A New Way to Pray When the Words Don’t Come

A New Way to Pray When Words Don’t Come

Most of last week, my prayer felt like moving through fog. I showed up at the usual times, but felt nothing. I wasn’t upset with God, and nothing was wrong. I just felt empty, as though I had run out of words. The steady rain didn’t help. I’m a person who prays best outdoors, moving, noticing things. Gray skies can make the inner landscape feel gray too.

This bothered me more than usual because I’m preparing to teach a class on contemplative journaling for men in the deacon formation program. I caught myself thinking, “Wonderful. I’m about to teach journaling, and I don’t even feel like journaling.”

Then I remembered a poetry workshop from years ago. The leader gave us a simple exercise: write down ten random words, then use them in a poem. Nothing fancy. But that small bit of structure opened a door. It uncovered something I didn’t know was waiting to emerge.

So I tried a version of that in my journal.

At the top of the page, I wrote a few ordinary words from my day: YMCA. Green tomatoes. Parish Hall. Rain. Just simple markers of the day.

After a moment of quiet, I did the same with emotions. To go beyond the usual “happy, sad, or mad”, I used an emotion chart. I started with a basic emotion, both pleasant and unpleasant, and drilled down to find a more precise word, a little more nuance. A few stood out, so I wrote them down too.

With this little panel of words in front of me, I put on some music and began to write something like a poem, though I wasn’t trying to make it poetic. I wasn’t trying to be profound or spiritual. I just let the words wander where they wanted.

Some lines made no sense. Some felt disconnected. Once in a while, a rhyme slipped in. I kept going.

And slowly, the words opened a door.

Beneath the ordinary events of the day, I found thoughts and feelings I hadn’t noticed. The writing became a place where God could speak in a way I hadn’t been able to hear when I was trying to “think” my way into prayer.

St. John of the Cross reminds us that dry seasons in prayer aren’t empty. Sometimes God is teaching us to seek not the consolations of God, but God.

Maybe you could try this. At day’s end, write down five simple words from your day. Then add a few feeling words. Sit for a moment, and begin to write. Don’t worry about sense or style or rhyme. Just write.

You may find that God has been quietly present in places you overlooked, even in the dryness itself.