I don’t know how to pray.
There, I’ve said it.
I know many means of prayer. Still, more often than not, my mind keeps nattering on, and I can’t tell the voice of God from all the other voices in there. I know I’m not alone in this; the apostles themselves begged Jesus to teach them how to pray, and the fixed result was such a relief that Christians everywhere still use it daily!
Their relief must have been akin to how I feel when I’m able to pray the Liturgy of the Hours with a prayer community. It falls on me like an unexpected gift: my role in it is small, brittle. Whether I expend great effort or flow effortlessly, I produce minimal results. I make little pieces of prayer, nourishing like a small piece of bread, like a host. I am immersed into the prayer, which would go on without me, if I were to disappear. I am brought into a world that has no need of me, and I feel it as a great relief.
Sometimes, in the peace that follows I recognize the voice of the Holy Spirit, mercifully speaking to me from outside, with someone else’s voice.
I will pray for you. Just be. Do what everyone else is doing, and I will pray.