How to Pray? The Method for Getting Started

Even before the question of "how", we must hold on to the "why". Christian prayer is not an exercise in inner concentration, nor the recitation of formulas. It is, in the definition taken up by the Catechism from Saint John Damascene, "the elevation of the soul to God or the asking of God for fitting goods"^[2]. And in the definition that Saint Thérèse of the Child Jesus bequeathed to the Church, it is "an impulse of the heart, a simple glance toward heaven, a cry of gratitude and love in the midst of trial as in the midst of joy"^[3].

A friendship with Him by whom we know we are loved

Saint Teresa of Avila, Doctor of the Church and great mistress of mental prayer, fixed a formula that has become classic: mental prayer is "a close sharing between friends, a frequent, solitary conversation with Him by whom we know we are loved"^[4].

"Mental prayer is, in my view, nothing but a close sharing between friends, in which we converse frequently, alone, with Him by whom we know we are loved." — Saint Teresa of Avila, Book of Her Life, ch. 8, n. 5^[5]

This definition contains everything. A friendship: prayer is not a contract or a commercial transaction, it is a mutual relationship of knowledge and gift. Close: it is not content with the surface of words, it goes down into the heart. In which we converse frequently: it presupposes frequency, not the exceptional event. Alone: it requires withdrawal from noise. With Him by whom we know we are loved: it is rooted in the certainty that we are loved before we love, as Saint John reminds us: "In this is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us" (1 Jn 4:10)^[6].

To pray is to think of Jesus while loving him

One of the most compact and most instructive definitions of prayer for beginners can be summed up in a simple formula to remember: to pray is to think of Jesus while loving him^[7]. Often placed under the name of Saint Charles de Foucauld, it is found in these terms in none of his writings: let it be received for what it is, a teaching aid, not a quotation from the saint.

Everything is said. Prayer is not reserved for moments when we kneel before an icon: every time our thoughts turn toward Jesus with love — while cooking, walking, driving — the heart is already praying. The Catholic tradition therefore distinguishes two great types of prayer:

• The time of prayer properly so called, when we do nothing but think of Jesus while loving him — in calm, in one's room, at church or in the prayer corner.
• So-called "unceasing" prayer, in which we pray while doing something else — studying, housework, travel, manual work — while keeping our inner gaze toward God.

This latter ideal is what Saint Paul recommends to the Thessalonians: "Pray without ceasing" (1 Thes 5:17)^[8]. For the beginner, it is better to start with the former — a short, fixed time of prayer — which makes the latter possible.

The most beautiful adventure, and probably the most difficult

Honestly acknowledging the difficulty is not discouraging the beginner — it is preparing him. Becoming a man or a woman of prayer requires faithfulness, will, perseverance. The Catechism expressly speaks of a "battle of prayer":

"Prayer is both a gift of grace and a determined response on our part. It always presupposes effort. […] Prayer is a battle. Against whom? Against ourselves and against the wiles of the Tempter who does all he can to turn man away from prayer, away from union with God. We pray as we live, because we live as we pray." — Catechism of the Catholic Church, §2725^[9]

The adventure is not bitter for all that. The more we persevere, the more we discover the joy of being in relationship with our Creator and Saviour. Christ's promise — "Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you" (Mt 7:7)^[10] — holds entirely true from the very beginning of the life of prayer. The Lord does not keep beginners waiting; it is they who keep themselves waiting.

Three complementary schools that shed light on one another

The present article reinvents nothing: it draws on three great schools that complement one another.

The three schools do not oppose one another: they converge. Lectio supplies the matter (the Word of God); Ignatian prayer supplies the flexibility (imagination and affectivity); Carmel supplies the climate (friendship, loving silence). Added to all this, everywhere present, is the elementary school of the prayer of petition, of which Jesus himself, in the Our Father, made the universal model.

The first thing to do in order to enter into a life of prayer is not spiritual, it is practical: choosing a time and a length. It is the decision without which none of the others will hold.

The parable of the jar and the stones

A well-known parable sheds light on the question of priorities. A teacher places a large empty jar before his pupils. He first pours in large stones, up to the brim. "Is the jar full?" — "Yes." He then pours in gravel; the gravel slips between the stones. Then sand; the sand fills the gaps. Then water; the water soaks into the sand. And he concludes:

"If you begin by filling your days with secondary things — the gravel, the sand, the water — there will be no room left for what is essential: the large stones. But if you begin by putting first what truly matters, everything else will find room around it." — Teaching parable taken up by contemporary spiritual masters^[11]

In the spiritual life, prayer is a large stone. If we do not decide to place it first in the day, it will always be pushed aside by a thousand small urgencies. If we begin with it, we then discover that everything else finds its place, and even that the day bears more fruit.

Fifteen minutes at the start: the right measure

For a beginner, fifteen minutes a day is the right length. Enough for the encounter to take place, little enough for faithfulness to be possible. It is the modern application of an ancient principle: constancy is worth more than brilliance. Saint Benedict, in his 6th-century Rule, already rhythmed the monastic day with short, repeated offices rather than a single long, occasional office^[12].

The arithmetic itself is consoling. A 24-hour day contains 96 quarter-hours. Fifteen minutes is therefore 1/96th of a day, about 1% of our time. On a 96-centimetre rule representing the day, fifteen minutes takes up barely one centimetre. Out of a handful of 96 marbles, fifteen minutes is equivalent to a single marble given wholly to God. And it is precisely this hundredth that will give meaning and fruitfulness to the remaining 99%: for God, when he is invoked, continues his work of transformation throughout the day.

Wanting to pray a full hour a day from the very start is almost always a trap of pride: we hold out for two days, we exhaust ourselves, we give up. Better to be faithful fifteen minutes every day for ten years than an hour three times a month. Once daily faithfulness is firmly anchored, the time of prayer can gradually lengthen: 30 minutes, 45 minutes, an hour. Progress is God's work as much as ours.

Four reasons to pray in the morning

The most advisable moment, especially at the start, is the morning. Four reasons converge.

Morning is the "safest" moment of the day

Morning belongs to the personal routine: we get up at a given hour, leave for work at a given hour, and are still masters of our time. In the evening, by contrast, the unforeseen has piled up and tiredness often wins. Getting up fifteen minutes earlier than usual to pray is a minimal effort; it has the advantage of placing God before every appointment.

