Heavy snowstorms hit Cincinnati this week, leading to several days of cancelled classes. The wintry calm gave me a chance to return to a theme I wrote about last week, namely the spiritual practices that animate my day-to-day life as a teacher. Today I want to talk about the Jesus Prayer.

Like most of you, my life as a teacher is busy. I have chosen to write my own curriculum – so in addition to my teaching day, every night I have several hours of writing and editing for the next day’s lecture. This is followed by formatting the material into Google slides and, on any given day, there’s also grading, parent communications, administrative tasks, a 30-minute commute to and from school, exercise, and my own regular family life. As a result, it’s hard to find extended time to pray during the week. I assume you can relate.

Yes, I carry the Psalms with me, as discussed last week. But if we take Paul seriously that prayer should be continual, then there needs to be some way to plug prayer into the tiny openings of a busy day. To irrigate the dry spots of a hectic life with doses of prayer, even when the psyche is frayed, discouraged and distracted; and even when all you can do is carve out 1 minute here, or 5 seconds there.

This is where the Jesus Prayer is such a gift to the praying soul.

If you don’t know what the Jesus prayer is, let me whet your interest. Like the Psalms, the Jesus Prayer makes of the heart a temple where Jesus comes to make His dwelling place. The Prayer is about 1600 years old and was developed and preserved in the Eastern Orthodox Church (which is why you may not have heard of it). It was first practiced by monks in the Egyptian desert, then priests, bishops, civic leaders, doctors, lawyers, moms, cab drivers, truckers, car mechanics, teachers and high school students. In short, anyone can pray the Jesus Prayer.

 

A Brief History of the Jesus Prayer

Let me give a bit of historical background on this prayer, then I’ll share how it can illuminate a busy Christian life.

Our story begins in the deserts of Egypt, in the 4th Century. You may recall that in 313 AD Emperor Constantine issued the Edict of Milan, granting freedom of religion to all Christians. Prior to that date, Christians were persecuted for their faith and, for this reason, only deeply committed souls dared to publicly practice their faith. Against this backdrop, the Edict gave some welcome breathing room to the Christian people, but it also had a curious secondary effect – it lessened the cost of discipleship. This led to a phenomenon that had not widely existed before: the notion of Christians in name only; Christians who were quite at ease in the world; Christians who, as the Book of Revelation put it, were lukewarm in the practice of their faith (Rev. 3:15-16).

In a curious way, the Edict of Milan made it safer for young Christians to begin their journey, but also fueled the birth of monasticism as a community of souls who wanted to live radically in search of the Kingdom of God. The monastic movement would be fathered by Saint Anthony, who, providentially had withdrawn to the Egyptian desert from 286-305 AD, to live an ardent spiritual life as a hermit. He had thus been formed by the Spirit and was ready to serve as God’s chosen instrument to lead the monastic movement as it flowered in the years after 313 AD and the Edict of Milan.

To put all this in in high school terms: you could think of Constantine as the administrator of an entry level Christian curriculum, while Anthony was the passionate professor of AP Calculus for those who wanted to go that route. And so it was: in the years after 313 AD, students of the monastic way streamed toward the Egyptian desert, to be discipled by St. Anthony in a more strenuous version of the Christian life. The radical Gospel Life.

These ardent souls, on fire with the love of God, burned to discover, among other things, how they could take to heart St. Paul’s teaching to “pray without ceasing (1 Thess 4:17).” One of the desert fathers, Abba Hyperechios, put it this way: “The measure of prayer for a monk is to pray without measure,” while an anonymous writer added, “To pray only at the appointed hours of prayer is not to pray at all.” Then there was St. Basil of Caesarea, another early father of Christian monasticism, who said “Let your whole life be a time of prayer.” Over time these monks would discover a path to prayer that they would call the Jesus Prayer and this prayer would trickle down from monastic heights to irrigate lay lives in the city as well.

Such a conception of prayer is deeper and more demanding than most of us are used to. It is prayer understood as the singular light of the intellect, prayer as a fire of love that burns continually in the heart toward God as its primary object. It might seem out of reach. But if we walk down the trail the monks have blazed for us, we will find flowers along the edges that can beautify our own urban gardens. After all, we all are called to some form of interior monasticism.

