A girl chatted with a lady seated next to her in a faith-formation program. The lady confided that

she prayed everyday but did not feel close to God. Her morning prayer was the rosary, a devotion to our

Lady, and daily petitions; she prayed Divine Mercy at 3 pm and another set of rosary and devotion to a

saint before she slept. She regularly attended talks to deepen her faith too. Despite all these, she felt

distant from God. The girl was intrigued: “It seems that you spend a lot of time talking to God and

listening about God. When do you listen to God?” The lady looked confused: “What do you mean? I

spend a few hours praying every day, don’t I?”

The encounter reminded the girl of a recent lunch with a childhood friend who was troubled that

she could not pray anymore. The friend said “I used to pray Our Father and Hail Mary every day, but

this is becoming dry. I find it easier to talk to Jesus, making up imaginary conversations with Him. I could

be driving or buying groceries, and I’d speak to Him; or I’d be quiet and imagine Him sitting next to me.

When I have a problem, I would tell Him, “I can’t solve this; it’s beyond me. You help take care of it, ok?”

Then I’d go to sleep. Interestingly, when I wake up, the problem doesn’t seem as bad.”

These two encounters were captivating: the first lady was certain she was praying, while the

second lady was convinced she was not. Both were unsure if they truly communed with God, who is

silent and invisible, when indeed both are praying. What, then, is prayer? Alas, there is no simple

answer. If we ask ten people, we will likely receive ten distinct replies because we are trying to describe

an experience often inexpressible with words.

The saints are an excellent case in point: “Prayer is the raising of one’s mind and heart to God” (St.

John Damascene); “Prayer is a surge of the heart; it is a simple look turned towards heaven” (St. Therese

of Lisieux); “Prayer is the encounter of God’s thirst with ours” (St. Augustine). There is simply no fixed

definition. Despite the different expressions, the saints all spoke of an intimate bond that comes from a

profound encounter: they experienced God, and they knew Jesus intimately. But they didn’t get there

overnight. Nobody does.

For the saints and many Christians to pray is to invite the living Christ into their lives. Our

relationship with Jesus is a journey we must walk in person, with the Gospel as our guide. Praying with

the Gospel teaches us to see with His eyes, hear with His ears, and feel with His heart. Just like in

courtship or friendship, we can’t borrow someone else’s experience. Listening to another person’s

testimony or preaching may be uplifting, but it will remain as head knowledge until we personally

encounter Jesus. Just like any relationship, our awareness of Him slowly grows.

Without praying with the Gospel, our understanding of who God is only comes from our sheer

imagination. Without recognizing who Jesus truly is, everything else – the rosary, the devotion, the

imaginary heart-to-heart conversation – is incomplete. One can’t imagine and describe the sweetness of

honey unless they have tasted it.

Indeed, to pray is to allow God’s sweetness to touch us. Prayer does not change God’s mind; it

changes us. Prayer allows us to be transformed by Christ. Our prayer life slowly shapes who we are: as a

tree is known by its fruit, so are we by our prayer life. As we grow in our relationship with Jesus, our

relationship with ourselves and others deepens. Simply put, one can’t be touched and loved by God and

remain the same person.

Prayer is a two-way conversation, even though we tend to be more proficient in vocalizing and

petitioning. In Advent, as we prepare our heart to receive Christ, let us remind ourselves that to pray is

also to have a quiet heart to hear. Mother Teresa said, “God speaks in the silence of the heart. Listening

is the beginning of prayer. Listen in silence because if your heart is full of other things, you cannot hear

the voice of God.”

Are we listening to the Voice within?)

The Voice Within 

If there is one thing we can be sure of, it is God’s immense desire to be with us and to be known

by us. He reaches out and always reveals Himself to us. However, the thought of an invisible God

speaking to us can be unimaginable and unfathomable. And herein lies the question: Does God really

communicate with us? And if so, how?

The stories in the Scripture and of the lives of the saints reveal that God speaks to humans

throughout the history of humanity – some directly. For our sake, however, it is wise to assume that we

are not one of the select few, as it is equally sensible to believe that God is generous and creative in

connecting with us individually: His communication with us is as personalized as our unique fingerprints.

He meets us where we are, in ways which we can understand.

Many Christians attest to God speaking to them through praying with the Scripture, God’s

personal love letter for each of us. The Scripture points us and brings us closer to God. Through the

Scripture, God the mother comforts Her troubled child, God the lover courts His beloved, God the

faithful friend offers unceasing compassion and companionship.

Many also affirm that moments of God are beyond the dedicated prayer time. The experience of

God unfolds in our daily life – the splendor and turmoil of nature and creation, the voice of God spoken

by a friend or a stranger, in the gentle breeze and the buzzing of a busy street; as a thought, an insight,

or a tug in our heart; in joyous moments, heart-wrenching tragedies, and mundane chores. St. Ignatius

calls this awareness of God as finding God in all things. That is God speaking to us every day.

Finding God in our daily life is something which we can discover and acquire, for which St.

Gregory Palamas offered a wise counsel: “To think about God a thousand times, without experiencing

God, is to know nothing.” We can only know God by experiencing and recognizing His presence in our

life.

Recognizing God’s presence does not happen overnight: it is growth. Our life history is filled with

stories and memories of God, and yet our busyness often prevents us from feeling and sensing God. He

has been whispering, “I was there with you when….,” “I was here when….,” and “I am here with you

now”; we did not hear Him.

With the gift of hindsight, when we remember our first experience of God, the second, the third,

and the fourth, we begin to find the fingers of God touching us throughout our lives, even in our most

painful moments. The more we are aware and attentive to these memories, the more we are attuned to

God’s presence in our life. By revisiting, reliving, and savoring His companionship with our senses, mind,

and heart, we slowly learn to acquire the taste of God. 

Another year is coming to an end. As we just celebrate the Lord’s incarnation in our midst, let us

welcome Him into our life, inviting the Lord to remind us that He has always been present, loving us and

guiding us. Let us call out to Him: “Speak, Lord, your servant is listening,” as we listen with our heart,

and we listen in silence.