What we do first sets the direction of the whole day

Psychologists confirm what tradition has long affirmed: the first minutes of the day determine the direction of the hours that follow. Beginning by scrolling a phone is scattering ourselves from the first minute. Beginning by praying is turning our heart, from dawn, toward what is essential: the goal of life, which is to love God and to live in him.

Praying in the morning lets us offer the whole day to God

Offering God the first moment of the day tells him he is the priority. It is also the occasion to offer, in advance, all the actions of the day — work, encounters, meals, the unforeseen, sorrows. Saint Thérèse of Lisieux left for this purpose an Act of Offering, of which here is a simplified wording, adapted for daily prayer after her Act of Oblation to Merciful Love of 9 June 1895:

"My God, I offer you all the actions I will do today, in the intentions and for the glory of the Sacred Heart of Jesus; I wish to sanctify the beats of my heart, my thoughts and my simplest works by uniting them to His infinite merits, and to repair my faults by casting them into the furnace of His merciful love." — After Saint Thérèse of the Child Jesus, Act of Oblation to Merciful Love (9 June 1895), in simplified wording^[13]

Morning prayer feeds the day's journey

Before a long hike, we eat. Before a day, we pray. It is the image Jesus uses in the Our Father when he asks his Father for "our daily bread" — material and spiritual bread at once^[14]. Drawing from dawn "at the source of All Love", we recharge our batteries of love. The day will be marked by calmer attention to God's presence, greater serenity before the unforeseen, charity more available toward those we meet.

Three practical reminders so as not to get discouraged

First, make no drama of it when we forget. If we have missed our morning slot, let us look for another moment in the day — even five minutes only. Five minutes is always better than nothing, because skipping a whole day makes resuming harder.

Second, if morning is impossible, take another fixed slot. Evening, before bed, is a good option — provided we choose a posture that does not invite sleep. The Lord, says the Psalm, fills his beloved while he sleeps (Ps 127:2)^[15], but the conscious relationship with him calls for a watchfulness that the lying position tends to dispel.

Third, do not despise the beginning out of idealism. Fifteen minutes may seem short: it is precisely the right dose. Better to climb the steps gently than to want to climb too fast and fall from higher up.

Even before uttering a word, we have already decided a great deal about the time of prayer by the concrete conditions we give it. Place, posture, the inner airlock are not technical details: they translate into the body the orientation of the soul.

The secret place of Matthew 6

The Gospel is very precise here. Jesus teaches:

"When you pray, go to your inner room, close the door, and pray to your Father in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you." — Gospel according to Saint Matthew, 6:6^[16]

A silent place, where we risk no disturbance, where our gaze converges naturally toward what is essential. A bedroom, a chapel, a reserved corner. Silence matters not out of asceticism but out of hygiene: the mind already has quite enough inner distractions without adding those from outside. Putting the phone on silent, withdrawing to a secluded spot, setting up a simple prayer corner — a cross, an icon, a candle — are so many signs given to the outside world that here, during this time, we are no longer available to men, because we are available to God.

Three classic postures and their meaning

The body is not an accessory of prayer; it takes part in it. Romano Guardini (1885-1968), the Italian-German theologian and spiritual master of the 20th century, recalls this in a fitting formula:

"Attitude and gesture express what lives in the depths of the soul; but they also have their influence on the soul; they give it support, they form it, they educate it." — Romano Guardini, Introduction to Prayer^[17]

Three classic postures rhythm Catholic prayer, each bearing its own meaning.

Kneeling. It is the posture of reverence and adoration. "That at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth" (Phil 2:10)^[18]. It expresses acknowledgment of God's greatness and man's littleness. Held too long, it can become trying; a prie-dieu makes the posture bearable over time. Many begin kneeling and then sit for the rest of the time of prayer.

Seated. It is the posture of the disciple at school. Mary of Bethany, seated at Jesus' feet, listens to "the better part" (Lk 10:39-42)^[19]. The seated position allows long stability without excessive strain on the body; it has become the usual posture of silent prayer, on a chair, on the floor, or on a small prayer stool.

Standing. It is the posture of the Resurrection and of praise. The first Christians prayed standing with open arms (orant), and it is the liturgical posture of the Gloria and the canticles. It suits praise particularly well. Monks and nuns, in every age, long prayed standing — a usage that modern sedentary life makes harder, but which praise naturally rediscovers.

The golden rule: choose what helps

Tradition has fixed the general rule in a formula of Augustinian spirit: when we want to pray, let us take the position that best favours, at that moment, the affections of the soul^[20].

And Saint Teresa of Avila teaches that prayer is not the slave of posture but its mistress — what counts is the love we put into it, not physical performance^[21]. Catholic spiritual wisdom is, on this point, free. What counts is choosing a posture that expresses respect and helps us last. Praying lying down is possible, especially in illness, but exposes us to sleep. Opening the hands marks welcome; joining them marks concentration; prostrating marks total adoration. All these variations are lawful and good, provided they serve love.

The sign of the cross: opening the time

The sign of the cross opens every time of prayer worthy of the name. Too often made hastily, it actually carries a remarkable theological density.

First, it is a sign of opening that engages the whole body. We place our entire being under God's presence. It recalls baptism, in which we were baptized "in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit" (Mt 28:19)^[22]. It is also a profession of faith in the Trinity: the Father who creates, the Son who saves, the Spirit who sanctifies. The gesture descends from forehead to heart — from Heaven to earth, as the Son lowered himself even to dying on the cross — then widens to both shoulders, a sign that the Spirit envelops us entirely.

Lastly, it is a true sign of the cross traced upon ourselves: we visibly inscribe ourselves in the following of the Crucified, whose death opened salvation to us. Making it slowly, saying inwardly "In the name of the Father who created me, of the Son who saved me, of the Holy Spirit who sanctifies me", is already a whole prayer.

The airlock: going down into the heart

Before truly entering into prayer, it is precious to take one or two minutes of calm. Breathe. Settle down. Let worries, mental lists, agitations slide off. "Going down from the head into the heart", as the Fathers of Hesychasm say. This airlock is not wasted time: it is the indispensable clearing without which prayer will remain inner chatter. Evagrius Ponticus (4th century), spiritual master of the desert monks, already taught:

"If you wish to pray as you should, sadden no soul; otherwise, you run in vain." — Evagrius Ponticus, Treatise on Prayer, ch. 21^[23]

Inner silence is not absolute silence — it is directed attention. We let the head grow calm, the body relax, the heart re-centre on the one thing necessary.

