It is no coincidence that at a time when the clouds begin to pour forth spring rains, the Church begins to pour forth Lenten graces. What would we do without spring rains? Or what would we do if we have nothing but occasional light rains which are not powerful enough to sink into hardened earth?
God knows we need “rain power” to survive and to experience new life on the earth. He also knows that our spirits need “rain power” to revive and begin to bear new fruit in our lives.
We are reminded of the life-giving power of God’s rain in our first reading today (Isaiah 55:10-11).
“Thus says the Lord: just as from the heavens the rain and snow come down, and do not return there till they have watered the earth, making it fertile and fruitful…so shall my word be that goes forth from my mouth.”
A field soaked with regular spring rain soon becomes plush with green grass. Such is the sure power of rain. Likewise, a human heart soaked in the water of the Holy Spirit soon becomes plush with the fruit of the Holy Spirit.
And God reminds us that his “Holy Spirit rain” always brings forth richness of life.
“It (rain) shall not return to me void, but shall do my will, achieving the end for which I sent it.”
What a promise! “Rain power” never fails, and God never ceases to soak us with his rain.
As with all of God’s promises, however, there is an “if” clause. Ground covered with tarpaulins are unable to soak in the rain, and places exposed to occasional rains do not yield plushness of life. If I choose to locate in an arid region or if I choose, for some reason, to cover my yard with tarpaulin or artificial turf, the spring rains will have limited effect on me.
God’s word always achieves the end for which he sent it, as long as his “rain power” reaches deep into the ground. Receptivity to Lenten graces is necessary on our part. If I cover myself with the tarpaulin of “busyness” or dodge Lenten graces by investing my time in the arid places that the world offers me, I cannot expect much yield when spring reaches its fullness.
Prayer is the way we become receptive to God’s rain. It is during quiet moments with God that we let the tarpaulin of fear and busyness be peeled away by his grace, so we can receive the fullness of his grace. It is in the quiet of prayer that we give him time to soften our hardened hearts so that they can be receptive to the life-giving power of his rain. God gives an abundance of rain, we give an abundance of our time so we can receive it. So we make the decision to fast from fear and from excessive busyness so we can open the ground of our hearts to receive the soft, life-giving Lenten rains.
Jesus reminded his disciples that not all “prayer” works (Matthew 6:7-15).
“In praying, do not babble like the pagans who think that they will be heard because of their many words. Do not be like them.”
Though such prayers are said, they are built on the belief that “prayers” are the rain producers—the more prayers, the more rain. This kind of prayer puts our trust in ourselves—believing we have the power to control rain. Such attempts at prayer become tarpaulins that keep the rain of God from soaking in.
“This is how you are to pray: ‘Our Father, who art in heaven…’”
True prayer makes us receptive to God by starting off seeking to “make him happy.” It takes about four verses of openness to the Father before we begin the “asking” part of prayer. When we magnify him, our hearts become wide open to his outpouring of grace. St. Teresa of Avila taught her sisters to pray the “Our Father” over and over again, slowly and thoughtfully, as a way of opening themselves to the depths of God within their hearts. She explained that prayer is not about multiplying words as it is being more fully receptive to the abundance of love that God faithfully pours out upon his children.
During Lent let’s learn to shift our prayer style from a controlling approach to a more receptive approach—what the Church calls “contemplation.”
“The Lord is close to the broken-hearted, and those who are crushed in spirit, he saves” (Ps 34:19).
