Prayer fire

Prayer is an interesting concept. My dictionary’s first definition calls it ‘an address (as a petition) to God.’ ‘An earnest request or wish’ is also mentioned, as well as ‘a slight chance.’

My understanding of prayer, though, has broadened past these Webster standards over the years. Some time ago it was suggested by a Marianist at the University of Dayton that when women sat for hours at the loom in days past, or churned butter or kneaded bread dough, they could be considered in prayer. This past summer, when Cindy and I were at Nada, she spent time at the sewing machine as I spent time with writing and image making. We both considered that focused time prayerful.

Zen mindfulness, likewise, could be considered prayer under this broader definition. If you are concentrating on splitting wood or washing dishes, and are totally present with the task, it could be considered prayer. I suppose it is the act of being present with whatever task you have at hand, even writing a blog entry, that I endeavor to include under this broader umbrella. Sounds a lot like meditation, too.

And that’s where I found myself last night after a wet and cold weekend here in southwestern Ohio. It was my family’s plan to be camping at Hueston Woods for the last few nights, but cold rain put a real damper on it. Both girls and their kids were gearing up for the worst, but the weather report just didn’t improve. We decided that being miserable in a sleeping bag, in this time of H1N1 flu, wasn’t quite worth the benefits of our spending time together. We traded down to a spaghetti dinner at Jenni’s house Saturday afternoon where a good time was had by all. The s’mores were mighty fine good, too, with marshmallows roasted over the ‘camp fire’ we built in Bill’s new fire pit in their back yard.

But it was Sunday night’s blaze here on my back porch that got me to thinking about the prayerful qualities of fire. A fire like that one invites you to sit quietly and just be, hands extended toward the flames for warmth in what could be a considered prayer position. First lines of poetry started running through my head, as did prayerful thoughts I addressed to my deity of comprehension, something I call the Spirit of the Universe. I thanked the Spirit for allowing me to be present in this life; for the beautiful fall Sunday that followed Saturday’s rain; for the honor of raising two fine young women; for the blessing of grandchildren; and the hope of using my talents for good.

Sitting around a fire is a commonality that still connects us to ancestors far back in time. Such understanding and appreciation is worthy of a quiet sit where heat beats away the coming cold and somehow reduces us, and life, to something essential.

Meditation? Prayer fire? Mindful, indeed.

Today’s elder idea: Late in the afternoon, there’s a period when the light turns so strange, so bronze and still, that it’s like tintype -- as if it’s trying to hold that angle of light for as long as it can, for us to look at the fields and woods and meadows in that sharp light one last time before falling away. One last time....

Rick Bass

‘October 18’

from Winter (notes from Montana)