Once the sign of the cross is made and the airlock passed, the practical question arises: what to do with these fifteen minutes? The spiritual answer goes beyond the practical question.

Being before doing: the true nature of prayer

Prayer is not first a matter of doing but of being. It is not reciting formulas or accumulating readings. Wanting to fill the time of prayer with many occupations is still, paradoxically, a form of activism — inner activism. "Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things", the Lord says to Lazarus' sister; "one thing is needful" (Lk 10:41-42)^[24].

The one thing necessary is to stand under Christ's gaze and let ourselves be loved. This is what the Catechism expresses thus:

"Prayer is the elevation of the soul to God or the asking of God for fitting goods. […] From where do we speak when we pray? From the height of our pride and our own will, or from 'the depths' (Ps 130:1) of a humble and contrite heart? He who humbles himself will be exalted (cf. Lk 18:9-14). Humility is the foundation of prayer." — Catechism of the Catholic Church, §§2559^[25]

No single method: Christian freedom

Saint Cyprian of Carthage wrote in the 3rd century that there is no uniform Catholic prayer: each enters into it according to his own gift^[26]. Prayer, being relationship, has no more universal "method" than a friendship. What works for one may not suit another; what nourishes today may seem arid in ten years, and vice versa. Prayer is not a fixed system — it is a place of freedom where we recover our identity as beloved sons or daughters.

But this freedom does not mean an absence of landmarks. All the masters recommend a flexible structure in which the soul's movement unfolds. The proposal that follows is only a tried-and-tested example.

A simple proposal in four movements

First movement: placing ourselves in God's presence

For a few minutes, simply be silent before God and repeat his Name. The Name of Jesus alone — which means in Hebrew "God saves" — is in itself very powerful. The Byzantine tradition made it the matter of the Tale of the Russian Pilgrim and of Hesychast prayer: "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner."^[27] We may also simply murmur "Jesus, I love you", "Jesus, you are here". And this presence may occupy, if it nourishes us, the whole time of prayer. Prayer is as simple as that: placing ourselves under God's loving gaze, letting ourselves be loved, giving him our love in return.

Second movement: nourishing the relationship with the Word

Opening the Gospel of the day, or a chosen passage, or a spiritual text by a saint, and reading it slowly. Not to amass knowledge, but to attend to what God may say through these words. When a word touches us, stopping, savouring it, remaining with it. Noting it in a notebook lets us return to it months later and measure its fruits. The complete method of this reading — lectio divina — is set out below.

Third movement: conversing with the Lord

Unlike philosophical meditation, which remains centred on self, Christian prayer is a dialogue. We speak to God — inwardly or in a low voice — without contrived formulas, as to a friend, without fearing that words will betray us: he already knows everything, and he loves us as we are — in a paraphrase of Augustinian spirit often taken up by modern spiritual masters^[28]. We entrust our questions, sorrows, joys to him; we intercede for others. We listen too. Silence is not absence: it is the space in which God can speak in turn.

Fourth movement: concluding with thanksgiving

Before leaving the time of prayer, giving thanks. Giving thanks for the time given — which is, as tradition says, the most precious thing a man can offer his God. Making the sign of the cross again. Going gently out into the day, prolonging the inner attitude of presence to God.

Not judging our prayer

This is probably the greatest temptation for beginners. Many leave the time of prayer telling themselves "I felt nothing, I did not pray well". They confuse prayer with their perception of it. The firm rule is this: what matters is not what we feel, it is the time given to God. Time is the most precious thing there is; giving it to God is, in itself, an act of love that no one can take from us.

Distractions, drowsiness, boredom, a sense of absence — all this belongs to the ordinary human condition and takes nothing away from the value of the time offered. Saint Francis de Sales (1567-1622) consoled his penitents thus:

"If throughout your prayer you did nothing but bring back your heart, even though every time you brought it back it went away again, your prayer would be very well employed." — Saint Francis de Sales, Introduction to the Devout Life, Part II, ch. 9^[29]

The very struggle is already prayer. God, like a Father, loves his children as they are, with their weaknesses, distractions, imperfections. Let us be gentle with ourselves as God is with us.

Before entering into the three great forms of prayer, we must mention a simple, short and fruitful method, suited especially to the end of the day: the prayer of the Covenant. It can take five to ten minutes in the evening, before bed.

Three steps after the sign of the cross

After the sign of the cross, we place ourselves under Jesus' loving gaze, for example by saying "Jesus, I love you". Then we go over the day just past in three successive steps.

The three steps correspond in reality to three fundamental relationships to God that tradition has never ceased to cultivate: praise for what he gives, repentance for the evil we have done, humble asking for what we hope. The prayer of the Covenant is thus a miniature of the whole life of prayer. It also has the advantage of maintaining a daily examen without making it a morbid exercise: the examen holds its place between thanksgiving and supplication, which balances its movement.

An heir of the Ignatian examen

The formula "Thank you, Forgive me, Please" is no novelty: it takes up, in simplified form for the general public, the famous daily examen that Saint Ignatius of Loyola placed at the heart of his spiritual method. In the Spiritual Exercises, Ignatius describes five points to go over each evening: giving thanks for benefits received, asking for the grace to know one's sins, examining one's day hour by hour, asking forgiveness, and forming resolutions for the next day^[30]. The prayer of the Covenant condenses these five points into three accessible movements.

It was widely spread in the French-speaking world by the new communities born of the Catholic Charismatic Renewal of the 1970s, notably the Emmanuel Community and the Chemin Neuf Community, which teach it as evening prayer in families or couples. It obviously does not dispense from regular sacramental confession, but it prepares the heart to let itself be reconciled day by day.

The prayer of petition is the most elementary of all forms of prayer. That does not mean it is low or rudimentary: on the contrary, it is the most spontaneous and the most universal. It is the cry of the heart that knows only God can answer. The Catechism gives a definition of it worth meditating:

"It is by prayer of petition that we express awareness of our relationship with God: creatures, we are neither our own beginning nor the master of adversities nor our own final end, but also, sinners, we know, as Christians, that we have turned away from our Father. Petition is already a return to him." — Catechism of the Catholic Church, §2629^[31]

Why ask of a God who already knows everything?

