May I be at peace.
May my heart remain open.
May I realize the beauty of my own true nature.
May I be healed.
May I be a source of healing for this world.
May you be at peace.
May your heart remain open.
May you realize the beauty of your own true nature.
May you be healed.
May you be a source of healing for this world.
This is the loving-kindness prayer from Buddhist tradition. However, the moment I wrote “from Buddhist tradition,” I wondered if practicing Buddhists chuckled or scowled. Would they declare the May I be at peace… prayer was never in their faith tradition. Could it be made-up and willy-nilly tossed into Buddhism by others, or is it a corruption of an ancient expression watered down for modern listeners?
I’m not Buddhist, nor a world religions expert, so I don’t know. But I’m Christian and recall my dismay when discovering the Prayer of St. Francis (Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace; where there is hatred, let me sow love…) first appeared in a French magazine published in 1912. In other words, likely not written by the Italian-born saint who lived from 1181 to 1226. Maybe the prayer does have direct or indirect connections to Francis. Maybe it doesn’t. The maybe matters.
Whether the loving-kindness words are traditional or not, I know a chaplain from one of the hospices were I worked had used it during a visit with a patient and his family. The family was Buddhist; the dying patient could no longer speak. Sitting beside the bed, the chaplain quietly spoke the sentences. Based on the patient’s reaction, the words pleased and comforted the family’s beloved elder.
In my ignorance about other religions, I’ll be cautious about the prayer’s origin. But in my experience with the dying and grieving, I’m aware of the power of simple, humble prayers.
Prayer can be formal, based on an awareness of and belief in God. Or Jehovah. Or Jesus. Or YHWH. Or Supreme Being. Or Allah. Or the Spirit. Prayer can be informal, muttered by those unsure about any God, but comforted by simply saying I forgive you…please forgive me…thank you…I love you. (Those brief, powerful phrases come from Ira Byock’s wonderful book The Four Things That Matter Most.) Prayers are wailed, whispered, or wordless. Candles are lighted, rugs placed on the floor, a string of beads is clutched, a hand gestures the sign of the cross, a shrine anchors the corner of a room, a phylactery is strapped to the arm . . . and on and on.
Some don’t believe. Some don’t pray.
Whenever visiting a self-proclaimed non-believer, I often asked, “Could I pray for you later when I say my prayers?” No one has ever refused me. Were they only being polite? Sure, that’s possible. But truthfully, even the most cynical haven’t appeared upset when they were asked for permission to be included in my private prayers.
For those dying and grieving, prayer is a reminder we are not alone. For those dying and grieving, sharing between two people can bring comfort. Honest, heartfelt prayer cannot be done incorrectly.
May you be at peace, may your heart remain open . . .
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My book, A Companion for the Hospice Journey, is available at Amazon.
Photo by Nikhil Singh on Unsplash
I’m thankful I can go to my Heavenly Father in prayer. The way things are going with Bill’s sister’s husband he will be in the arms of Jesus very soon and prayers for the family are very appreciated!
Thank you Larry for your meaningful post about prayer and it's meaning. When I was a kid I would go with my dad, a Methodist pastor, to visit members who were dying. I would hold and rub their hands while my father talked with them and offered prayers. Very meaningful memories.