In broad outlines, what is this monastic path of prayer? In the gradual development of the Jesus Prayer, three important elements came to be understood over time .

First, monks discovered that the mind is affected by the fall and is constantly distracted and fragmented. If prayer is to be continual, our mind needs an occupation, a way to stay aligned with the movement of the heart toward God. The desert monks solved this problem by settling the mind upon a phrase of Scripture that could occupy it and focus it. The 4th Century writings of Evagrius and John Cassian document this period of development, during which varied phrases of Scripture were initially used as anchors for prayer.

Second, the soul knows itself to be fallen before God, caught up in sin or the habit of sin. The proper posture of such a soul before God is to be aware of its sin and to remain in a posture of humility, seeking God’s mercy. This posture could be seen in most of the early prayer arrows monks repeated in their cells, such as the verse from Psalm 70:1, ‘O God, come to my aid; O Lord, make haste to help me.’

Third, there came the pivotal insight that Christ Himself should be the object of these brief prayers. This move can be seen in the 5th Century writings of Diadochus, the Bishop of Photiki in Epirus (Northern Greece). He presented the idea that the mind, in prayer, should be occupied with the heart’s turn toward the person of Jesus. This seems obvious but it was a critical step in the development of the Jesus Prayer.

So by the 5th Century, we have these three elements: the mind centered on and occupied with a Scriptural anchor; the heart warmed with awareness of its sinfulness and in asking God for mercy; and the gaze of both mind and heart toward the person of Jesus. Not long after Diadochus’ life, the Jesus Prayer, as we now know it, was found etched on the walls of a monastery in Kellia, Egypt:

Lord Jesus Christ, son of the Living God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

 

Scriptural Basis of the Jesus Prayer

Where was this prayer drawn from in Scripture? It comes from two Biblical scenes, together expressing fundamental truths of the human soul toward God and fulfilling the three aims of prayer we saw above: repetition (to focus the mind), the recognition of the need for mercy (to warm the heart), and the name of Jesus (to unify both mind and heart).

Our prayer has two parts and we will examine them in reverse order:

First, the conclusion of the Jesus Prayer: Lord have mercy on me, a sinner.

This phrase is drawn from Luke’s Gospel, Chapter 18: 9-14. Jesus is teaching his disciples about the posture of the soul before God. He presents a portrait of two men in the Temple. One is a Pharisee, who is full of his virtues and sees himself as better than other men; and the other is a tax collector, who is deeply aware of his many sins and hesitates even to lift his gaze toward God. This tax collector stands in the back of the Temple, eyes cast downward, beating his breast and saying, “O God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”

Jesus says that the prayer of the second man, the tax collector, was pleasing to God. That tax collector’s humble prayer became the second movement of the Jesus Prayer.

Now, the first part of the Jesus prayer: Lord Jesus Christ, son of the Living God:

This phrase comes from Matthew 16:13-20, the moment midway through Matthew’s Gospel when Jesus asks his disciples: ‘Who do men say that I am?’ The disciples answer: ‘John the Baptist, Elijah, Jeremiah or one of the prophets.’ But, Jesus adds, ‘Who do you say I am?’

It is a much harder question. After a brief pause, Peter gathers himself and boldly replies: ‘You are the Christ, the son of the Living God.’ Jesus tells Peter that the Father Himself has revealed this truth to Peter’s soul. It is a truth of Jesus Christ that blazes like light from heaven.

And so the monastic tradition took this revealed truth and made it the opening element of the Jesus Prayer – Lord Jesus Christ, son of the living God. It is a divinely inspired gaze upon the face of Jesus Christ.

Put these two phrases together and you have the Jesus Prayer, a prayer that has been murmured by the praying lips of countless saints for at least 1500 years.

Lord Jesus Christ, son of the Living God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

And now, all that’s left to say of the development of the Jesus Prayer is that by the 14th Century it came to be widely recommended to laity as well as monks and, by the 18th Century, one of the classic Orthodox spiritual texts, the Philokalia, could say this:

“Let no one think, my fellow Christians, that only priests and monks need to pray without ceasing, and not laypeople. No, no; every Christian without exception ought to dwell always in prayer.” By prayer, he means the Jesus Prayer.