One might think it useless to ask God for anything, since he already knows our needs. Catholic tradition answers: God knows, but he wants us to ask him. Not because he needs the information, but because he wants to associate us with his action and to test us in trust.

"The Lord wants to grant us his graces, but he wants us to ask him for them." — Saint Alphonsus Liguori, The Great Means of Prayer, ch. I^[32]

Saint Thomas Aquinas, in the Summa Theologiae, sets out the same doctrine with his usual precision:

"We do not pray to God to make our needs and desires known to him, but so that we ourselves may realize that in these necessities we must have recourse to divine help." — Saint Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, IIa-IIae, q. 83, a. 2, ad 3^[33]

And Jesus himself never ceased inviting us to ask:

"Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. […] If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good things to those who ask him." — Gospel according to Saint Matthew, 7:7-11^[34]

And again:

"Truly, truly, I say to you: whatever you ask the Father in my name, he will give it to you. Until now you have asked nothing in my name; ask, and you will receive, that your joy may be full." — Gospel according to Saint John, 16:23-24^[35]

To blind Bartimaeus, on the roadside at Jericho, Jesus explicitly puts the question: "What do you want me to do for you?" (Lk 18:41)^[36]. The question is astonishing: the Lord obviously knows what a blind man wants. But he waits for the request to be formulated, because it is in formulating it that we enter into trust.

What to ask for? Everything that serves salvation

May we ask for just anything? The Catechism answers:

"The prayer of petition is concerned with the forgiveness of sins, the quest for the Kingdom, and every true need." — Catechism of the Catholic Church, §2646^[37]

That is exactly the structure of the Our Father, the par excellence prayer taught by Jesus to his apostles. In it we pray first for the hallowing of the Name, the coming of the Kingdom, the fulfilment of the divine Will; then come four petitions concerning our own needs: daily bread (material and spiritual), forgiveness of offences (given and received), help in temptation, and deliverance from Evil. So we may ask for everything, except what would be contrary to our salvation: God cannot grant a prayer that would be opposed to his love or to his very nature.

Asking for ourselves is not selfish — it is right. The opposite risk, subtler, is that of the Pharisee who boasts before God of his works and "asks for nothing" (Lk 18:10-14)^[38]. Not asking can hide pride: the conviction of needing nothing. Better to imitate the publican who knows his weakness: "God, be merciful to me, a sinner." Humility opens prayer; pride sterilizes it.

The four conditions of a true petition

Saint John Chrysostom (4th century), Patriarch of Constantinople and Doctor of the Church, sums up in one sentence the expected attitude:

"God is always ready to hear the voice of his servants; he has never turned a deaf ear when called upon as he should be." — Saint John Chrysostom, Homily 22 on the Gospel of Matthew^[39]

"As he should be" — that is, by bringing together four conditions that the spiritual tradition has finely identified.

Asking with faith and trust

Jesus never ceases urging his disciples to faith:

"Have faith in God. Truly, I say to you: whoever says to this mountain, 'Be taken up and cast into the sea,' and does not doubt in his heart, but believes that what he says will come to pass, it will be done for him. Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours." — Gospel according to Saint Mark, 11:22-24^[40]

And he praises the great faith of the Roman centurion and of the Canaanite woman, who obtain, one the healing of his servant, the other that of her daughter^[41]. This faith is not credulity: it is the humble boldness of believing that God can, wills, and lets himself be moved.

Asking with humility

"God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble." — Letter of Saint James, 4:6^[42]

Scripture continues in the same vein: "He does not slight the poor, he hears the prayer of the oppressed. He does not despise the orphan's supplication, nor the widow's oft-repeated complaint" (Sir 35:16-17)^[43]. We do not pray to demand, we pray to ask as the poor. Trust rests not on merits but on God's infinite goodness — that is precisely what makes asking possible.

Asking with perseverance

This is probably the hardest condition, because it presupposes duration. Jesus teaches it explicitly through the parable of the persistent widow (Lk 18:1-8), introduced by this sentence: "He told them a parable to the effect that they ought always to pray and not lose heart"^[44]. The De Profectu religiosorum, a Franciscan opuscule long attributed to Saint Bonaventure, likewise encourages:

"Sometimes more is obtained more quickly by a short prayer than would be obtained with difficulty by good works." — De Profectu religiosorum, attributed to the school of Saint Bonaventure^[45]

Saint Thérèse of the Child Jesus, at her First Communion, had taken a resolution that founded her whole spirituality: "I will not get discouraged."^[46] Perseverance in prayer is, in every age, the beginner's first virtue — well before fervour of feeling.

Saint Alphonsus Liguori goes so far as to name the grace to be asked for each day: the virtue of perseverance itself. For it is perseverance that will decide, at the end of life, whether we held out to the end or left the road along the way^[47].

The history of the saints abounds in examples where prayer took ten, twenty, sometimes a whole lifetime before bearing fruit, notably in cases of conversion. Elisabeth Leseur (1866-1914), wife of a republican and anticlerical doctor, prayed all her life for her husband Félix without seeing him convert. After her death, reading the spiritual notebooks she had kept, Félix Leseur undertook a path of conversion that led him to the Dominican priesthood in 1923^[48]. No prayer is ever lost: God can redistribute elsewhere the graces that a closed heart refuses to receive.

Asking in abandonment to God

This is the summit and the testing of the prayer of petition. Jesus himself, in the garden of Olives, prays thus:

"Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me; nevertheless, not my will, but yours." — Gospel according to Saint Luke, 22:42^[49]

We must accept that God does not always give what we asked for — not out of indifference, but because he wants better or otherwise. Saint Paul assures us: "We know that in everything God works for good with those who love him" (Rom 8:28)^[50]. And Saint John Chrysostom adds:

"We always obtain, even while we are still asking." — Saint John Chrysostom, Homily on Psalm 129^[51]

The promise is always kept — but sometimes otherwise than expected. The golden rule: balance abandonment and perseverance. Without perseverance, "thy will be done" is only a lack of faith in disguise; without abandonment, perseverance becomes resentment as soon as prayer is not immediately answered.

