The bishop asked the monsignor, “How was my homily?” The msgr: “You were brief.” The bp: “I try never to be tiresome. The msgr: “You were tiresome too.” The nineteenth century English poet, Alfred Tennyson, wrote: “More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of.” Was that a cute throwaway line or did Lord Tennyson know something we do not? The answer to our question is to be found in the prayer life of Jesus.
During boyhood, Mary and Joseph annually took the Child to Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover in the Great Temple. It was a costly journey for this working class family. And don’t forget exhaustion. We speak about a five day walk over ninety miles. The sun would blister them in the day and the nights would deep freeze them. But each year, faithful as the sunrise, they loaded the old donkey and moved south. When He became a Man, Jesus continued to go to Jerusalem for the solemn feast. Furthermore, every Saturday in Nazareth the Master picked up His weekly contribution envelope and took Himself to His synagogue or parish. Like most Jews, He was tithing 10% of His income. Anything less He would consider a tip.
There He worshipped publicly and received instructions. This procedure He followed till He knocked the dust of Nazareth off His sandals for good at about age 30. But the Gospel record shows He continued weekly public worship after leaving His home town. Today Mark explicitly mentions His presence in a synagogue. The next time you want to skip weekend Mass, you might want to dwell on this point. Perhaps a line from Saint Padre Pio might help: “If we understood the Eucharist, we would risk our life to get to Mass. With the above as evidence, one must conclude the Teacher has little patience with many self-deceived men and women. These are the folks who say that, while they do not go to Sunday Liturgy, they do worship God at home in their own way. If such worship was not kosher for the Christ, how can it be acceptable for any of us today?
Some wannabe intellectuals say, “If the homilies were better, I would go.” The only answer for that is the response of the grizzled old pastor, “If it’s laughs you want, catch a TV comic. If worship, I’m your man.” Can you imagine the number of dull sermons Jesus of Nazareth must have been subjected to over thirty-three years? How many times must He have put His knuckle deep into His mouth to stifle laughter at some theological gaffe from a well-meaning rabbi? Yet, He faithfully went each Saturday. “I don’t go to church because there are so many hypocrites there.” Do you really think there were no such deadbeats around the Teacher during His public worship days? Incidentally, we always have room for one more hypocrite. And, as Andrew Greeley puts it, “If you can find a perfect church, join it. But realize that as soon as you do, it ceases to be perfect.”
Deadly homilies and hypocrites notwithstanding, the Nazarene felt obliged to go to public worship. To paraphrase CS Lewis, he wanted to tune into the secret wireless of God. If Christ did all this, so of course should you and I. An even careless reading of the Gospels reveal that the Teacher invested His time in private prayer as well. It was a given that every Jewish family would have a schedule of daily private prayer. This would be particularly true at meals. This custom Jesus continued to the end as the Last Supper indicates. His public ministry had to be very busy.
Yet, He put aside quality time for private prayer. Check it out in Luke. He writes: “Crowds pressed on Him. But He retired to a mountain and prayed.” In Mark: “In the morning, He got up, left the house, and went off to a lonely place, and prayed there.” If the Master had not spent so much time in public and private prayer, He could have cured so many more hundreds, if not thousands, of their physical ailments. One must thereby conclude He considered prayer not a luxury item but a necessity. It is a must-do for us. Matthew and John tell us the servant is not greater than the master and the pupil not greater than the teacher. Given the example of the Nazarene, why then do we assign prayer to the fringes of our lives? Why is it not one of the essentials of our brief existence? “To pray is,” as Ralph Sockman wrote, “to expose the shore of the mind to the incoming tide of God.”