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How I Pray

By Roy Williamson.

Formerly Bishop of Southwark, now retired

My immediate response is, "With some difficulty"! Over the years my study has been littered with failed systems of how to pray better. I have time and again convinced myself that the 'Holy Grail' is there to be found, if only I can get the proper formula.

I have read the right books, sat at the feet of the right gurus, gained new insights from places like Taizé and Iona, benefited greatly from traditions other than my own, and returned, unashamedly, again and again to my evangelical roots. And, at the end of it all, I can only echo the words of Paul, in another context, "My friends, I do not reckon myself to have got hold of it yet. All I can say is this: forgetting what is behind me, and reaching out for what lies ahead, I press towards the goal . . . ." (Philippians 3.12-14)

Part of that 'pressing on' has been a realism about my prayer life. Like my journey through life it has its highs and lows, times of boredom and times of excitement, periods when God seems near and periods when he seems far away. I have found it helpful, therefore, while retaining the discipline of a regular prayer time each day, to vary the method. This has included the use of Scripture as a base, but also making use of hymns, Christian symbols, silence and meditation and, of course, the Daily Offices of the Church.

A constant source of encouragement and inspiration is the image of the great orchestra with its variety of instruments all responding to the one conductor and, together, producing an offering of beauty and harmony. It has put my inadequate prayers in perspective. Recalling that Christ ever lives to make intercession for us and that the Holy Spirit understands and interprets the inarticulate longings of the heart, it is humbling, exciting and wonderfully liberating, to offer my prayers and know that they are caught up in that eternal intercession.

It is this concept of offering that is at the heart of my life of prayer. When Aaron stood before the Lord he carried on his breast the names of the twelve tribes of Israel. It is an example that I have tried to follow for most of my ministry. When I stood before the altar, either in a parish church or my Cathedral Church, I found myself consciously bearing on my heart the names of people and places, sorrows and joys, that had made up my fragmented life in the previous week. In a quite remarkable way it brought a sense of integration and wholeness to my ministry.

It is a practice I have continued up to the present day and in a manner not restricted to professional clergy but open to all people. It came about when, following a serious heart attack, I was advised to walk five miles every day. I decided to make virtue out of necessity. A small notebook slipped into my pocket contained the names of the many priests and parishes for which I, as bishop, had a special care. Each day as I left home to walk, I turned a page of the notebook on which was written the names of those for whom I would pray during the next hour and a half. Little did my colleagues know I was taking them for a walk! But it was a walk with intent. I didn't recite prayers as I went - I needed all my breath for walking - but I recalled their faces, families and parishes and simply held them with me, in thought and prayer, within the love of God.

Habit dies hard. Today, though I don't walk quite so much, I never walk alone. Nor, indeed, do I ever go to church alone. It seems natural to carry specific friends, neighbours, yes, and even enemies, with me into the presence of God and to offer them to him in prayer. The Vicar's congregation is even larger than he thinks!

It must spring from my Celtic background, but I see the whole of life as a prayer, involving a relationship embracing every aspect of life and every part of my personality - a daily offering of my whole self to God.