So what better miniproject to focus on but prayer? Alright, so I'm an atheist, or maybe an embarrassed agnostic. I don't typically pray. But that doesn't mean I can't pray. The religious may pray more than the rest of us but they don't have a monopoly on the action. Whose to say an atheist can't pray?
There are some interesting Google results on the subject, including this reflection by an atheist who was struck with the impulse to pray during wartime mortar shelling. After working on my BA this weekend I feel a little shell-shocked myself, though admittedly not to the point of prayer. But Case makes some good points. It might cause a round of cognitive dissonance, but is there really a downside to prayer?
Here's how I see it: prayer is time spent in earnest self-reflection, disposing of your fears and doubts in a higher power. You acknowledge you can't do much about the things you can't do much about, and you accept it and resolve to let them go. You focus on what your drives and ambitions are. You sort out what matters to you from what doesn't. These are the sorts of things you uncover in prayer, God or not.
So really, isn't it something of a self-therapy? A meditation? It isn't any wonder that studies show prayer can improve things; no matter what, you're taking some time to calm down and address the issues at hand. If you do it sincerely, that has to be a drain on stress.
I've prayed maybe about three or four times today. I woke up resolved to do it before each meal but I forgot dinner, and I did it a few times at random. I was probably around 14 when I last prayed consistently.
Alone in my room with folded hands, I felt very self-conscious. Was someone, somewhere laughing at me? And the other thing--I had the most difficult time focusing. I could barely come up with a line of thought. I attribute this to the fact that I don't really imagine God sitting on a cloud, waiting with bated breath to hear about the poor little prestigious college student's troubles with her paper. If God is on a cloud with ears perked up, I'd hope the attention would be directed toward a newly orphaned Haitian child. I folded my hands and talked to a dial tone.
I also feel a routine compulsion to start with the greeting "Dear God," like I'm writing a pen pal in fourth grade. "Dear" is something of a falsehood, which is I why I still bristle when I find myself resorting to the word in addressing emails to professors and professional contacts.
And worst of all, I found myself committing the most obnoxious habit of the faithful: Dear God, could you do this for me? Could you give me this thing? Could you make this work out? Could you remove the awkwardness and failure from my life and make it pretty much smooth from here 'til graduation?
Ugh. Who wants to be on the phone with that kid? "Can I borrow ten bucks? Would you give me a ride downtown?"
So much for my visions of earnest self-reflection. I will pray before bed, of course, but meanwhile I'll be looking into how to address the vague, floaty entity and get something honorable out of it in the process. If any of you heathens have tips, shoot 'em my way.
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