On Prayer: A Heathen Perspective

Hel, or Hella, is the Norse Goddess of the Underworld who watches over and cares for all those souls who come to Her hall, Helheim, a peaceful realm where the dead are give a chance to rest and reunite with loved ones prior to possible reincarnation. The "Highway to Hel" is something that every person walks from the moment they're born. It is the care with which we cultivate our souls, and the gratitude and courage with which we live each day of our lives. Over the past few weeks, I've been receiving a number of questions about prayer: Should we pray? Do Heathens pray? How does one pray? Why should we pray? Apparently, prayer is a contested practice within the contemporary Northern Tradition. Part of that stems from converts who grew up in households where prayer was used as punishment, and part of it from 20th-century arrogance and lack of humility. (How many of you cringed or balked at the very thought that humility before the Gods might be a positive virtue?) Whatever the reasons, prayer has been on my mind of late and on the minds of many of my clients. For that reason, I decided to co-opt my own column this week and plagiarize myself, reprinting an extended excerpt from my book Sigdrifa's Prayer. If I had to write on prayer today, I'd say the same things: it is essential and it sustains. *** I have a friend who maintains that there are only four prayers: "Thank you," "I'm sorry," "Please" and finally "I love You." [1] To that, I would add prayers that simply rejoice in the fact that the Gods are there, that we are Their kin, and that They care for us and take an active role in our lives. Prayer is a celebration, a joyous outpouring of the reality of the deepest, inner chambers of the heart. It forges connections, acknowledges kinship, and grounds us consciously in our spirituality. I have never seen it as something rigid and lacking in meaning. Even the most formulaic of prayers, like the dancer's tendu and plié, form necessary building blocks to spiritual expression. In many respects, the comparison to the discipline of a dancer's daily practice is quite apt. Prayer, as any mystic knows, is a discipline that trains the mind, heart, and spirit in attentiveness, mindfulness, and devotion to the Gods. Anyone can move to music, but very few people if any, can suddenly, without any practice or training, put on a pair of pointe shoes and pull off a flawless Swan Lake (though watching the attempt might be amusing in a sick, sad sort of way)! In many respects, it is the same with meditation and prayer -- these things pattern the soul to the touch of the Gods in the same way daily ballet practice develops a kinetic memory in dancers. It provides structure and language, place and an expansive vocabulary by which we can express those experiences of the spirit that often resist the clarification of language. This is especially important given that we live in a host culture whose values, mores, and ideals are antithetical to Heathenry. There is very little that we shall encounter in our day-to-day work that calls our Gods directly to mind. We do not live in a time and a place where our spirituality may be reinforced however unconsciously by family, community, workplace, or culture. It is, unfortunately, the exact opposite. Additionally, prayer prepares us to encounter what Rudolf Otto, in his seminal work The Idea of the Holy called the " Mysterium tremendens et fascinans ," the awesome and terrifying essence of Divine presence. To our ancestors' minds, the dividing line between the sacred and profane was often bounded by terror. We see this in Tacitus's description in Germania of rites enacted in honor of Nerthus: On an island of the sea stands an inviolate grove, in which, veiled with a cloth, is a chariot that none but the priest may touch. The priest can feel the presence of the goddess in this holy of holies, and attends her with deepest reverence as her chariot is drawn along by cows. Then follow days of rejoicing and merrymaking in every place that she condescends to visit and sojourn in. No one goes to war, no one takes up arms; every iron object is locked away. Then, and then only, are peace and quiet known and welcomed until the goddess, when she has had enough of the society of men, is restored to her sacred precinct by the priest. After that, the chariot, the vestments, and (believe it if you will) the goddess herself, are cleansed in a secluded lake. This service is performed by slaves who are immediately after drowned in the lake. Thus mystery begets terror and a pious reluctance to ask what that sight can be which is only seen by men doomed to die. [2] Not only was Her priest the only one who could gaze upon or minister to Her unveiled image, but it was incumbent upon him/her to discern when the Goddess was actually present and embodied within Her sacred weoh. [3] There is no reference to how the priest knew this, though Tacitus does make reference to the pervading sense of the holy: Their holy places are woods and groves, and they apply the names of Deities to that hidden presence which is seen only by the eye of reverence. [4] What does all this have to do with prayer? Well, clearly our ancestors understood the power of the Gods to evoke terror. The ancients knew what we in our sanitized world have chosen to forget: no Deity is safe and religious rites are not pabulum for the masses. To the modern mind, this may be difficult to fully comprehend. Those of us raised in the late 20th century are used to manicured, complacent, and most of all safe Deities. Even modern fainings [5] are not generally structured around the sense that the Gods are active, immense, and potentially dangerous. We have lost the awareness that our ancestors so clearly had: that hand in hand with the ecstasy