First Week of Lent: Praying Naked

I went to a concert at Maryville University last Monday, two days before Ash Wednesday, for a cello recital by Daniel Lee, the principal cellist with the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra. He played four pieces, the first three accompanied by a faculty member, pianist Peter Henderson. Those three sonatas, by Schubert, Debussy and Brahms, were beautiful and moving. The cello and piano intertwined in movements that were, in turn, playful, dark, moody, dramatic, contemplative and searching. I was drawn to the (perhaps obvious) metaphor of the movement of God in our lives, how he “accompanies” and supports and brings to life our own actions and efforts.

And then something even more remarkable happened. Lee came out after the intermission for the final piece, “Sonata for Violoncello Solo, op. 8” by Hungarian composer Zoltán Kodály. It was not a work with which I was familiar. The essential word in the title, of course, is “solo.” He came out without an accompanist and without music and played for what must have been 30-40 minutes, the music pouring forth from him and his 300-year-old instrument like a flowing, erratic, mesmerizing fountain of original creativity and, at least for me, prayer.

I sat in utter silence and awe watching this master musician at work, alone on the stage and musically and creatively naked, as it were. Any mistakes would be his own. Any lack of technique or confidence would be on display, even though untrained ears like mine might not recognize any errors. I heard him discussing the recital on the local classical radio station earlier in the day and his approach to his music and to this particular piece was what had drawn me to the hall to hear him. He “challenged” himself to prepare for the recital, he said in so many words, leaving the relative safety of the orchestra and the grand symphony halls for the nakedness (my word, not his) of the solo experience and tiny, acoustically imperfect recital hall.

And it all seemed to me to be the perfect metaphor for our entry into lent. For during these forty days, we are called to leave the comfort of our regular routines and take a chance at being a little more honest and open and naked before our God. I’ve been reading a book on the spirituality of the Jesuit Tony de Mello called “Praying Naked,” so I know that’s where some of all these thoughts were coming from. The author of the book, de Mello’s long-time friend and assistant, Fr. J. Francis Stroud, SJ, writes in the introduction of his initial concern about the use of the phrase “praying naked” as an appropriate title for a book on prayer and spirituality. He was reassured of its appropriateness by a black, southern Baptist porter at the airport, with whom he had struck up a conversation while waiting for his luggage. “It is a beautiful title,” the man said. “Whenever you stand before God in prayer, you must stand stripped of everything  — your possessions, your ego, your clothes.”

So that’s my challenge to myself this lent – to come before God in prayer more often than I do now, and to present myself in that divine presence in a way that recognizes that God knows me better than I know myself anyway. No games, no baggage, no excuses, no masks. Just me, naked on the stage before him like a 300-year-old cello that cannot speak for itself but can only respond by vibrating to the working of the master’s hand.