he is in prayer, he does not ask for anything, but rather prays for communion. It is only after the last supper in Gethsemane when he asks his father to “spare me this bitter cup” but then quickly adds, “but thou will be done.” Even in the face of agonizing death, his example is to accept what God gives us, for, if we are faithful to Him, it will always be for the best in the long run.
Except. In our studies of the Gospel of Mathew, we read in chapter 7 that God will give us what we pray for, for what father would “give his son a rock instead of a loaf, or a serpent instead of a fish”? We are to see God as Abba, a generous father, and to openly ask for what we wish.
Many of us have at least heard of this passage before, and probably nearly as many have done what I do upon hearing it: we think, “yeah, sure, and I’ve got a bridge in Brooklyn to sell ya.” Anyone past the age of 8 knows that we usually do not get what we pray for. The less bitter among us tell ourselves that, well, God gives us what is best for us, not what we THINK is best for us - which is as true for us as it was for Jesus in that one moment when he wished to live and not suffer. But by this, then, do we learn that we should only pray for communion ith God and never for anything or anyone?
A once-famous Catholic Archbishop whose name I cannot recall said, “When I pray, the coincidences in my life increase. When I do not, they decrease.” Not of great eloquence, that, which, considering WH Hudson, is probably good, for it gets us straight to the point. This is not about us getting only what God wants for us from his far-away mansion in the sky, nor is it about us getting that pony we always wanted for Christmas. Rather, prayer – getting in touch with the holy – keeps us in touch with the holy. In so doing, we are connected with the deeper mechanisms of things, such that “coincidences” keep occurring. These coincidences are not lucky accidents – rather, they are connections with other things that we suddenly begin to see. These were there all along, these connections, but in seeing them, we begin to understand better the nature of our existence, and in doing so, our desires gradually begin to coincide with the greater reality. This is mysterious, but also easy to understand, for in seeing how our lives are connected to so much more, our notion of our place in the universe changes. We then do not care for, or do not care as much for, that pony or that sports car or that perfect mate. Why should we, when the whole universe seems to be bending itself towards us? We understand that by losing the soul to gain the earth, we lose almost everything. With this, our desires change, to say the least.
The Gospels always tell us that it is the man of faith who is favored, and it must be this man who Jesus is talking about. But this man does not accept what God gives him on faith alone. Rather, in prayer, in meditation, he learns more about what he is in the cosmos, and as he grows, he learns better how to pray, and what to pray for. As he grows, his prayers become more effective – but his desires also become more in line with the cosmic order, for that is what gives him greater and greater pleasure as it comes into his life. So it might be that at first, when this man prays for a fish or a loaf, he may only get the bitter opportunity to work overtime at his crumby job. Then coincidences begin to happen, ones that may or may not work to his benefit, but which give him greater insight. In time, the fish and the loaf loose much of their importance, just as a dent in the new car would suddenly fade in light of, say, a discovery of a terminal disease by the doctor. The smaller is always swallowed by the greater, and with that, our prayers change.
For the most part, I’m still at the wishing- for- a -pony level, but that link with coincidences gave me the clue. Yes, realizing that an invisible and powerful force is working in our lives is a real game-changer. Everything else begins to look small in comparison. And with that, everything starts to come together – faith, prayer, and – perhaps – prayers answered. No pony for Christmas, maybe, but instead a stocking full of divine knowledge, wonder and awe. I pray that this is what I’d pray for, and what I’d get after the pony got old. FK
What I met with on reading the first book, A Crystal Age, was both less and more than I had expected. Less in that I had forgotten just how – let’s say – baroque, or curly-cued the writing of that time and country was. On and on went each description, and more, on and on went tales of passion, of burnings in the breast, of “lingering melancholy,” and so on. It was astonishingly boring, although I say this with caution. I have often looked at my own writing and thought that it, too, presented too many words for what I wished to convey. I, too, am trapped in the style of my time. To date, experimental writing has not solved the problem. Perhaps it will never be solved, as words are only symbols of ideas, but, man, that Victorian era stuff was thick as a Highland brogue.