A practical tip for life choices: "close the doors"

When a beginner seeks God's will over a concrete decision — accepting a job, buying a house, committing to a project — immobilism in the name of discernment can become a trap. Tradition proposes a balanced attitude: move forward, asking the Lord to close the door if that path is not his. The practical formula: "Lord, if this is not Your will, close the doors for me." It has the merit of avoiding passively waiting for a sign and of defusing the guilt of choosing. Experience shows that doors close quite clearly when a path is not the one God wills — provided we first had the courage to step onto it in trust. This way of proceeding obviously dispenses neither from genuine prior discernment, nor from the guidance of a spiritual director for important choices.

Intercession: praying for others

Alongside prayer of petition for ourselves, there is intercession for others. The Catechism defines it thus:

"Intercession is a prayer of petition which leads us to pray as Jesus did. He is the one intercessor with the Father on behalf of all men, especially sinners. […] Christian intercession participates in that of Christ: it is the expression of the communion of saints." — Catechism of the Catholic Church, §§2634-2635^[52]

And it adds:

"Intercession knows no boundaries and extends to one's enemies." — Catechism of the Catholic Church, §2647^[53]

Intercession is therefore rooted in compassion. When the Gospel says that Jesus, seeing the crowds, "had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd" (Mt 9:36)^[54], the Greek verb (esplagchnisthē) evokes a seizure "to the very entrails". How far are we seized to the entrails before our brothers who suffer or who do not know Christ's love? It is this compassion that motivates intercession.

The Virgin at Pontmain, Lourdes, Fatima, Medjugorje

Modern history offers striking testimonies to the efficacy of intercession. At Pontmain, in the midst of the Franco-Prussian war, on 17 January 1871, the Virgin Mary appeared to several children in the Mayenne hamlet and left this message: "But pray, my children. God will hear you in a short time. My Son lets himself be moved."^[55] The whole village prayed. The next day, the Prussian armies preparing to take Laval — 50 kilometres away — withdrew without assaulting, and left Mayenne three days later. The armistice was signed eleven days after the apparition. The village's young men who had gone to war returned safe and sound. The apparition was recognized by the Bishop of Laval, Msgr Casimir Wicart, by a decree of 2 February 1872^[56].

At Lourdes, in 1858, the Virgin said eight times to Bernadette Soubirous: "Penance, penance, penance. You will pray to God for sinners"^[57]. At Fatima, on 19 August 1917 at Valinhos, she repeated to the three children: "Pray, pray a great deal, and make sacrifices for sinners"^[58]. At Medjugorje, in the alleged apparitions said to have begun on 24 June 1981, the Virgin presents herself as "Queen of Peace" and asks for prayer of the heart for peace in families, in souls and in the world — though the Church has not ruled on the supernaturality of the phenomena: on 19 September 2024, the Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith granted the nihil obstat, which authorizes public devotion without declaring the supernatural character^[59]. All these messages insist on the same point: the conversion of sinners is the central stake, and the prayer of intercession is its instrument.

Already in the 13th century, Saint Dominic spent long nights prostrate before the tabernacle and begged, in a formula that sums up all prayer of intercession for sinners:

"My God, my Mercy, what will become of sinners?" — Saint Dominic de Guzmán (1170-1221)^[60]

Saint Thérèse of the Child Jesus, at fourteen, experienced this power in a case that became famous: the conversion of the criminal Henri Pranzini, sentenced to death in July 1887 for a triple murder. Thérèse made him "her first child" — she prayed, offered sacrifices and a Mass for him. Moments before his execution, on 31 August 1887, Pranzini seized the crucifix held out by the chaplain and kissed it three times. Thérèse recognized in it the sign she had asked for. She later reported in Manuscript A:

"The day after his execution, I came across the newspaper La Croix. I opened it eagerly and what did my eyes see? […] Pranzini had not gone to confession; he had mounted the scaffold and was about to pass his head through the lugubrious hole, when suddenly, seized by an abrupt inspiration, he turned round, seized a crucifix the priest was holding out to him and kissed its sacred wounds three times! […] I had obtained the sign requested." — Saint Thérèse of the Child Jesus, Manuscript A, fol. 46 v°^[61]

Sister Lucy of Fatima, in her Memoirs, later gave a practical definition of the "sacrifices" the Virgin asks for the conversion of sinners: most often they are not heroic acts but daily duties offered in reparation. The short prayer she proposed to the faithful can accompany the whole day:

"O Jesus, it is for love of You, for the conversion of sinners, and in reparation for sins committed against the Immaculate Heart of Mary." — Sister Lucy dos Santos, Memoirs^[62]

The five-finger memory aid

So as not to forget the recipients of intercession, a simple mnemonic method, called the "five-finger prayer" and attributed to Pope Francis (it is said to go back to his years as Archbishop of Buenos Aires), proposes praying with the help of the five fingers of the hand.

The order of the five fingers is itself a lesson: we pray for ourselves last, after first carrying others before God^[63].

An intercession that transforms the intercessor

The Coptic monk Matta el-Maskine (1919-2006), a great figure of the monastic renaissance in 20th-century Egypt, identified an essential link between intercession and spiritual progress:

"Our communion with the sufferings of men and our communion with Christ fundamentally depend on one another. We then find our joy only in asking, begging and spending ourselves for the benefit of others. Then God Himself begins to take care of us and to take charge of our whole life, on the material as well as the spiritual plane, down to the smallest details." — Matta el-Maskine, The Experience of God in the Life of Prayer^[64]

Jesus confirmed it to the Nantes mystic Gabrielle Bossis (1874-1950) in the inner dialogue she transcribed in her He and I:

"Ask each day for holiness, so as to make holy those around you. You give them only what you are." — Gabrielle Bossis, He and I^[65]

Intercession is therefore inseparable from personal sanctification: we can give others only what we ourselves carry. That is why praying first for peace in our own heart and in our own family — as the alleged messages of Medjugorje ask, where the Virgin presents herself as Queen of Peace — is the condition for being able to pray authentically for peace in the world.

