SPIRITUALGROWTHMINISTRIES

LOSI N G I N T EREST I N PRAY ER

A CRI SI S OF FAI T H … OR N EW LI FE?

Subm it t e d for M odule 4 a

Alan A. MacKenzie
9/ 5/ 2014

A directee comes to talk with you about difficulties in personal prayer. Prayer has
become “Blah”, and seems to be going nowhere. It is hard to maintain former disciplines
in prayer, and this is accompanied by some guilt. Drawing on what you know, write a case
study showing how you would assist this person into a better and wider understanding of
what may be happening, and showing how you could help the directee into a richer
relationship with God.
Stephen, a 34year-old stock broker, initially approached me for spiritual direction claiming his
issue was quite straight-forward — “I’ve gotten to a point where I feel like I’m uttering the same
words over and over but they don’t mean anything to me; I’m not hearing from God anymore!” I’ve
heard this before; Christ-followers world-wide can identify with his assertion. For most of us, our
relationship with God will have its low moments. I was very curious about Stephen’s prayer life;
and so I invited him to share his personal views on prayer.

He began with almost a confession-like statement: “I say my rosary daily every morning, and I pray
during mass; and sometimes, when circumstances call for it, intercessory prayers are given up to pray
for others in need. But they feel to me like just words at times, and at other times, it’s almost like my
prayers rise to the ceiling and then go no further. No matter what I try, nothing seems to make any
difference.” I have heard these same cries from my own heart.

At this early juncture, I wasn’t aware whether Stephen had ever experienced the “dark night”
journey1 and Coe’s (2000, p. 299) words echoed in my soul, as Stephen’s described his struggle:

The experience …is one in which the person has done nothing different than before, is
sinning no more than usual: yet, the spiritual disciplines no longer provide the same
pleasure payoff as before. The beginner is no longer receiving the same zest
experience in prayer, Bible reading, and going to church, and cannot account for this
by reference to actions alone. As a result, the beginner works harder at the spiritual
disciplines in order to get back the pleasant feeling. For many …frustration sets in
when the spiritual life does not work as before; they feel guilty [or, shameful?] and
are thus tempted to work harder, to pray harder and attend to their quiet times with
more energy. They think their efforts will make the difference. [brackets mine]

I felt it OK to share initially with Stephen (i.e. to normalize) that many faithful have sat in their
favourite pews at church, and had moments where they pray and don’t feel anything
extraordinary; or really anything at all. Does this mean our faith is in vain or that our prayers
are useless? At some point on our spiritual pilgrimage, we, and our directees, have cried out to God or
wondered in our deep: “God, where are you? What is wrong with you? Why are you so distant? God,
what is wrong with me? Why do I feel so dry inside? Why do I not seem to care the way I used to about
you? What have I done wrong?” Merely ringing the “bell of truth” only leaves us with a hollow ring
in the ears of our heart. Stephen needed more than mere reassurances!

In one of our earlier sessions, Stephen mentioned reading an article2 entitled “Avoiding spiritual
apathy, atrophy and drought”. In said article, the author had outlined several ‘signs’ of spiritual
apathy:

‚ Lack of interest in praying

‚ Lack of interest in reading our scriptures, and pondering them

1
This expression is used in various ways, but basically refers to the episodes of not experiencing God, of finding
ourselves bereft of our usual sense of God’s presence and therefore having to seek God in a different way. It can be
compared with ‘wilderness’ times; where everything we used to draw sustenance from seems to have deserted us
and we find no comfort – and yet in the long run it leads us to deeper relationship with God. See Coe, J. H. (2000).
“Musings on the dark night of the soul: Insights from St John of the Cross on a developmental spirituality.” Journal
of Psychology and Theology, 28, 4, 293-307.
2
Taken from http:/ / christianauthenticity.org/ 2014/ 01/ 13/avoiding-spiritual-apathy-atrophy-and-drought/ posted
on 13 January 2014.
 ‚ Lack of interest in attending church regularly

In addition to these signs, Stephen explained, spiritual apathy included activities that grieve the
Holy Spirit … like when we lose interest in having open and honest communication and rather
isolate ourselves into our own ‘ego bubble’. Stephen explained that as he read the article, he
began to question whether he did something to grieve the Spirit. And it seemed like the Lord was
now giving him his “come-uppance”! I found myself wanting to explore his past familial
relationships here for any parallels; however, this would most likely take us into a therapeutic
realm, rather than a spiritual one.

I decided to steer clear of that faux pas, and instead, began to explore with Stephen what his
empty prayer life ultimately meant to him.

It’s like a part of me has died, Stephen muttered, ashamedly.