Back to the point: it was also more than expected, for it broadly and honestly explored religion and spirituality and the human condition. In A Crystal Age, a young man falls down a hill and is suddenly transported to earth 100,000 years later. Here, people have learned to live as the Good Book tells us (although without the exclusionary presence of the Good Book), in gentle brotherly love. Trouble is, most have lost the thorn of sexual passion. That is where our interloping primitive Englishman comes into the equation. But there are many other ideas considered as well. For instance, at one point, our hero hopes for the health of the one ‘mother of the clan’ by proclaiming, “I hope to God that she is relieved of her suffering and regains her health,” (my recall), whereby the father of the clan admonishes him sternly. (Here, again my recall): “Why would you do that? Does not our Father know all that is best for us, and is he not the most loving father? Then why would you ask Him to intercede with one’s life, for it is already as it should be. If there is pain and sickness, He put it there for our best purpose.” And so on.
Which brings us exactly to the notion and utility of prayer. When we read of Jesus when he is in prayer, he does not ask for anything, but rather prays for communion. It is only after the last supper in Gethsemane when he asks his father to “spare me this bitter cup” but then quickly adds, “but thou will be done.” Even in the face of agonizing death, his example is to accept what God gives us, for, if we are faithful to Him, it will always be for the best in the long run.
Except. In our studies of the Gospel of Mathew, we read in chapter 7 that God will give us what we pray for, for what father would “give his son a rock instead of a loaf, or a serpent instead of a fish”? We are to see God as Abba, a generous father, and to openly ask for what we wish.
Many of us have at least heard of this passage before, and probably nearly as many have done what I do upon hearing it: we think, “yeah, sure, and I’ve got a bridge in Brooklyn to sell ya.” Anyone past the age of 8 knows that we usually do not get what we pray for. The less bitter among us tell ourselves that, well, God gives us what is best for us, not what we THINK is best for us - which is as true for us as it was for Jesus in that one moment when he wished to live and not suffer. But by this, then, do we learn that we should only pray for communion ith God and never for anything or anyone?
A once-famous Catholic Archbishop whose name I cannot recall said, “When I pray, the coincidences in my life increase. When I do not, they decrease.” Not of great eloquence, that, which, considering WH Hudson, is probably good, for it gets us straight to the point. This is not about us getting only what God wants for us from his far-away mansion in the sky, nor is it about us getting that pony we always wanted for Christmas. Rather, prayer – getting in touch with the holy – keeps us in touch with the holy. In so doing, we are connected with the deeper mechanisms of things, such that “coincidences” keep occurring. These coincidences are not lucky accidents – rather, they are connections with other things that we suddenly begin to see. These were there all along, these connections, but in seeing them, we begin to understand better the nature of our existence, and in doing so, our desires gradually begin to coincide with the greater reality. This is mysterious, but also easy to understand, for in seeing how our lives are connected to so much more, our notion of our place in the universe changes. We then do not care for, or do not care as much for, that pony or that sports car or that perfect mate. Why should we, when the whole universe seems to be bending itself towards us? We understand that by losing the soul to gain the earth, we lose almost everything. With this, our desires change, to say the least.
The Gospels always tell us that it is the man of faith who is favored, and it must be this man who Jesus is talking about. But this man does not accept what God gives him on faith alone. Rather, in prayer, in meditation, he learns more about what he is in the cosmos, and as he grows, he learns better how to pray, and what to pray for. As he grows, his prayers become more effective – but his desires also become more in line with the cosmic order, for that is what gives him greater and greater pleasure as it comes into his life. So it might be that at first, when this man prays for a fish or a loaf, he may only get the bitter opportunity to work overtime at his crumby job. Then coincidences begin to happen, ones that may or may not work to his benefit, but which give him greater insight. In time, the fish and the loaf loose much of their importance, just as a dent in the new car would suddenly fade in light of, say, a discovery of a terminal disease by the doctor. The smaller is always swallowed by the greater, and with that, our prayers change.
For the most part, I’m still at the wishing- for- a -pony level, but that link with coincidences gave me the clue. Yes, realizing that an invisible and powerful force is working in our lives is a real game-changer. Everything else begins to look small in comparison. And with that, everything starts to come together – faith, prayer, and – perhaps – prayers answered. No pony for Christmas, maybe, but instead a stocking full of divine knowledge, wonder and awe. I pray that this is what I’d pray for, and what I’d get after the pony got old. FK
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