A concrete tip: the notebook of intentions

Be careful not to turn the time of prayer into a long list of intentions recited like an inventory — that would be both exhausting and sterile. Many spiritual masters recommend a practical tip: writing our intentions down in a notebook or on a sheet. Two benefits: first, we do not forget them — how often do we tell someone "I will pray for you" without really doing so? Second, we can present these intentions to the Lord as a block, without detailing them one by one aloud. The simple formula "Lord, I entrust to you all the intentions I have noted" suffices: God reads the notebook and the heart.

Intercession together

Jesus promised his disciples a particular efficacy to prayer in common:

"If two of you agree on earth about anything they ask, it will be done for them by my Father in heaven. For where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I in the midst of them." — Gospel according to Saint Matthew, 18:19-20^[66]

And Saint James in his epistle: "Is any among you suffering? Let him pray. Is any cheerful? Let him sing praise" (Jas 5:13)^[67]. Group prayer — in the family, in a parish group, in a cell, in a shrine — visibly realizes the communion of saints. It is a great spiritual support, especially for beginners hesitant to pray alone.

Praise — from the Latin laudare, "to extol" — is celebration and blessing. It asks for nothing: it acknowledges who God is and proclaims it. The Catechism describes it with admirable precision:

"Praise is the form of prayer which recognizes most immediately that God is God. It lauds God for his own sake and gives him glory, quite beyond what he does, simply because HE IS." — Catechism of the Catholic Church, §2639^[68]

A dynamic more than a particular form

Praise is not only one prayer among others; it is a dynamic that can run through all the other forms. Every prayer can become praise: adoration, the rosary, lectio divina, and above all the Mass.

"The Eucharist is a sacrifice of thanksgiving to the Father, a blessing by which the Church expresses her gratitude to God for all his benefits." — Catechism of the Catholic Church, §1360^[69]

When a time of prayer begins with praise, the heart disposes itself to trust and humility. Petitions become less nervous, intercession broader, thanksgiving deeper. Saint Ignatius of Loyola formulated it in a sentence that became famous in the Spiritual Exercises:

"Man is created to praise, reverence, and serve God our Lord, and by this means to save his soul." — Saint Ignatius of Loyola, Spiritual Exercises, n° 23^[70]

Praising God is fulfilling the very purpose for which we were created. In Heaven, says Revelation, we will proclaim endlessly "blessing and honour and glory and might for ever and ever" (Rev 5:13)^[71]. Praise is both the end and the means: the end, because it is our eternal destiny; the means, because it already directs us here below toward that destiny.

Praise throughout the Bible

Praise runs through Scripture from the first to the last book. In the Old Testament, the book of Psalms is par excellence the book of praise of God's people: "I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth" (Ps 34:2)^[72]. "Shout for joy to God, all the earth; sing the glory of his name" (Ps 66:1)^[73]. "Let everything that breathes praise the Lord! Alleluia!" (Ps 150:6)^[74].

The New Testament continues the chain. Mary sings the Magnificat (Lk 1:46-55): "My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour." The angels above the manger: "Glory to God in the highest!" (Lk 2:14). Jesus, like every devout Jew, sang the psalms — it is even his last prayer shared with the apostles: "And when they had sung a hymn, they went out to the Mount of Olives" (Mt 26:30)^[75].

The first Christians immediately take up this language: they "attended the temple together and praised God" (Acts 2:46-47)^[76]. Saint Paul constantly urges the Churches:

"Addressing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody to the Lord with all your heart." — Letter to the Ephesians, 5:19^[77]

And the ultimate, striking example: Paul and Silas, chained in prison at Philippi, "were praying and singing hymns to God around midnight" (Acts 16:25)^[78] — to the point that God intervenes with an earthquake that frees them. Praise in the night has a singular power.

Four ways of praising in daily life

In personal prayer

During the time of prayer, begin by praising God before any petition: "Lord, I praise you for who you are: you are holy, you are good, you are all love, creator of all things." We may also pray a psalm of praise. Praising aloud helps fix attention and chase away distractions. It may seem strange at first, but Saint Paul himself recommends it: "Sing and make melody to the Lord with all your heart" (Eph 5:19)^[79].

Listening to or singing songs of praise during prayer, or more simply while cooking or driving, can radically transform the colour of a day.

In a group

Shared praise — in the family, among friends, in a prayer group, in a parish — reaches a new dimension. It restores the freedom of God's children. Beginners often feel they ought to "sing well" or "be at ease" with their bodies: that is not the point. Praise is neither vocal performance nor bodily technique. The body accompanies the heart: we may raise our hands as a sign of welcome, clap for joy, dance to express victory. It is not a matter of waiting for joy in order to praise, but of praising in order to enter into joy.

Day by day: an inner attitude

Praise is not reserved for explicitly religious times. Saint Paul calls for a life traversed by thanksgiving:

"Rejoice always, pray constantly, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you." — First Letter to the Thessalonians, 5:16-18^[80]

The Catechism widens it:

"Every joy and suffering, every event and need can become the matter for thanksgiving which, sharing in that of Christ, should fill one's whole life." — Catechism of the Catholic Church, §2648^[81]

On waking, offering the day. At bedtime, giving thanks for the day past. Through the day, multiplying small silent praises: "Thank you for this blue sky. Thank you for this encounter." Madeleine Delbrêl (1904-1964), great mystic of the working-class suburbs, formulated it thus:

"Everything is so beautiful when we look at it with a little love. We disdain masses of things we have not even looked at, and our whole life would not suffice to celebrate their splendours." — Madeleine Delbrêl, letter of 21 March 1928^[82]

A gratitude notebook — in which we daily note a few reasons for thanks — usefully supports this habit.

The "Glory to God" key as a habit for the day

Father Alain Dumont, a French priest specializing in the prayer of praise, proposes a concrete exercise for transforming our ordinary outlook: taking the "Glory to God key". Each time an event occurs — especially a vexing one: a stuck car, unexpected news, a difficulty at work — answering it inwardly with "Glory to God!". With time, the reflex shifts: we say "Glory to God" spontaneously, even in trials, because we have learned that God knows how to draw good from them. A very simple variant: "God be blessed", "Praise God", "All is grace".

"Words of praise are like a shaft of light, an arrow of love that drives away the darkness that grips us." — Father Alain Dumont, Praise — A Light on My Path^[83]

It is the same intuition that led a priest, telling his story to a friend, to transform the reflex: a heavy object once fell on his foot, and a spontaneous "Da…" came to his lips — which he finished, by a stroke of inspiration, as "thanks". Praise can convert even our curses.

