I put all my trust in thee.

 As for those who in the present age are rich, command them not to be haughty, or to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but rather on God who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment. They are to do good, to be rich in good works, generous, and ready to share, thus storing up for themselves the treasure of a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of the life that is really life. (I Tim 6:17-19, NRSV)

My parents aren’t perfect, but they are trustworthy. What they promise, they make good on. If circumstances prevent them from keeping a promise, they do their best to make it up. When they make mistakes or hurt someone, they apologize. To the best of their ability, they mean well and act well. They prayed for and with my siblings and me when we were growing up, giving us a good foundation to a life that is really life. Trusting in God and being trustworthy.

Putting all my trust in God allows me to trust my insufficient self, imperfect neighbor, and this impermanent world. With all its heartache and wretchedness, with all its joy and peace – trust in this blessed life is possible because God holds it all in holiness. I can forgive and be forgiven. I can accept reality for what it is: the God given imperfect present.

When I don’t put my trust in God, I’m reduced to the uncertainty of riches – the shifting, shaky foundation that I will for myself. It may be tempting, but my parents raised me better than that. I’ve seen how to take hold of the life that is really life:  trusting in God and being trustworthy.

O Lord, I know not what to ask of thee. Thou alone knowest what are my true needs. Thou lovest me more than I myself know how to love. Help me to see my real needs which are concealed from me. I dare not ask either a cross or consolation. I can only wait on thee. My heart is open to thee. Visit and help me, for thy great mercy’s sake. Strike me and heal me, cast me down and raise me up. I worship in silence thy holy will and thine inscrutable ways. I offer myself as a sacrifice to thee. I put all my trust in thee. I have no other desire than to fulfil thy will. Teach me how to pray. Pray thou thyself in me.   Amen. (From A Manual of Eastern Orthodox Prayers, Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1991, p.24)

 About the Author of this prayer:

Metropolitan Philaret was the son of a Russian Orthodox priest who became a priest himself. He taught at St. Petersburg Theological Academy, and eventually became the Metropolitan of Moscow – a ranking somewhere between archbishop and patriarch. Not quite on par with the pope, but awfully close. He worked for offering scripture and other teachings in Russian so more people could read them. He wrote a catechism that is still in use.

I worship in silence thy holy will and thine inscrutable ways.

 Inscrutable is the perfect word for this prayer. It means impossible to understand or interpret, and that’s just what the will of God is. Holy and inscrutable together remind me that I can trust in and accept God’s will. I don’t have to fear it because it is holy, and I can’t reduce it to my will because it’s inscrutable, beyond my comprehension. I can worship or reject God’s holy will and inscrutable ways, but why in silence? Can I pray in silence if I’m praying these words?

Silence is a rare thing these days. The world around us is so noisy, and it doesn’t stop when the sun goes down. There’s no such thing as an end to the day for television, computers, or phones. Appliances hum, leaf blowers start, and cars drive by with loud engines and louder stereo systems. Finding a place of outer silence requires intention.

Inner silence is even rarer. For most people, the mind is filled with constant chatter, distracting and exhausting. There is too much information to process, too many choices, and very few moments of peace. Inner silence requires intention and practice. It’s not easy and it can be scary, quieting the noise that drowns out God’s voice. Left alone and open to God without distraction removes the partial and false identities and reveals the true self – what God treasures most and what seems so inadequate.

Perhaps that’s why Philaret included “in silence” in this prayer. Only when I am before God, with no noise to distract me and no false identity to hide behind, can I feel God’s love for me and for all creation. Held by God, who is far beyond the small version of God I usually prefer, I can worship. When I am still, I know God is (Psalm 46:10). Not in the thunder or the storm, but in a still, small voice, I hear God (I Kings 19:11-13). In silence, inner and outer, God finds me. In silence, I am renewed.

