Of Fruit and Spiderwebs

Write Answers Only - Part 2

This is part 2 of a limited series I’m running called “Write Answers Only” in which I reflect on hinge moments in my vocation as a writer—and offer them to you for your own vocational journey.

Photo by Nanxi wei on Unsplash

“I have to preach the fruits of my prayer.”

The words were offered almost as a concession, an admission that there was simply no other choice. There was a surrender to it, as though the sentiment the words contained were the only and last obvious decision.

I have to preach the fruits of my prayer.

Jim Bowler said these words—my friend and spiritual director. Jim was a Jesuit priest, and he offered these words not as a writing instruction but as the introduction to a homily he gave at an unassuming Sunday Mass while I was a student at Fairfield University. These words were preamble, the justification for whatever came next, an explanation and an admission that he had no choice, that what followed was a literal act of God and Jim was simply the tool in the hand of the great builder.

What’s funny, though, is that I have no idea what he said next. I don’t remember what foundation-shaking insight or poignant cry for justice followed his plea for understanding that there was nothing more—or less—he could do but preach the fruits of his prayer.

The homily may be lost in the recesses of my mind, but that simple statement—I have to preach the fruits of my prayer—stands planted in the forefront of my memory, a banner flapping in the wind, something to be rallied to and under and around.

Jim didn’t remember saying those words; or, he pretended not to. I mentioned it once or twice, how powerful the sentiment was to me. He shrugged, offering me that hard, penetrating stare that so often unearthed some spiritual nugget buried in my soul.

Jim died, and I’ll never know if that sentiment was an insight he returned to frequently or something he offered impromptu to a gaggle of college students one day, never to be uttered again.

I do know this: Those words guide my writing life. Or, they should. I hope they do. Because they point to something essential.

What I say, what I write, is undergirded by prayer. I am necessarily praying, observing God at work, listening to God’s Spirit, and acting on the Spirit’s insistent nudge.

Those words point to something else, too: God cares about what I have to say. Those words are summoned forth for a reason, bound to a time and place, perhaps, but holy all the same. Sacred. Both seed and fruit; God’s life within me and God’s life growing beyond me and God’s life entangling me in the lives of others, even beyond my knowing. God doesn’t just care about what I have to say, though; God desires it.

What’s more, there is a demand for courage. God is saying something through me, and I have no choice but to share it. At least, I hope so. I hope there’s some drop of courage somewhere that will be mustered when the time is right.

I have to preach the fruits of my prayer. Or, I have to write those fruits. I have to get them down, offer them to others, held out—meager raisins perhaps, no great juicy plumbs here—as a vocational offering.

You, too, I think. You, too, have to preach/write/act on the fruits of your prayer.

So, pray. And know that God is desperately at work in the nooks and crannies of your life, the corners where you see nothing but cobwebs. There God builds a glistening web, one strand at a time, daring us to become entangled in one another’s stories.

But we have to pray and let the prayer bear fruit and then share that fruit with those who are hungry and those who are full and those who might put that fruit through a juicer or in a blender or sprinkle it over yogurt.

I have to preach the fruits of my prayer.

And another thing:

• I wrote about pilgrimage over at IgnatianSpirituality.com this week. Give it a read.

• I wrote about rubber ducks for "Now Discern This.” Check that out, too.

• There’s still time to sign up for the “Praying with Pop Culture” retreat I’m offering at Loyola on the Potomac. Learn more.