In trials: the praise of the modern Job

This is where praise becomes combat. It is easy to praise God when all is well; praising him when the road climbs is a profound act of faith. Pope Francis reminded the Charismatic Renewal communities: "It is the same for Christians: without praise and without mission, one does not live as a Christian"^[84]. Job, in misfortune, tears his garments but falls face down and worships:

"The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord!" — Book of Job, 1:21^[85]

According to a formula attributed to Saint John of Avila (1499-1569), Andalusian spiritual master and Doctor of the Church:

A single "God be blessed" in the time of adversity is worth more than a thousand "Thank you" in the time of prosperity. — Formula attributed to Saint John of Avila^[86]

Saint Francis of Assisi (1182-1226) composed his famous Canticle of the Creatures when he was nearly blind, consumed by illness and misunderstanding:

"Praised be You, my Lord, with all Your creatures, especially Sir Brother Sun, who gives the day, and through whom You illumine us. And he is beautiful and radiant with great splendour: he bears of You, Most High, signification." — Saint Francis of Assisi, Canticle of Brother Sun^[87]

The Franciscan Éloi Leclerc (1921-2016), who survived the Dachau camp, puts into Francis' mouth these words of naked adoration, which have become one of the summits of Franciscan spiritual literature:

"The man who worships God acknowledges that there is none Almighty but He alone. He acknowledges it and he accepts it. Deeply, cordially. He rejoices that God is God. God is, that suffices. And that makes him free. Do you understand?" — Éloi Leclerc, o.f.m., Wisdom of a Poor Man^[88]

And Marie Martin, elder sister of Saint Thérèse of Lisieux, wrote to her in May 1887:

"The little birds have more sense than we do: they always praise the good God, in all weathers, even when the sky is dark." — Marie Martin (Sister Marie of the Sacred Heart), letter to Thérèse, 31 May 1887^[89]

The fruits of praise

Praise bears identifiable fruits. It gives inner joy and peace, because it lays worries at the Lord's feet. It strengthens faith: praising is proclaiming truths ("God is good, God loves me, God acts") and proclamation builds belief. It makes God present in a particular way: many have experienced, during intense times of praise, an unusual gentleness, peace, strength — a sign that the Holy Spirit acts. It de-centres: praising God frees us from enclosure in self-centred preoccupations. It drives away darkness: as the episode of Paul and Silas illustrates, praise can literally "break the soul's chains". Lastly, it radiates: a heart that praises is rarely bitter, and its radiance testifies, by its very life, to God's faithfulness.

Saint Elizabeth of the Trinity (1880-1906), Carmelite of Dijon, expressed her ideal in a formula that became classic: to be a "praise of glory".

"A praise of glory is a being always in thanksgiving. Each of its acts, its movements, each of its thoughts, its aspirations, while rooting it more deeply in love, are like an echo of the eternal Sanctus." — Saint Elizabeth of the Trinity, Heaven in Faith^[90]

The echo extends to still more discreet figures. Claire de Castelbajac (1953-1975), a young Frenchwoman who died at 21 from encephalitis and called Servant of God by the Church, exclaimed before her parents a few weeks before her death:

"I am so happy that if I died now, I think I would go straight to Heaven, since Heaven is the praise of God, and I am already there." — Servant of God Claire de Castelbajac, words reported by her mother in June 1975^[91]

Father Francis Manoukian (1932-2017), Armenian-Catholic parish priest famous for his ministry of preaching praise, often reminded his listeners of this prospect: the joy that awaits us in Heaven will be an eternal praise, and we might as well train for it now^[92].

It is the horizon toward which daily praise makes every Christian walk.

Lectio divina, "divine reading" in Latin, is the prayerful, meditative reading of the Word of God. It is probably the oldest form of Christian prayer after vocal prayer, and one of the most nourishing for the soul. Christ himself gives the programme to Satan come to tempt him in the desert:

"It is written, 'Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God.'" — Gospel according to Saint Matthew, 4:4^[93]

A tradition sixteen centuries old

The Fathers of the Church meditated the Scriptures from the 2nd century on. Saint Benedict, in his 6th-century Rule, asked monks to devote an important time each day to lectio divina — the Rule expressly speaks of lectio divina as an integral part of monastic life^[94].

In the 12th century, Guigo II the Carthusian († c. 1188 or 1193 according to historians), ninth prior of the Grande Chartreuse, wrote a short letter that became the classic manual of lectio divina: the Scala Claustralium (The Ladder of Monks or The Ladder of Paradise). In it he describes four rungs of a ladder that climbs from earth to heaven.

"Reading puts the food in the mouth, meditation chews and grinds it, prayer draws out its savour, contemplation is the very sweetness that rejoices and restores." — Guigo II the Carthusian, Scala Claustralium, ch. 2^[95]

This culinary image remains unsurpassed. Lectio masticates the text, meditatio extracts its juice, oratio savours it, contemplatio rests sated with it.

In the 16th century, Saint Ignatius of Loyola developed a complementary method in his Spiritual Exercises: Ignatian prayer, in which we use the imagination to enter into the Gospel scene, seeing its colours, hearing its voices, smelling its odours. The contemporary method of lectio divina often combines both approaches.

The Second Vatican Council, in the dogmatic constitution Dei Verbum, restored the practice to prominence for all the faithful. And Pope Benedict XVI, in his address to participants in the international congress for the 40th anniversary of Dei Verbum (Castel Gandolfo, 16 September 2005), recommended:

"This practice, if effectively promoted, will bring to the Church — I am convinced — a new spiritual spring." — Pope Benedict XVI, address of 16 September 2005^[96]

More broadly, in his apostolic exhortation Verbum Domini (2010), he devotes paragraphs 86-87 to lectio divina, recalling that it is "capable of opening to the faithful the treasure of the Word of God, and thus bringing about the encounter with Christ, the living divine Word"^[97].

The four steps in detail

First of all, choose a passage — simplest is the Gospel of the day or a passage in continuous reading (one chapter a day). Have a notebook for noting. And invoke the Holy Spirit: we do not read Scripture like a profane text.