O Lord, I know not what to ask of thee. Thou alone knowest what are my true needs. Thou lovest me more than I myself know how to love. Help me to see my real needs which are concealed from me. I dare not ask either a cross or consolation. I can only wait on thee. My heart is open to thee. Visit and help me, for thy great mercy’s sake. Strike me and heal me, cast me down and raise me up. I worship in silence thy holy will and thine inscrutable ways. I offer myself as a sacrifice to thee. I put all my trust in thee. I have no other desire than to fulfil thy will. Teach me how to pray. Pray thou thyself in me.   Amen. (From A Manual of Eastern Orthodox Prayers, Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1991, p.24)

About the Author of this prayer:

Metropolitan Philaret was the son of a Russian Orthodox priest who became a priest himself. He taught at St. Petersburg Theological Academy, and eventually became the Metropolitan of Moscow – a ranking somewhere between archbishop and patriarch. Not quite on par with the pope, but awfully close. He worked for offering scripture and other teachings in Russian so more people could read them. He wrote a catechism that is still in use. I suspect Philaret was a very busy man who had his share of difficulties.

Strike me and heal me, cast me down and raise me up.

 Just four lines ago, I prayed: I dare not ask either a cross or consolation. Am I now praying for both? If this line were taken alone, yes. It reads like a demand rather than a request. But it is one sentence among others, part of a larger whole – a handing over of personal agenda to the one who created me, as Jesus did before he was crucified. My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not what I want but what you want. (Matthew 26:39). It’s the opposite of a demand, it’s a total surrender. Let it be with me what you will. I will not insist upon my own way, but I will trust that you hold me fast in hurt and relief, in humiliation and exaltation.

I’m not asking for trouble and I’m not asking for an easy life. I’m open to whatever comes because God will find me in all circumstances. In Yes, And: Daily Meditations, Richard Rohr points to the deeper truth behind this line:

Try to remember and give thanks for the good things even more than the bad, but learn from both of them. And most of all, as the prophet Baruch said, “Rejoice that you yourself are remembered by God.” (5:5)

(Cincinnati, OH: Franciscan Media, 2013, p.209)

I dare not ask either a cross or consolation.

 Save us from the time of trial. That’s another translation of the Lord’s Prayer line, “Lead us not into temptation.” Both versions end the thought with “and/but deliver us from evil.” Apparently, the time of trial/temptation might very well lead to a need to be delivered from evil. It’s why we pray to be spared these times. Jesus prayed this in the hours before he was crucified(Luke 22:42), and we are wise to follow his example in this.

There is no need to chase after hardship and grief. These things will find us. Asking for a cross isn’t the same as taking up the cross that comes to us, and faith is as much about living for God and the world as it is about dying for it. Asking for a cross is borrowing trouble – an exercise in hubris more than humility. It can be an attempt to dictate the terms of our life and death rather than seeking God’s gracious presence in whatever comes.

There’s nothing wrong with receiving consolation and comfort; another name for the Holy Spirit is the Comforter, and we are encouraged to seek the Spirit in our need. That’s not what seeking consolation means in this prayer. This is closer to asking someone to feel sorry for us, for the “Oh, poor you, your life is too hard,” refusing the cross that is ours to carry. Seeking consolation in this sense seems closer to self-pity, not even trying to meet life’s challenges with courage and wisdom.

When my brother was learning how to walk, he took a few spills. One day, he tripped over a toy and landed hard. I went to pick him up, but my mother stopped me. “Wait a minute, see what he does first.” Scott stayed on the floor for a few seconds, then got up and continued on his way. No tears, no drama. My mother said to me, “It’s my job to take care of him when he really hurts himself. It’s also my job to teach him that he can handle the usual bumps and falls without my help.”

Asking for a cross is throwing myself on the ground seeking injury; asking for consolation is crying a river over a minor bump. Neither will make me more faithful to God. There will be enough hurt and enough help in my life without asking God for extra helpings of either.

Prayer for the Acceptance of God’s Will

(Metropolitan Philaret of Moscow)

O Lord, I know not what to ask of thee. Thou alone knowest what are my true needs. Thou lovest me more than I myself know how to love. Help me to see my real needs which are concealed from me. I dare not ask either a cross or consolation. I can only wait on thee. My heart is open to thee. Visit and help me, for thy great mercy’s sake. Strike me and heal me, cast me down and raise me up. I worship in silence thy holy will and thine inscrutable ways. I offer myself as a sacrifice to thee. I put all my trust in thee. I have no other desire than to fulfil thy will. Teach me how to pray. Pray thou thyself in me.   Amen. (From A Manual of Eastern Orthodox Prayers, Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1991, p.24)