Praying isn’t something ordinary people talk about much, because – unless you are a committed loud and proud Christian – it seems a bit embarrassing. People are surprised when I (reluctantly) admit I pray, and believe in God. Like most people, I rarely go to church unless it is to admire the architecture. There’s so much I can’t stomach about the Church of England – the lack of support for married gay clergy, the well-meaning but ineffectual Archbishop of Canterbury with his mealy-mouthed concern for Prince Andrew and those twee curates stating the bleeding obvious on Radio 4’s Thought for the Day.
The act of praying is useful, no matter whatever your faith. Reciting a mantra, an old prayer or using a rosary is a special process, a way of calming yourself, stripping the day down to the essentials. The agenda is not something we need to reveal in detail, and when I pray I have no hope of any results. The point of prayer is to establish a dialogue, to put ourselves in someone else’s hands, and to accede to their will.
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