Step 1 — Lectio: reading and understanding objectively

The goal of this first step is to perceive what the text really says. We read slowly, attentively, sometimes several times.

The intelligence seeks to grasp:

• What type of text? Discourse, narrative, dialogue, prayer, teaching?
• What is its movement, its structure?
• Which characters are present? Are they active, passive, speaking, silent?
• How do they evolve through the text?
• What is the context (what precedes, what follows)?

At the end of the step, we note a sentence or detail that sums up what we understood.

Step 2 — Meditatio: hearing what God says to me

This is the passage to another level: no longer only "the text says", but "the text says to me". We re-read the passage asking ourselves: "What is the Lord saying to me through these words?" Certain words touch, question, connect. We linger over them.

This is where Ignatian prayer finds its place. We may enter the scene with the imagination:

• In what place are we? At what hour? In what season?
• How are the characters arranged? What are they doing? What do their faces say?
• Where does the Holy Spirit place me? Am I one of the characters, or a spectator?

At the end of the step, we write down the call received, in the first person: "Today, the Lord says to me: 'Peter, I love you, and I ask you…'" The direct form is stronger than the indirect; it creates personal listening.

Step 3 — Oratio: answering through prayer

The goal of lectio is not academic study but encounter with Christ. This encounter continues in a response, which takes the form of a prayer to the Lord. It is I who speak to God after listening to him.

At the end of the step, we may note this response as a short prayer: "Lord, I…"

Step 4 — Contemplatio: letting ourselves be worked by the Word

After answering, we simply let the Word take flesh in us. It is the most silent and most "receptive" step of lectio: we no longer do anything, we remain. Guigo II had already written:

"It is not only a matter of understanding, but of loving what we have understood, so as not to neglect to put it into practice." — Guigo II the Carthusian, The Ladder of Paradise^[98]

Loving it does not dispense from putting it into practice: lectio bears fruit in concrete life. A saying of the Ignatian tradition formulates the balance — though it cannot be attributed to Saint Ignatius himself, since it does not appear in the Spiritual Exercises:

"Pray as if everything depended on God; act as if everything depended on you." — Saying of the Ignatian spiritual tradition, of uncertain attribution^[99]

The verse may be carried into the day as provision for the road: we repeat it inwardly, we let its harmonics resonate. Lectio thus continues well beyond the formal time of prayer.

An example: the parable of the prodigal son

Luke's Gospel, chapter 15, offers a textbook case. Three characters: the prodigal son, the father, the elder son. Three movements: flight, fall and return; welcome and feast; resistance and the father's final plea.

At the lectio stage, we observe the movement of the three characters; we notice for example that it is "the father who runs toward his son while he is still far off" (Lk 15:20)^[100], and not the reverse — a decisive detail about the face of God.

At the meditatio stage, we enter the scene. "Let us put ourselves in the prodigal son's shoes. How does the Father look at us? How does he embrace us? Let him put a ring on our finger, let us contemplate the magnificent garment he gives us." We may also recognize ourselves in the elder son, jealous, who does not understand the father's goodness — "Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours" (Lk 15:31)^[101]. We then note: "Today, the Father says to me: 'My child, you are always with me…'"

At the oratio stage, we answer: "Lord, I ask your forgiveness for living like a servant when you call me to live as a son…"

At the contemplatio stage, we remain in the joy of this welcome; we keep the sentence "All that is mine is yours" for the day.

The two pitfalls

First pitfall: looking in the Word for what we want to hear. Sometimes we already have in mind what we want to receive, and we read the text through that filter. We must keep our hearts open: God loves to surprise us.

Second pitfall: intellectual curiosity. Always wanting to find novel meanings, accumulating knowledge, appearing more clever does not nourish the spiritual life. Saint Paul warns: "If any one imagines that he knows something, he does not yet know as he ought to know; but if one loves God, one is known by him" (1 Cor 8:2-3)^[102]. The goal of lectio is union with God, not exegetical performance. Let us seek relationship before knowledge, and let knowledge serve relationship.

A practical question of length

For a thirty-minute lectio, the balanced distribution is: 10 minutes for lectio, 10 minutes for meditatio, 5 minutes for oratio, 5 minutes for contemplatio. For an hour: 20-20-10-10. This distribution is only a guideline; it may vary with the passage and with the day's inner movements.

For beginners praying 15 minutes, we may start with a simpler lectio each Sunday on the Gospel of the day, before introducing the method daily.

The present article has delivered a great deal of information. The temptation, for a beginner, is to want to put everything in place on the same day. That would be precisely the mistake. Three priorities, in order, suffice.

First, fix the daily time of prayer. Fifteen minutes a day, at a fixed hour, preferably in the morning. With a decided place and a stable posture. Hold to that for one or two weeks before adding anything.

Second, add a structured form inside. Either the prayer of the Covenant in the evening (Thank you, Forgive me, Please). Or a time of intercession during the morning time. Or sung praise once a week in family or in a group.

Third, introduce lectio divina once a week, on Sunday. On the Gospel of the day. With a notebook to note the call received. And gradually, daily life can integrate it.

Saint Padre Pio of Pietrelcina (1887-1968), tireless confessor and man of prayer, summed up this whole pedagogy for beginners in a formula that became famous in the Catholic world:

"Pray, hope, and don't worry." — Saint Padre Pio, formula recurring in his spiritual correspondence^[103]

This saying sets the right tone for every life of prayer, especially for beginners: pray, as the first act of the day and the first act of the soul; hope, because daily faithfulness always bears fruit, even when feeling fails; and do not worry, because it is God who acts in prayer, not ourselves. "We pray as we live, because we live as we pray", the Catechism reminds us — prayer, placed each morning, will end up shaping the whole of life.

Go further with Via Divina — To go further and enter into the other forms of prayer (mental prayer, Eucharist, rosary, prayer to the Holy Spirit, prayer in the Divine Will), discover the free formation: open the Via Divina formation.

• Why pray? — the preceding course, on the necessity of prayer for the Christian life.
• The path of mental prayer — the following course, on silent prayer.
• Intimacy with Jesus and the inner voice — how to recognize God's voice in prayer.
• Our relationship with Jesus in the Eucharist — praise par excellence.
• The Holy Spirit and the charisms — the gift of the prayer of praise.