I decided to ‘take a punt’ and ask Stephen if he would be comfortable trying another form of
prayer (relating to God) in our direction sessions.3 He reluctantly agreed, saying “I guess I’ve got
nothing to lose…everything else hasn’t been working too well!” Hoping to shift the tenor from what
isn’t happening for Stephen to what is possible, I tried directing our gaze toward something
Richard Rohr (1999, p. 28) once wrote, “My starting point [for prayer as part of spiritual
guidance] is that we’re already there. We cannot attain the presence of God. We’re already totally
in the presence of God. What’s absent is [our] awareness.”

I asked Stephen if he had any notions / ideas as to how he might like to proceed. He hesitated,
and then said, “I guess I’ve got nothing, how about you?” So, at his behest I reciprocated by
suggesting we could possibly try an Ignatian meditative approach, called Imaginative Prayer4. I
asked him if he had ever heard of this. He said he didn’t know too much about it. I asked if we
could silently read Matt. 19: 13-15 — and then, as Stephen’s spiritual director, I would invite him
to sink into that Scripture, and to let go as much as possible, and fall into feelings of safety, fully
experiencing the touch (acceptance, love) of God. As we sat together in silence for about ten
minutes, (in Step 2 of the process) Stephen began shifting and squirming in his seat,
apprehensively. I noticed his obvious discomfort, so I asked him what he was feeling at this
moment. His response was brief, “Frustration! I got nothing! Sorry. This isn’t working for me at all.
I could relate. Reassuring him, I decided to personally disclose in an appropriate way, and so I
apologized and said it didn’t work for me in the beginning, either. I couldn’t assume Stephen
wouldn’t struggle the same as I did. At the end of the session, I offered Stephen a copy of Mike
Wright’s (2014) “Imaginative prayer” pamphlet, given out at this years’ Waikanae workshop.5

3
Some OR theorists accept that it is plausible during a prayer practice, a ‘transitional’ space is opened within a
spiritual direction relationship, for the creation of inner images that reveal a person’s unconscious ‘relational
longings’ for God. This transitional space allows an alchemy (movement) through infantile omnipotence to the
recognition of what is ‘‘me’’ and what is ‘‘not me’’; through the experience of containment without retaliation or
withdrawal.
4
I began to wonder if a “transitional space” could afford Stephen “new lenses” to see deeper into an understanding
of this figurative ‘death’ that resulted from relational separation and a closing down to God. For a detailed
explanation of this Ignatian prayer method, see Evans, J. (2014). Experience and Convergence in Spiritual Direction,
pp. 5-11.
5
SGFP Week Workshop, July 20-25, 2014 in Waikanae NZ.
In the crucible of the “dark night”

The next session saw Stephen burst into the room with gusto – armed with something he had
pondered on between our sessions. He erupted on the scene with a particular focus, and began our
time with several run-together questions:

You said last time that Imaginative prayer didn’t work for you…why not? What does work in its
place? Do you have other ways to pray that work?

I admitted I preferred Welcoming prayer, personally; so we spent the next several minutes
unpacking the essence of holding a contemplative stance. Stephen understood what was being
conveyed, but still seemed keen on trying Ignatian prayer as a “quick fix” for his dilemma. I
asked him if we could revisit the same passage we examined the last time we met. This time, he
seemed to have considerably more patience; and as we stepped through each level, Stephen sank
more and more deeply into the experience of God's acceptance of him6. His earlier feelings of
separation from God became more pronounced, leading Stephen to acknowledge deep feelings of
shame. With his shame, came anger… even rage. It wasn’t until we reached the final stage of the
prayer (Step 6), where a juxtaposition of Stephen’s experience of God holding him as a toddler
happened; it was here, that he found the most significant (imaginative) engagement with the
scriptures:

I see an image of God holding me on his shoulder. I’m a few years old. He’s holding me like a
toddler, not like an infant…

“Is God saying anything to you?” I asked.

I hear God saying, ‘‘I love you,’’ but I don’t believe Him. He doesn’t love me; he loves everyone…
He doesn’t love ME in a special way. I’m just lumped in with everyone else.

“Just like everyone else”, I echoed.

[we sat silent -- in a pregnant pause…]

God says again to me, ‘‘I love you’’.

Stephen’s voice became shaky, but then I began hearing a subtle change… as an angry adolescent
emerged — one who seemed to express a desire to be alone (like Adam in the garden, wanting to
hide himself away).

“Something’s different – I sense a shift for you?” I asked, reticently.

I hear a teenager voice saying, ‘‘Prove it!’’ The teenager feels angry, rebellious, and totally
closed off. I’m angry and screaming at him.

“Screaming what? To whom?” I probed.

Don’t give me this love bullshit! People relate to you because of what they get.
There’s nothing I can give you; nothing I can do for you.

6
Yet his father's lack of love, which had been internalized, remained ‘invisible’ to the directee.
 I will not feel you.’

