I visit a confirmation class
because I have been asked to lead
a workshop on prayer
for eight fifteen year old boys,
and I know there will need to be
I want to say – prayer is not a selfie,
(I mean – it just sounds awful —
where are global needs, diversity, justice?)
but then I know it is exactly what it is —
I send a picture of me in the foreground
against the scenery
of all my hopes and troubles,
my friends leaning in,
but never with a long enough arm
to get the perspective I need.
I want to say – prayer is not Amazon Prime,
(really it can’t be some holy online order
that assumes free shipping),
but then I realize
how often my cart is full of confession.
I want to say – prayer is not like a fidget spinner
(it’s more than keeping something in motion
to ease anxiety within
and aid the need to concentrate without),
but who am I fooling?
The spiritual practices of those
whose wisdom has led me
included breath prayers and labyrinths,
centering prayer, rosaries, icons,
lectio divina, tongues, dance.
After all — at some point mustardseeds,
and financial suicide by pearl
must have seemed metaphorically shaky.