If we were to walk to the North Pole and find the word happiness there, I wonder what we would conclude about the word located at its polar opposite. Some might think to find sadness or misery there. Young people, I'm sure, would suggest boredom. A healthy and vigorous person consulting his shadow-self might write down disease or confinement. Others would agree with grief or sorrow. A lonely person might whisper regret. I think that all these suppositions are wrong.
In truth, happiness embraces all of these words and is able to incorporate them into itself. People who have lived long and wisely—without exception—have within them some unending grief, some sorrow that does not dissipate. There are always regrets—often profound—and weepings for the sins of the world. And still every Christian soul knows a happiness that infuses and permeates all of these soulful emotions.
The polar opposite of happiness is to live without God in the world—to be cast out of His presence into a region scripture refers to as Outer Darkness. We come to happiness by entering Divine Presence and finding our welcome there. The Psalms, the Poets and the hymnody of the Church all proclaim that God alone is enough; that only in God is the soul at rest; that God alone is our joy. Man’s search for happiness is nothing more or less than man’s search for God.
In the dark ages of time, we forget this truth. Our search for happiness focuses on self rather than on God. Even a prophetic people can succumb to a fashionable flight to self: we begin to speak of “our prophet” instead of Almighty God’s prophet—which a prophet must be if he is to be any prophet at all. We prefer to set goals rather than keep commandments. New ideals are rooted in imported soil. We invite, for example, the Olympic Ideal into our life. The Olympics celebrate a Greek but not a Christian ideal of the body as a temple. The Christian concept that St. Paul counters with is that the body is a temple if—and only if—the Spirit of God is dwelling there. The pagan concept, which is the model of the Olympics as well as the marketing hypothesis of a consumer society, is that the body is a temple in and of itself, without reference to what dwells within. People who lose focus on Divine Presence mistake the temple or chapel or sanctuary with the barroom of a fraternal lodge. Such a colossal mistake inexorably puts us in polar opposition to happiness
All that I have to offer as a counter to these imported ideals is the image of the soul in prayer. Many people find it difficult to mature spiritually and that is why this image is a good one. Prayer is where push-comes-to-shove in the battle to grow up spiritually. Obviously, it is possible for an emotionally immature spirit to dwell in an old body. We all know people with whom we find it so. The same thing can happen in spiritual realms—indeed, it is far more likely to occur in spiritual life. St. Paul said, “When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways (1 Corinthians 13:11 NRSV).” In other words, to enter the Kingdom of God it is as necessary for us “to grow up [in the Lord]” as it is for us to become like little children in the first place.
In truth, happiness embraces all of these words and is able to incorporate them into itself. People who have lived long and wisely—without exception—have within them some unending grief, some sorrow that does not dissipate. There are always regrets—often profound—and weepings for the sins of the world. And still every Christian soul knows a happiness that infuses and permeates all of these soulful emotions.
The polar opposite of happiness is to live without God in the world—to be cast out of His presence into a region scripture refers to as Outer Darkness. We come to happiness by entering Divine Presence and finding our welcome there. The Psalms, the Poets and the hymnody of the Church all proclaim that God alone is enough; that only in God is the soul at rest; that God alone is our joy. Man’s search for happiness is nothing more or less than man’s search for God.
In the dark ages of time, we forget this truth. Our search for happiness focuses on self rather than on God. Even a prophetic people can succumb to a fashionable flight to self: we begin to speak of “our prophet” instead of Almighty God’s prophet—which a prophet must be if he is to be any prophet at all. We prefer to set goals rather than keep commandments. New ideals are rooted in imported soil. We invite, for example, the Olympic Ideal into our life. The Olympics celebrate a Greek but not a Christian ideal of the body as a temple. The Christian concept that St. Paul counters with is that the body is a temple if—and only if—the Spirit of God is dwelling there. The pagan concept, which is the model of the Olympics as well as the marketing hypothesis of a consumer society, is that the body is a temple in and of itself, without reference to what dwells within. People who lose focus on Divine Presence mistake the temple or chapel or sanctuary with the barroom of a fraternal lodge. Such a colossal mistake inexorably puts us in polar opposition to happiness
All that I have to offer as a counter to these imported ideals is the image of the soul in prayer. Many people find it difficult to mature spiritually and that is why this image is a good one. Prayer is where push-comes-to-shove in the battle to grow up spiritually. Obviously, it is possible for an emotionally immature spirit to dwell in an old body. We all know people with whom we find it so. The same thing can happen in spiritual realms—indeed, it is far more likely to occur in spiritual life. St. Paul said, “When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways (1 Corinthians 13:11 NRSV).” In other words, to enter the Kingdom of God it is as necessary for us “to grow up [in the Lord]” as it is for us to become like little children in the first place.
