The church year is a type of spiritual journey. It begins in the repentance of Advent and is consoled in the gift of Emmanuel, God with us. But to be with God is not the end but a new beginning. Emmanuel is the gift of light that illumines the darkness and deceit cowering in every soul, it flaunts the wonder of God and the emptiness of self, it burns the heart with longing for purity and love, it opens the path to the desert of Lent, a desert that scorches and evaporates every sinew of flesh until the Anointed One is seen, risen and glorified in the Pasch. The inheritance, the gift of the Passover, is no longer Emmanuel but the universe hidden in the power of God, no longer God with us but all in God. The church in this movement of seasons reminds us that our journey is one of continuous conversions, one of always moving deeper and closer into the greater light, the greater pain of our sinfulness, the greater mercy of God, the greater darkness, the greater selflessness, the greater depth which is the boundlessness of the Holy.
The church year is about the public worship of God, but the church, the bride of the Risen One, knows in her depths that there is no public prayer that does not flow from the prayer of the individual heart, no public prayer that does not seek to turn the individual heart deeper into the mystery of the Holy One. Prayer here is not to be understood as the busy prayer of telling and asking. There is indeed room in prayer for caring, and sharing, for being thankful, and for blessing both God and the world, but at the heart of prayer is listening, listening in the deep silence, listening to God, and waiting on God, basking in God, loving God, yearning for God. Prayer is about opening oneself up to eternal rest, to peace, and to joy, even if these appear to exist only beyond the fires of hell. Prayer is about taking off the masks that we wear in the world, about removing the costumes of ego and personality through which we interact and behind which we more often hide (even from ourselves) until we become like Eve and Adam, naked, divested of self-consciousness, self-pride, self-worth, and can walk with God in the cool of the day in a world where the opposition of opposites ceases to have either value or force. Such is the freedom of the Kingdom. Such is the fabric of the seasons of prayer.
There can be no ministry to the world that does not flow from God through the unencumbered emptiness of self, and so, there is no greater task for any who would minister than to pray.