The photograph accompanying this column was taken on March 13, 2020, a couple of days before everything changed in a heartbeat, and we took up masking, distancing, and sanitizing as weapons of choice in a fight against an invisible enemy. Thankfully, we have now added vaccinations and antivirals to our arsenal. The equitable distribution of these drugs around the world will help arrest viral mutation, which is paramount in controlling this pandemic and regaining stability.
I took the picture from the top of the training hill at Mooney’s Bay, a height of land which has been part of my life since moving to Ottawa in 1969. I have spent a lot of time on that hill over the years, sliding down it as a kid (and later with my own children); interval training up and down it for distance running and cross-country marathoning; and walking up and over it nearly every day when I moved from full-time work to full-time university in my early twenties.
It is a place where I saw the cityscape change and diversify, first with a number of orthodox churches appearing on the horizon, then with the visible creep of suburban development to the south, and many more office and apartment towers appearing to the north. Mostly, it was an easy place to get to when I needed to sit down and gain perspective, and it continues to be so today.
I was on the top of that hill on March 13, 2020, because the next day an episcopal election would be held, and I wanted to be deeply centred going into it. After a good time of silent, prayerful reverie, I felt moved to take a picture facing southwest, where the river flowed. To my surprise, a strong ray of light, like a sign of some kind, appeared in the photograph—I chuckled when I saw it, because I learned long ago that signs are simply moments of grace, like a smile from God, and rarely mean what we think they mean.
Being in a place where you can look out and far away in all four directions has a centring effect: you feel smaller, in a good way, and the thoughts you carry become more like prayers, and as the prayers flow out and away from you, a kind of holy silence replaces them, and you are able to listen to the wisdom of the Spirit.
My journey has taught me that if you understand personal prayer to be about letting your thoughts be lifted up and away from you so that you are finally silent, you are on the right track. Jesus teaches that God will answer anyone who asks or seeks, but you cannot possibly hear the answer if your own voice is in the way. Best to pray away until there is nothing more for you to say, and then, when you can be silent, to trust that the wisdom of the Spirit is speaking, and let it be. Get up and go your way: you have been heard and answered—live it out and see what happens!
When I was a less seasoned follower of Jesus, I prayed for specific things to happen (or not happen) to people I loved, or in situations that seemed unbearable. Perplexingly, none of these things turned out the way I desperately wanted or thought they should, yet I was somehow conscious of being firmly tethered to God as they unfolded. In time, I learned to pray with deep trust, knowing that everything is held and will be resolved in Christ.
I am sure many prayers have been made, asking for this pandemic to end—especially as we mark its second anniversary this month. Perhaps God has answered those prayers: the pandemic can end if human beings act wisely and generously, using our gifts of memory, reason, and skill to advance and equitably share vaccines and treatments across the globe. Perhaps it is time to listen more carefully to that answer.
Listening for God to answer
The photograph accompanying this column was taken on March 13, 2020, a couple of days before everything changed in a heartbeat, and we took up masking, distancing, and sanitizing as weapons of choice in a fight against an invisible enemy. Thankfully, we have now added vaccinations and antivirals to our arsenal. The equitable distribution of these drugs around the world will help arrest viral mutation, which is paramount in controlling this pandemic and regaining stability.
I took the picture from the top of the training hill at Mooney’s Bay, a height of land which has been part of my life since moving to Ottawa in 1969. I have spent a lot of time on that hill over the years, sliding down it as a kid (and later with my own children); interval training up and down it for distance running and cross-country marathoning; and walking up and over it nearly every day when I moved from full-time work to full-time university in my early twenties.
It is a place where I saw the cityscape change and diversify, first with a number of orthodox churches appearing on the horizon, then with the visible creep of suburban development to the south, and many more office and apartment towers appearing to the north. Mostly, it was an easy place to get to when I needed to sit down and gain perspective, and it continues to be so today.
I was on the top of that hill on March 13, 2020, because the next day an episcopal election would be held, and I wanted to be deeply centred going into it. After a good time of silent, prayerful reverie, I felt moved to take a picture facing southwest, where the river flowed. To my surprise, a strong ray of light, like a sign of some kind, appeared in the photograph—I chuckled when I saw it, because I learned long ago that signs are simply moments of grace, like a smile from God, and rarely mean what we think they mean.
Being in a place where you can look out and far away in all four directions has a centring effect: you feel smaller, in a good way, and the thoughts you carry become more like prayers, and as the prayers flow out and away from you, a kind of holy silence replaces them, and you are able to listen to the wisdom of the Spirit.
My journey has taught me that if you understand personal prayer to be about letting your thoughts be lifted up and away from you so that you are finally silent, you are on the right track. Jesus teaches that God will answer anyone who asks or seeks, but you cannot possibly hear the answer if your own voice is in the way. Best to pray away until there is nothing more for you to say, and then, when you can be silent, to trust that the wisdom of the Spirit is speaking, and let it be. Get up and go your way: you have been heard and answered—live it out and see what happens!
When I was a less seasoned follower of Jesus, I prayed for specific things to happen (or not happen) to people I loved, or in situations that seemed unbearable. Perplexingly, none of these things turned out the way I desperately wanted or thought they should, yet I was somehow conscious of being firmly tethered to God as they unfolded. In time, I learned to pray with deep trust, knowing that everything is held and will be resolved in Christ.
I am sure many prayers have been made, asking for this pandemic to end—especially as we mark its second anniversary this month. Perhaps God has answered those prayers: the pandemic can end if human beings act wisely and generously, using our gifts of memory, reason, and skill to advance and equitably share vaccines and treatments across the globe. Perhaps it is time to listen more carefully to that answer.
The Rt. Rev. Shane Parker is the Bishop of the Anglican Diocese of Ottawa.
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