The more mature a person is spiritually, the greater their ability to remain single-minded in the search for God. Quick to forgive, slow to take offense, a spiritually minded man will not waver in his attempt to find God—he will not be double-minded and unstable is his ways. He is like a mariner fixed upon the North Star of God’s love. For him, prayer coincides with the Seafarer’s use of the sextant—it is the sure way to continually regain our bearings and measure our progress as we sail homeward. The image of a man in prayer is important because we drift off course and are lost in the regions of storm without it. There is an earnest need for us to fathom the depths of prayer privately and in our ritual Sabbath gatherings.
Little children—and new converts metaphorically are little children fed upon gospel milk and not meat—are taught a prayer formula (and that is part of the metaphor). I am sure all of us are familiar with it:
Address our Heavenly Father
Thank Him for our blessings
Ask Him for what we need
Close in the name of Jesus Christ.
There is however an apostolic directive that every church member sooner or later is obligated to accept. It is found in the tract Paul addressed to the Hebrews.
“For when for the time ye ought to be teachers, ye have need that one teach you again which be the first principles of the oracles of God; and are become such as have need of milk, and not of strong meat. For every one that useth milk is unskilful in the word of righteousness: for he is a babe. But strong meat belongeth to them that are of full age, even those who by reason of use have their senses exercised to discern both good and evil. (Hebrews 5:12 – 14 KJV)
The time had come for Hebrew Saints to be teachers of the Word, but instead Paul was frustrated that they still needed to be taught the basics! In other words, they had not matured spiritually. Paul then continues:
“Therefore leaving the principles of the doctrine of Christ, let us go on unto perfection; not laying again the foundation of repentance from dead works, and of faith toward God. (Hebrews 6:1 JST).”
The way we go on from something and at the same time not leave it behind is to take it with us as we go. I would like to encourage us to take these first principles of prayer along with us but to also move on, to mature in our understanding of what constitutes deep prayer and to improve the devotional aspects of our character as we live out Christian lives. I’m going to make a few suggestions of things we might do to both broaden and deepen our concepts of prayer.
I think most Latter-day Saints recognize that the Book of Enos that forms a part of the Book of Mormon compilation is primarily about prayer, so let’s begin with the writings of Enos.
“I will tell you of the wrestle which I had before God, before I received a remission of my sins. Behold, I went to hunt beasts in the forests; and the words which I had often heard my father speak concerning eternal life, and the joy of the saints, sunk deep into my heart. And my soul hungered; and I kneeled down before my Maker, and I cried unto him in mighty prayer and supplication for mine own soul (Enos 1:2 - 4).”
The very first thing that Enos tells us is that there are obstacles to deep and meaningful prayer. Given the fact that he is going to describe prayer as “the wrestle…had before God,” I think we can safely conclude that the wild beasts Enos went to hunt in the forest were metaphorical creatures—demons in his soul that sought to distract him from prayer—the evil spirits we all have to wrestle with, isolate and overcome. Other passages in latter-day scripture tell a similar tale. Nephi writes about an evil spirit that teaches a man he must not pray (2 Nephi 32:8). This is the spirit that attempts to bind young Joseph’s tongue in the sacred grove (JS-History 1:15-16) and anyone who attempts to deepen her own prayer will have to wage a similar battle.
There is another principle in these verses—we are back in Enos now—that reveal the path we must travel if we wish a deeper life of prayer. There is a phrase that suggests contemplation is essential element of prayer and we will see that many other passages of scripture will confirm the suggestion. Enos tells his reader “the words which I had often heard my father speak concerning eternal life and the joy of the saints sunk deep into my heart” and produced in him a profound hunger. Prayer began to come from a deeper place inside of him. This idea of contemplation is something we come against again and again in the sacred records—Nephi, for example, contemplating the words of his father when his own magnificent vision is opened to him. But it is this idea of words sinking deep into the heart that I want to emphasize.
We are all aware of the passage from James that inspired Joseph Smith to pray. What I would like to call attention to is the Prophet’s description of the effect this passage had on him.
“Never did any passage of scripture come with more power to the heart of man than this did at this time to mine. It seemed to enter with great force into every feeling of my heart. I reflected on it again and again (Pearl of Great Price, JS-History 1:12).”
I think of this as a baptism of the intellect—a supernatural act of grace. A passage of scripture suddenly speaks to its student in a heretofore unique and powerful way. It is cognized in the mind, but the weight of it acts like a plumb bob: an intellectual concept that has been formed in the mind sinks into the font of the heart and is immersed in love. This is the moment when Enosian Prayer—the type of prayer described by Enos—truly begins. The normal walls of partition disappear and we find ourselves in the presence of God.
