I am currently a student at the Renovaré Institute, a two-year online and in-person school dedicated to learning how to live in deeper intimacy with God. The program blends academic study with practical exercises aimed to shape us to become more like Christ.
In August, our practice was to pray the “Jesus Prayer”, an early Christian prayer dating back to the 6th century. The invocation of Jesus’ name began even earlier, and the “Jesus Prayer” has long been central in Eastern Orthodoxy and, at times, in Roman Catholic tradition. Only in recent decades have Protestants begun to rediscover its depth and richness.
This month’s practice was a welcome invitation to deepen my prayer life. I have prayed the Kyrie for many years: “Christ have mercy, Lord have mercy, Christ has mercy.” Kyrie eleison is in my litany of middle-of-the-night prayers, alongside the Lord’s Prayer, Psalm 23, and a Mary version of various creedal mashups woven together in the darkness.
Following our cohort’s recommendations, I created a screensaver poster pairing the prayer with an image. As a gardener, I chose a beautiful dahlia. I’m just beginning to attempt that particular flower in my region. Seattle is renowned for dahlias, making both the flower and prayer aspirational images of personal growth.
The Jesus prayer companioned me throughout the day and the night: joining my night litany when sleep evades, riding with me in traffic, present when I searched for recipes, and even keeping rhythm as I deadheaded marigolds. Each pluck became a prayer beat. Was it coincidence that the most resistant marigold was on the beat “a sinner”? I think not.
I spent time subtracting from the prayer rather than adding. What I wondered was the irreducible minimum? The repetition, reflection, and reduction reminded me that an experienced gardener does not need to see the full bloom or leaf to recognize a plant. They can identify it by the seed alone. And a seed is so portable across climates and distances, far better than a whole plant or even roots..
This Jesus’ prayer is a seed prayer. Within it, I glimpsed the Trinity, I saw the complete work of Jesus, and I deepened my appreciation of who Jesus is and who I am. Like a seed, this prayer has traversed time and distance. I thought about past generations of believers, sensed current generations praying with me, and hoped for future generations who would plant this seed in their minds and hearts.
I planted seeds in my soul. The prayer’s ancient words took root, promising growth and depth beyond what I may be able to perceive until a promised harvest. In the simplicity of this prayer, I experienced not just petition but recognition, the eternal seed and promise of a relationship with God, compact and complete.
