Crazy Stable

Bridge fragments, Prospect Park

Too many of my friends are struggling and in pain these days, it seems. "Tough economy" doesn't begin to describe what it means to find yourself out of work, interminably, after years of sharing your expertise, experience and dedication. It doesn't touch what it means to drag yourself to a job you live in gut-wrenching fear of losing, or one where the ground feels shaky under your feet. And it doesn't hint at the corrosive anguish of wondering how the hell you will make ends meet, for months or years on end.

This is a "tough topic" in Lent, when we are called traditionally to fasting, prayer and almsgiving. That last one in particular: What are we called to do for "the poor" when we worry about meeting our own needs and those of our families? I sometimes want to shake Jesus and remind him that the "lilies of the field" never had to feed or educate their kids, pay for health care, or survive retirement. Yes, I know—giving alms can involve "time and talent" as well as, or instead of, "treasure." But it can be tempting to despair that your time and talent are valued by no one, at least in worldly coin. No easy answers, except that it sucks, and that by now I have a stumbling hope that God is closest to us when things suck the worst.

Here is a morning prayer steeped in the hope of compassion. As someone who struggles horribly with mornings, I love its acknowledgement that some days will be harder than others. Thanks to Mary Margaret Cannon of my faith community, the Oratory Church of St. Boniface, for posting it online today; it is attributed to St. Boniface, a British missionary to Germanic tribes who once hacked down an oak tree worshipped by pagans and who surely had his share of discouragement.

Eternal God,
the refuge of all your children,
in our weakness, you are our strength,
in our darkness, you are our light,
in our sorrow, you are our comfort and peace.
May we always live in your presence,
and serve you in our daily lives;
through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Just, wow. I was going to post my absolutely favorite, butt-kickingest anti-depression prayer right up front in Lent...and I discover it is actually a Lenten prayer! Not for Roman Catholics, but for our Eastern Orthodox brethren. Folks, I give you:

The Prayer of St. Ephrem the Syrian

O Lord and Master of my life, keep from me the spirit of indifference and discouragement, lust of power and idle chatter. [kneel, bow, or prostration]

Instead, grant to me, Your servant, the spirit of wholeness of being, humble-mindedness, patience and love. [kneel, bow, etc.]

O Lord and King, grant me the grace to be aware of my sins and not to judge my brother; for You are blessed now and ever and forever. Amen. [kneel, bow, etc.]

St. Ephrem the Syrian is a Doctor of the Church who lived in present-day Turkey from about 306 to 370 AD. He wrote in the Syriac language and was a prolific author of hymns, many composed to combat the rampant heresies of his day; they would be sung by all-female choirs playing lyres, which sounds a lot more interesting than CCD class.

The prayer above, however, was composed by his later admirers, who admired him so much that they would make stuff up and sign it "Ephrem the Syrian," apparently. (Even then, imitation was the sincerest form of flattery.) What makes this prayer kick butt, of course, are the moves prescribed within. Apparently some Eastern believers bow from the waist and others actually do the whole flat-on-the-floor thing. I would tell you what I do, but then I'd have to kill you. (Hint: I have osteoarthritis of the knee, so it's nothing worthy of The DaVinci Code.) However, any kind of moves you can do accomplish a twofold purpose:

1. You wake up and focus.

2. You feel like an idiot.

3. Oh, yes, three is: Because of (2), you "pray in your room in secret" just like Jesus ordered. Which is kind of cool.

Copyright by Allie Brosh, "Hyperbole and a Half"For those of us who suffer from depression, the prayer contains a powerful appeal to avoid "acedia," the dreaded monastic spiritual affliction of just not giving a crap about anything (certainly not about religious practice). This concept is a rich and tricky one, since acedia mutated into the better-known deadly sin of sloth, and it's hard enough dealing with the biochemical burden of depression without mixing it up with a deadly sin. The spiritual author Kathleen Norris explores this conundrum at rambling but sometimes illuminating length in her book Acedia & Me: A Marriage, Monks, and a Writer's Life.

The rubrics (physical positions) prescribed in the prayer seem designed with depression sufferers in mind. Sometimes, you just need to get moving. (The wise prankster St. Philip Neri once had a melancholic young man approach him for spiritual direction; instead, Philip lit out for the streets of Rome, saying, "Run with me!" to the astonished young man. A personal trainer for the soul!)

If you're not ready for bowing or prostration, crank this up; it's a Little Richard rarity. I don't know if St. Ephrem would have approved, but I suspect St. Philip would've loved it.