For most of us, Enosian prayer will always involve and will often begin with spiritual reading. But this is a very different kind of reading than the reading we do when we are up against a deadline—trying to finish the Book of Mormon before the end of the year for example—a good thing perhaps, but insufficient as a means of prayer. The kind of reading we do as a part of Enosian or contemplative prayer is not for distance but for depth. We read until a passage speaks to us—as the Quakers would say, speaks to our condition. Then we stop. We do what Nephi and Enos and Joseph Smith did. We reflect upon it again and again—slowly, contemplatively. If you haven’t experienced this kind of reading before, do so now. Take Joseph Smith’s well-worn verse, for example, and repeat it slowly in your mind for a full minute or to as a start:
If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God.
What happens when you reflect on a passage this way? Alma offers a detailed description that comes from his own attempt to replicate this experiment.
“Now, [I] will compare the word unto a seed. Now, if ye give place, that a seed may be planted in your heart, behold, if it be a true seed, or a good seed, if ye do not cast it out by your unbelief, that ye will resist the Spirit of the Lord, behold, it will begin to swell within your breasts; and when you feel these swelling motions, ye will begin to say within yourselves—It must needs be that this is a good seed, or that the word is good, for it beginneth to enlarge my soul; yea, it beginneth to enlighten my understanding, yea, it beginneth to be delicious to me (Alma 32:28).”
In contemplative prayer—the word literally means to think in a way appropriate to the temple—is a way to plant the word into the soil of your heart—another way to describe the baptism of intellect. And once the Word of God takes root, it begins to grow.
I think it is worth pointing out here that the imagery Alma employs in describing the effects of planting the seed deep in our hearts is not only sensual, it is erotic.
The seed swells, sprouts and begins to grow. We become, so-to-speak, pregnant with God’s word.
And as the process begins, it begins to swell within our breasts and we will feel those swelling motions.
The seed we have planted within us—the Word of God—is being transformed. When it is fully formed within us it becomes a tree—a very significant tree, the Tree of Life (Alma 32: 40-42).
In the New Testament, Mary is the model for all of this. As the story of Jesus begins, it is Mary who has the divine seed—the Word of God made flesh—planted within her. It is Mary who brings forth the Son of God—a being who when nailed to the cross fulfills for Christians the imagery of the Tree of Life. In the Gospels—and especially in Luke—Mary is presented as the archetype of Christian discipleship. This is true in many ways, but she powerfully models deep, contemplative prayer. Twice we are told in the 2nd chapter of Luke that Mary “kept” the angelic sayings and pondered them “in her heart.”
Alma’s description of contemplative prayer encourages us to continue the imagery and symbols of covenant love into our daily life—the imagery of bride and bridegroom in the marriage chamber. Like Mary, we allow the Word to be planted within us. We do not resist the Spirit of the Lord. We let desire work within us. We allow a place for the seed to grow—a womb, if you will. We do not abort the Word or cast it away.
In all of this, we have not left behind the first principles of prayer. We still call upon the Father, but in a more profound and heartfelt way. We thank Him for the blessing of His Word by planting that Word deep within us—nourishing it with great care, reflecting upon it again and again. We exercise faith that the seed is a good seed and will grow into the Tree of Life inside us by saying, along with Mary, yes to the wonders it proposes. We ask that it might be so, that we too may continue to pluck and enjoy the fruit within us. And all of this is in the name of Jesus—the divine lover of the human soul.
Much of our reading is abortive because our ground is barren and uncultivated. It is barren because we will not say our let-it-be to God and open ourselves to Him. We do not allow Him to behold His handmaiden. We do not make time or place within us for courtship and the planting of His Word. We do not nourish the attempt. When daily prayer is not anchored to the Word of God, Divine Presence is too abstract an idea for us to conceive. We behave in the temple or chapel as we would in a bawdyhouse and the Lord is turned away. Enosian Prayer is the type of deep prayer that scripture describes—a marriage between prayer and the written word—that allows for a deeper divine union to take place, the at-one-ment of spiritual love.
Contrary to the marginalia in Joseph’s Bible, the Song of Solomon is one of the most inspired and relevant books in the Hebrew text in that it speaks directly to the woeful lack of reverence among the Latter-day Saints. Without the devotion, the passion and the fervor of divine love, obedience cannot rise above the level of political adherence. We need to become passionate lovers of the Lord, with a hungry desire to please and to be taken by Him. At the very least, we should reconsider this neglected metaphor that I am trying to set before us again.