 

Lay People and the Jesus Prayer

And with that, our story arrives at the present day: 2025 and the corridors of Purcell Marian High School. I am a high school teacher and a layperson and I have for three decades danced along the edges of the Jesus Prayer. As with the Psalms, I was often unsure just how a layperson should take up this prayer. Was it only for monks?

I have concluded, in my personal experience: no, the Jesus Prayer is not just for monks. That doesn’t mean the prayer has led me to a state of hesychia, a state of deep inner calm like the most mature of monks. In truth, I am not an expert at the Jesus Prayer. I am just someone who has, many times, entered the interior space this prayer carves out in the human psyche. But I think it’s worth saying what I have seen, what I have come to understand.

To begin: the Jesus Prayer is a perfect prayer. It is simple; it is deep; and it lacks nothing. When I don’t know quite what to say, I enfold my prayer into the Jesus Prayer and, in so doing, turn – with so many saints and sinners down through the centuries – turn to Jesus in faith, in right seeing, in love. It is the perfect metanoia – the perfect return to a healthy nous (the spiritual intellect).

Lord Jesus Christ, son of the living God, have mercy on me.

I pray Lectio Divina every day. At the close of every session of prayer, as counseled by the monks, I turn to God and respond in faith and love to what has been revealed through the Word that day. I commonly do this by weaving my prayer of the day into the Jesus Prayer.

Like today, for example:

Lord Jesus Christ, son of the living God, you baptize your disciples in the Holy Spirit and in fire. Amen. I give my heart to you. Draw me into the fire of the Holy Spirit. Have mercy on me.

When I walk into school every day or walk down the hall between classes, what can I say to God? How can I give expression to my prayers for the day, my frustrations, my misgivings, my broken heart after failing to reach a given student?

Even with kids swirling around me in the halls, I can pray from within the Jesus Prayer:

Lord Jesus Christ, son of the Living God, have mercy on me.

I say it with my breath. No matter how distracted I am, I still have ample power to gather my thoughts and energies and bundle them up into this simple prayer.

And when I head home for the day, how might I lift up the day in prayer?

Lord Jesus Christ, son of the Living God, have mercy on me.

When I get home; when I drop my bags by my chair and find myself in my chapel, before icons of Christ, the Trinity and the Theotokos, what more need I say than:

Lord Jesus Christ, son of the Living God, have mercy on me.

I say it, from the heart, in the heart, in the silence, my mind stilled, my heart warmed with love and gratitude and faith. All of this happens fast, in just a minute or two. And then I move on to the other tasks that beckon me. My life as a Dad at home begins.

There are also ample occasions throughout the day, in the midst of activity; while doing dishes, taking out trash, shoveling snow, walking from my car to the grocery; little moments where the heart has time, if it wishes, to gather itself and sling an arrow of faith toward heaven. A simple prayer of intention, of will, of faith, of love:

Lord Jesus Christ, son of the Living God, have mercy on me.

There are times when I exercise and my mind is recollected. A set of 10 exercise reps can be synced with an interior 10-worded prayer. Lord – Have – Mercy – On – Me. Lord – Have – Mercy – On – Me.

There are other times, when wells of the Spirit open in the soul, sacred moments, like waking up in the middle of the night, my body tired but my spirit charged, my mind alert. These times are privileged times for the Jesus Prayer. I go downstairs, grab my prayer rope (it could be an Orthodox prayer rope with woolen beads or a Catholic Rosary) and pace the interior perimeter of the house until I have prayed 50 Jesus Prayers. This time is lost to the world. I’m not thinking anything; not asking for anything (other than grace and mercy); not planning anything. I am a heart, a soul, pulsing with little pulses of presence, little prayers of dependance, little cries of a child for mercy. I don’t plan these times – who likes to wake up at 3 am and get out of bed? But when they come, I step into them, like a monk summoned by a galonging bell for mid-night prayer services. I give myself to them and when I look back on them I always feel like there was some cloud of fire that descended that night. That I was blessed to step into it.