[Stephen comments that he notices God has put the toddler down]

“What won’t you feel, Stephen?” I asked.

[Stephen struggles to answer – so I just let him sink deeper into the story]

He (God) comes over to me as a teenager.

He wants to hold me. I want to be left alone. He doesn’t leave.

“What’s God doing now?” I wonder.

He resumes looking deep into my eyes, as I’m ranting and raving at him.
I feel so angry.

“You’re really angry…” I posit.

He keeps staring at me and listening to me,

Agreeing that I’m really angry.

As we began to scratch the surface of his narcissistic rage, we both noticed that the biblical story
seemed to resonate with Stephen’s experience of humanity; to feel shameful when our longings
for attachment are met by relational sources unable to “feed” the hunger of our soul. Shame
seemed to contribute to Stephen hiding from God and others, thereby rupturing his relations with
them. 7

Stephen’s instinctively seemed to understand that something facilitates a death that occurs in
separation from the “good enough” source of abundant life. At this point, the directee seemed to
reveal his psychic reality of being rejected and therefore not feeling included in the circle of
familial love. 8 In a previous session, Stephen shared that ‘‘infants are loved, toddlers are
rejected.’’ Therefore, God holding the infant as a toddler seems to reveal Stephen’s relational
longing for his infantile experience of love in the toddler part of himself. Toward the end of
Stephen’s Ignatian experience, he narrated the following interaction with God:

I ask the Lord, ‘‘What do I get out of this?’’ God says, ‘‘Unconditional love and security.’’

I ask the Lord, ‘‘What do you get out of this?’’ Images flood my mind of when I felt joy
being a parent to my own kids.

God feels joy in loving me, just like I feel joy in being a dad. Only God’s joy is
indescribable.

7
I understood shame is a result of traumatic attachment emotions (Lewis, 1980). Shame results when a primary
caregiver is unable to respond positively to an infant’s longing to be loved — and therefore the infant in unable to
experience a secure emotional bond.
8
Stephen’s experience of a God who recognized his anger and did not retaliate or withdraw may have helped
facilitate a capacity for enhanced trust (Winnicott, 1990 cited in Ulanov, 2001); in such a way, that he might choose
to continue to honestly relate with this relational source of abundant life.
 I felt the ‘circle of love’ tighten around me.

As Stephen honestly asked God questions of why He loves him, ‘‘What do you get out of this’’ he
began to gradually identify with God as a loving father, when ‘‘images come to mind of when I
felt joy in being a father to my own kids. God feels joy in loving me.’’ This process of identifi-
cation with God (as father) began a deepening awareness of feeling loved by God and
internalizing the experience of God, not only being able to contain his destructive anger, but God
also feeling joy whilst loving him.

In the Final Analysis

During subsequent direction sessions, we continued to explore his words “the circle of love”, and
Stephen seemed more secure in the strength of God's love holding him as a toddler. Later, he
began to feel the pain of his father’s sudden, accidental death (when Stephen was only 8 years
old). In the grieving that ensued, Stephen commenced a difficult journey of transformation; one
that began to help him understand why it was so difficult for him to emotionally experience being
loved by others in his life.

As we continued fortnightly Ignatian prayer practice (for several more months) Stephen gradually
began to experience true joy while being held by God, while He nurtured and played with the little
bloke who longed to feel alive.

As his joy burgeoned, Stephen’s prayer life changed ＿ indeed for the better. He reluctantly
shared that with me that he can hear the Lord more now. And he listens to his kids more now,
too! All praise is to our loving God…
 REFERENCES
Berman, T. (2014). Avoiding spiritual apathy, atrophy and drought. Article taken from
http://christianauthenticity.org/2014/01/13/avoiding-spiritual-apathy-atrophy-and-drought/
posted on 13 January 2014.

Coe, J. H. (2000). “Musings on the dark night of the soul: Insights from St. John of the Cross on
developmental spirituality”. Journal of Psychology and Theology, 28(4): 293-307.

Evans, J. (2014). “Experience and Convergence in Spiritual Direction”. Journal of Religion and
Health, 53(1): 1-15.

Keating, T. (2003). Invitation to Love. New York: Continuum Publishing House.

Lewis, H. B., (1980). “Narcissistic personality’ or ‘shame-prone superego mode.’ ”

Comprehensive Psychotherapy, 1: 59-80.

Rohr, R. (1999). Everything belongs. New York: Crossroad.

Ulanov, A. B. (2001). Winnicott, God and psychic reality. Louisville: John Knox Press.

Willard, D. (1999). Hearing God: Developing a conversational relationship with God. Downers Grove,
IL: InterVarsity Press.

Wright, M. (2009). “Imaginative Prayer”. Handout received from the SGFP Week Workshop, July 20-
25, 2014 in Waikanae, NZ.