A Contemplative Guide to Praying the News

One answer to the question, "What is mine to do?"

Six years ago, way back in 2019, I wrote a guide to praying the news. It was a different time, to say the least, pre-covid and pre-however-to-describe-our-current-waking-nightmare-of-an-administration-and-global-fever-pitch-of-violence. (I am a writer, yes, but words fail even me sometimes).

Looking back on that guide, written from a different place and in a different time, I found that it needed a contemplative upgrade, a gentler, more tender touch for those of us walking around like bombed-out buildings after every encounter with the news.

(As I’m writing this, Trump has deployed the National Guard against those protesting the administration’s ruthless ICE raids in Los Angeles, and the Freedom Flotilla ship Madleen (carrying aid and activists to Gaza) has been intercepted and all passengers detained, all aid confiscated. Lord have mercy, I do not know where either of these situations will stand when this note reaches your inbox, but I am horrified and terrified on both counts.)

It is very much my hope that this updated guide will be a deep exhale for you the way it has been for me.

In these past few months, I’ve been drawn again and again to St. Francis of Assisi’s last words as he was dying: “I did what was mine to do.” I’ve been asking myself, while folding laundry and driving to swim lessons and trying to triage my inbox: “What is mine to do? What can I offer to the world in this moment? What is the cold cloth I can press to the fevered forehead of humanity?” I’ve been thinking about it so much that it made its way into a watercolor.

This prayer guide, I think, is part of the answer. Every night I have some version of a dream that I am carrying too many things (and for bonus stress, sometimes it’s in an airport or a train station, and, of course, I’ve lost track of my kids in the melee). I don’t think I need any expert analysis to figure out what that means. I feel like I show up to my notebook and keyboard every day with my arms overflowing, wondering what to do with all the things I’m carrying. “What is mine to do?” I’ve asked, over and over, sharp objects digging into my skin.

The only answer I’ve received is to let it all spill out, into words. The only answer I’ve received is to write it all down, whether it’s the cold stone hush of the Episcopal cathedral in Memphis, doors open to the downtown traffic, or the sinking feeling I can’t escape every time I pick up my phone and encounter some fresh cruelty toward my fellow human beings or my fellow members of creation, whether trees or oceans or endangered species.

It’s my hope that by showing up in the world just as I am, a sensitive contemplative who isn’t willing to let hope be wrested out of her grasp, I can offer some morsel of tenderness to others. I believe the same for you, whoever you are, and whatever it is that is yours to do.

This guide is yours at the link below. Please feel free to print it and use it however serves you best. And please, above all, keep being your own unique and multifaceted self. We need you.

A Contemplative Guide to Praying the News

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A Few Hopeful Things:

-It’s been a delight to write for Spiritual Wanderlust these past few months and to learn about mystics and prophets across many faith traditions. So far I’ve covered Rilke, Hazrat Inayat Khan, and Carl Jung, and it is just the coolest. Maybe you’ll find inspiration there too. They’ll be offering their free online contemplative summit again in the fall, and guess who gets to interview some of the speakers?! Me. I’ll make sure to update you with a link when it’s ready.

-My very cool friend John is doing a series about the art that carries us through hard times, and you are gonna want to subscribe because, excuse me for yelling, but THE TIMES ARE HARD, AND WE NEED ART. It was a joy and an honor to talk with him about how listening to Jeremy Irons reading Lolita on my newfangled iPod helped me through leaving academia. You can read it here.

-My heart caught in my throat when my neighbor’s giant peonies finally opened a few days ago after at least a solid week in the tightest about-to-burst buds. I have never thought of a flower as crowning before, but peonies really go through a long birth! I haven’t taken any photos of them yet, but look at these sweet peas we saw last weekend on a ferry trip to Kingston! Seattle really pulls out all the stops in the spring to make the long rainy winter worth it. The foxglove and the poppies and the fernleaf yarrow! They are making my heart sing.

-A few weeks ago I got to chaperone a field trip to the Burke Museum, and I was not expecting to encounter so many gorgeous ammonite fossils, but they remain my personal nomination for mascot for all of us introverted spiritual seekers who hold many rooms within. I never see one without awe in my eyes, in disbelief that something so intricate and beautiful just…exists. I’m trying to remind myself, and to remind you too, that the same is true of each one of us.

Holding on to hope with you, tenderly, fiercely,
Cameron