There is also the mystery of Communion. That moment in the Catholic Mass (or the Orthodox Divine Liturgy) when the soul receives the bread-made-Jesus’-body, the wine-made-His-blood-of-the-new-covenant. What is the proper response to such a mystery? What can the heart say? What can the body do? For my part, I find I am drawn, after Mass is over, to step away from the fray, to find a quiet corner, to stand as it were before the rays of heaven, to sit down as it were by the fire of the Holy Spirit and give the gift of myself, my mind, my soul, my hopes. I cannot rationalize or articulate such a gift. It would ring hollow. But I can enfold my soul into the cadence of the Jesus Prayer; I can let the sacred words occupy my mind; while my heart runs into the fields of heaven and says Amen, thank you, here I am, take me in your mercy, throw your robe over my shoulders, your sandals on my feeet, your ring on my finger. For that is what the Father’s mercy does: it clothes the soul in His nature, in His abundance.

 

Different Versions of the Jesus Prayer

The early monks were counseled to allow some variety in their choice of sacred words to anchor their prayer. I do the same. There are three versions of the Jesus Prayer that I like to pray (four if you count my 10-worded exercise version above), depending on what helps center and occupy my mind at a given time.

The first is the obvious:

Lord Jesus Christ, son of the Living God, have mercy on me. You can add sinner at the end or leave it off, whichever helps you most.

But sometimes this feels clunky to me. Formal. Stiff. And so I look to Bartimaeus, the poor, brave, simple-minded blind beggar who was so bold in his prayer to Jesus that he stopped a crowd and got Jesus’ attention with this phrase:

Jesus! Son of David, have mercy on me!

There was no great theological precision to this prayer. It has no particularly polite or genteel way of phrasing. It is urgent and simple and it pierces Jesus’ heart. Jesus responds: he calls Bartimaeus over and says to him these marvelous words

‘What do you want me to do for you?’ (Cf. Mk. 10: 46-52)

So I like that prayer of Bartimaeus. I once prayed it for like 4 straight hours when I had to assist in a surgery at a medical mission in Guatemala. Our team’s surgical nurse was down with Covid and I got the call. I hate blood and was sure I was going to pass out that day, but I clung to this prayer like a life raft – Jesus! Son of David, have mercy on me! – and all was well.

Then there are other occasions, like when my mind is frayed and distracted and feels particularly heavy. Times when I need to give it a heavier weight to carry because otherwise my fragmented thoughts would spill out all over the place and carry my spirit with them.

So I came up with this modification.

Adonai Jeshoua Christe, fili Dei vivi, eleeson me.

That’s a bit of Hebrew, Greek and Latin, all mixed together in a way that I think sounds good.

Adonai Jeshoua (Lord Jesus in Hebrew) Christe (Christ in Greek), Fili Dei vivi (son of the living God, in Latin), Eleeson me (have mercy on me in Greek). I love the way this phrase sounds. It forces my mind to do a little work, which keeps it occupied. It turns my mind away from what it was doing and toward this great mystery which I am slowly enunciating. These words in the ancient languages carry with them the weight of centuries; their spiritual power and depth still my soul.

 Anyway – this may just be me, but it helps. The point for you is: allow for a little variety in the way you say your Jesus Prayers. A modest amount of variety can be helpful. Find what works for you.

OK, our journey is over now; a word in closing. If, as we said last week, the Psalms are the spinal column of the prayer life, then the Jesus Prayer is her blood vessels and nerves. Running down the spinal column of prayer, the Jesus Prayer brings the soul into constant and pervasive contact with ultimate reality – God Himself – who always stands before us. This prayer helps us reach toward a continual awareness of the living God: mneme Theou as the monks say (the awareness of God). That’s why an early bishop wrote: “The true monk should have prayer and the Psalms in the heart at all times, without interruption.”

When I can manage this, I perceive what Jesus was saying when he blazed into Galilee, proclaiming:

Μετανοεῖτε, Awake! For the Kingdom of God is near (Mt. 4: 17).

The Jesus Prayer, faithfully practiced, can help us see: Jesus is always entering into contact with time; He stands at the portal of the invisible; He summons us into His Kingdom; summons us with a word; and envelops us with His Presence.

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