07/26/2026

In the classic 1970s film Harold and Maude, the young Harold asks his elderly friend, “Maude, do you pray?” She smiles and replies, “No... I commune.”

That simple exchange has stayed with me because it captures something essential about prayer. We use the word prayer all the time, but it can mean different things to different people. For some, prayer means reciting memorized prayers. For others, it is asking God for help, reading Scripture, spending time in silence, meditating, or simply sitting quietly in God's presence. All of those are genuine forms of prayer. But underneath every method or practice lies something deeper. Prayer is, at its heart, about communion with God—growing in a relationship with the One who created us, knows us completely, and loves us unconditionally.

That sounds beautiful, but most of us also know that prayer can feel difficult.

St. Paul certainly understood that reality. In this Sunday's second reading, he writes, "We do not know how to pray as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes with inexpressible groanings." Those words are surprisingly reassuring. Even the great apostle acknowledges that prayer is something we all struggle to learn. In that sense, we're all amateurs.

There are many things in life we don't know how to do at first. We learn a new job through experience. We become better parents one day at a time. We develop friendships by spending time together. We don't wait until we've mastered these things before beginning; we simply begin and grow along the way. Prayer works much the same way. We become people of prayer by praying.

There's an old story about a spiritual master whose disciple asked him, "Master, is it okay if I smoke while I pray?" The master immediately answered, "Absolutely not!" Later, the disciple was shocked to see another student smoking during prayer. "How can you do that?" he asked. The second disciple smiled and replied, "I asked the master if it was okay to pray while I smoke, and he said, 'Absolutely!'"

The story reminds us that prayer is less about creating perfect conditions and more about allowing our hearts to turn toward God in the midst of ordinary life. God is always inviting us into communion.

This summer, about twenty parishioners have been participating in our Personal Training in Prayer program. Each Tuesday evening we gather for some practical instruction and quiet prayer. Participants also meet individually a couple of times with Peter or me to reflect on their prayer lives. It has been a wonderful reminder that prayer is both a challenge and an adventure. No one ever "graduates" from prayer. There is always more to discover because there is always more of God to know.

One of the most common concerns people share is about distractions: "My mind keeps wandering." "I can't stay focused." "I spend more time thinking about work, worrying about my family, or making tomorrow's to-do list than I do thinking about God."

If you've ever experienced that, you're certainly not alone. Nearly everyone who tries to pray encounters distractions. We often assume that wandering thoughts mean we're failing. But that's not how the spiritual masters have understood prayer.

In today's Gospel, Jesus tells the parable of the wheat and the weeds. The servants want to rush into the field and pull up every weed they can find. But the master tells them to wait because they might accidentally uproot the wheat as well. "Let both grow together until the harvest." That is wise advice not only for farming but also for prayer.

Our distractions are like the weeds. We don't have to panic every time they appear. We don't need to become frustrated or spend all our energy trying to eliminate them. Instead, we simply notice that our attention has wandered and gently return to the Lord. Then, if our minds wander again- as they almost certainly will- we quietly return once more. The distractions may still be present, but that doesn't mean the wheat isn't growing. God is often doing His deepest work beneath the surface, in ways we cannot see.

The same principle extends beyond prayer to the whole spiritual life. It is easy to become preoccupied with our weaknesses, failures, bad habits, and imperfections. We notice every weed. Meanwhile, we overlook the quiet ways God is transforming us—making us more patient, more generous, more forgiving, more trusting. We often measure ourselves by our shortcomings, while God sees the slow but steady growth of grace. He sees the wheat, even when we notice only the weeds. That is good news for all of us.

Prayer is not about getting everything right. It is not about finding perfect words or maintaining perfect concentration. It is not a performance that God grades. Prayer is about showing up. It is about placing ourselves before God, honestly and humbly. Some days we come with gratitude. Other days we come with questions, tears, silence, or nothing more than a weary sigh. St. Paul reminds us that even those wordless groanings become prayer because the Holy Spirit is already praying within us. We are never praying alone.

As you begin a new week, I encourage you to make time to be with the Lord. Put it on your calendar if you need to. Even ten or fifteen quiet minutes can make a difference. If distractions sprout, let them come and let them go. If all you have to offer is a heavy heart or a silent longing, offer that to God without embarrassment.

Little by little, day after day, prayer becomes less about saying the right words and more about learning to commune with the One who has always known your heart—and who delights simply in your presence.
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– Rev. James F. Hurlbert