or awe Divine manifestation can bring, also often comes terror. Prayer then, provides a means for the Gods to interact with us in a more structured manner, and also a means whereby we may be taught to interact with Them. It allows us to channel the force of that contact with the "mysterium tremendens" in a way that is healthy and useful, and that allows us to deepen our personal connection with the Gods. Otto writes at length about the ability of the Divine to evoke both terror (tremendens) and ecstasy (what he calls fascination or fascinans). Anyone who doubts the veracity of this within our Northern family of Gods need only look to Woden: God of terror, ecstasy, and inspiration (among many other things). To His men, He brings heart-stopping terror and to His women, ecstasy and seduction. So might any God. When we remove our Gods from the pages of the Eddas and Sagas, when we allow Them the life that They so clearly have, we must of necessity, open ourselves up to the fullness of religious experience, experience that may not be clearly defined in the pages of lore. The winding pathway that will guide us through that is the discipline of prayer. Christian author Thomas Keating, in writing on centering prayer, notes that "the discipline of Centering Prayer and the other traditional practices are ways of refining our receptive apparatus so that we can perceive the word of God communicating itself with ever greater simplicity to our spirit and to our inmost being." [6] Prayer becomes a "gesture of consent," [7] welcoming the freedom of the Gods to be as They will be, without regard to our comfort or preconceptions. Of course, Keating was writing about his monotheistic God, but the same paradigm holds true within polytheism. Prayer is the inner reflection of outward worship. It is the foundation of the spiritual impetus that leads to fainings and blót. [8] Our rites are based around the concept of spiritual reciprocity: a gift for a gift. Just as we give libations, sacrifices, and votive gifts, so by prayer are we able to give intent, time, and the gift of an open and willing heart. Our religion does not stress spiritual receptivity; in fact, in many circles it is dismissed as ‘ergi,' [9] but without some level of receptivity to the Gods, religions neither grow nor thrive. In his examination of ancient Greek religion, scholar Walter Burkert writes that "there is rarely a ritual without prayer," and notes that to the ancient mind, "prayer is more an act of drawing attention to oneself than of submission." [10] I would posit that, given the common Indo-European roots of both cultures, the Teutonic tribes may have held a similar view: there is no shame in praying to the Gods and doing so is a necessary part of religious life. A more modern interpretation of prayer is that of conversations with the Gods. Certainly that is one aspect of prayer. Not everyone can begin at that place though. Many times, our approach to the Gods is formed by the religions in which we were raised. For those coming from religions that habitually portray "God" as something other than our Elder Kin, simple speaking from the heart can be difficult, intimidating, or even embarrassing. This is where structured, formulaic prayer can provide a useful bridge to more freeform methods of personal worship. There are prayer beads, mantras, set prayers like Sigdrifa's Prayer, meditation on passages from the Eddas, altar work, and dozens of other variations. It's important that each person discover the style that works best for him or her; after all, spirituality is both a unique and a uniquely personal journey. Not everyone is going to respond to the same methods. Regardless of method, consistency is essential. The greatest of mystics teach us that the key to a successful prayer life is giving it the time it deserves, daily recognition and honor of the Gods that we purport to love, or at the very least, venerate. Sigdrifa's Prayer is a wonderful prayer to say upon awakening and makes a lovely spiritual touchstone throughout the day. This prayer is the joyful exclamation of the Valkyrie Sigdrifa upon being awakened from an enchanted sleep. No matter how many times you choose to offer this prayer, there is always something to call to mind the power and blessings of the Gods, even something as simple as the earth beneath our feet. In many ways, it is a universal prayer, one that is equally powerful for both the novice and the experienced Heathen. It contains an immense and complex theology in two simple paragraphs. If nothing else, it's a good place to begin. Hail to the Day, and Day's sons. Hail to Night, and Her daughters. With loving eyes look upon us here and bring victory. Hail to the Gods! Hail to the Goddesses! Hail to the mighty, fecund earth! Eloquence and native wit bestow upon us here, and healing hands while we live. (Sigdrifa's Prayer, from the Sigdrifumal lay in the Poetic Edda ) Notes: The original quote can be attributed to André Gide. Germania by Tacitus, Penguin Classics, London, England, 1948. Chapter 40. Votive image. The word is Anglo Saxon. Tacitus, p. 109. Used in some denominations to refer to a ritual that does not include animal sacrifice. Intimacy with God , Thomas Keating. Crossroad Publishing Company, New York, NY, 2004, p. 55. Keating, p. 66. Offertory ritual to the Gods. ‘ergi' was a Norse word usually translated today as ‘unmanly.' It implied that something was shameful and a violation of social custom and taboo. Often there was a perceived violation of gender norms as well. Greek Religion , Walter Burkert, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, MA, 1985, p. 73. Excerpted from Sigdrifa's Prayer: An Exploration and Exegesis by Galina Krasskova, published through Asphodel Press, 2007. Sigdrifa's Prayer is available here.