Does Everyone Pray?

Whether you pray often or not at all, your first response to the question, “Does Everyone Pray?” might be “no.” If we think of prayer as thinking or saying certain words to a Divine Being, I would agree that not everyone offers that kind of prayer.

But there are two dimensions to prayer, with our thoughts and words being only one of them. The other dimension of prayer is the experience of transcendence. Transcendence is an abstract word, but it means rising above our normal lives to be drawn into a higher, awe-filled sense of life. I emphasize that transcendence is something we’re drawn into; transcendence is not something that we control, that we manufacture.

I was thinking about transcendence this past week when I saw parts of the service celebrating the reopening of the Cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris. The architecture of the cathedral was designed to promote a feeling of awe, but the moment that drew me out of myself and made me stop everything else was when a soloist sang, in French, Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.” It doesn’t matter that I don’t speak French; I can’t think of any version of “Hallelujah” that doesn’t make the world stop for me.

I remember reading that Leonard Cohen’s song didn’t impress the honchos at his record label when they first heard it. Perhaps no one, including Cohen, could have imagined the global love for this ballad-hymn.

Another piece of music that has the same power for many people, including me, Is Samuel Barber’s “Adagio for Strings.” That was the first piece of music played on the radio when the unexpected death of Franklin Delano Roosevelt was announced in 1945. Without words, “Adagio for Strings” perfectly conveyed our nation’s sorrow.

There are some pieces of music, like “Adagio for Strings” and “Hallelujah,” that from the first time I heard them gave me the feeling that I’d been waiting my whole life for that moment. There are paintings and books that have the same power to take me out of myself and lift me into an atmosphere of peace and awe. I hope you have music, art, and books that do the same for you.

It might seem odd that I have no wish to hear “Hallelujah” and “Adagio for Strings” on a regular basis. In fact, I feel just the opposite. It’s not that familiarity would breed contempt for these pieces of music, but familiarity would breed . . . well, familiarity. The power of these two pieces of music is greater when they come to me as a surprise, like hearing the doorbell ring and opening the door to see the face of a loved one whom I haven’t seen for far too long.

Is this feeling of transcendence in any way a prayer? If prayer is only our words and thoughts, then these experiences of awe aren’t prayer. In fact, one of the characteristics of these rare moments is that they stop our thinking and speaking.

However, if prayer is more than words and thoughts, if the other dimension of prayer is listening and a sense of being addressed, then yes, that’s exactly what transcendent moments are—a form of prayer.

Prayer becomes more essential to life when we don’t limit it to what we think and say, but allow prayer to include those unexpected moments of transcendence, of being lifted above our lives, that come as gifts not just to us, but to every human being.