Praying Ancient Prayers

Today, we continue our journey through Lent with reflections on how prayer ought to be a vital practice on our Lenten path and on the different ways we can pray. 

I  wasn't raised with liturgy in worship.  The faith communities of my youth did not pray the Lord's Prayer in worship, nor any other written or memorized prayers, for that matter.  There were no mentions of the Prayer of St. Patrick, nor the prayers of St. Julian of Norwich, eveSt.Augustine, and St. Francis of Assisi.  

Even as a young seminarian, I chafed under what I felt were the restrictions of written prayers, and since my exposure to ancient prayers of the Church was so limited, I lumped them into the same category. 

But over the past twenty years of ministry, I've grown to love some of the ancient prayers of the saints, like those I mentioned above, and many more besides.  G.K. Chesterton once wrote that "tradition is the democracy of the dead."  It provides space for the wisdom and beauty of the words written long ago, which enabled our forbears to connect with the Divine.  

When words fail us, the historic Church can give us words, ancient prayers that have been prayed throughout the centuries by so many who have gone before us.  Ancient prayers remind us that faith is never a solo journey. Long before us, others cried out, trusted God, doubted honestly, and learned to hope again. Their prayers still carry wisdom.

Jesus himself prays inherited prayers, rooted in Scripture and tradition. On the cross, he prays from Psalm 22. His prayer is not improvised; it is remembered. This reminds us that prayer does not always need originality—it needs honesty and trust.

Ancient prayers carry us when our own faith feels fragile. They become scaffolding when we lack strength. “Lord, have mercy” has been prayed for centuries because mercy never becomes irrelevant. These prayers hold faith for us when we cannot hold it ourselves.

Praying ancient words connects us to the communion of saints across time. It reminds us that our struggles are not unique and that our questions are shared. “One generation shall praise your works to another,” the psalmist declares (Psalm 145:4). Prayer becomes communal rather than solitary.

These prayers also form us. Repeating words shaped by Scripture slowly reshapes our hearts. They teach us how to name God, how to confess, how to hope. Over time, the prayers begin to pray us.

Lent is an especially fitting season to lean into these shared prayers. When we pray words handed down through generations, we resist the pressure to perform spiritually. We receive faith as a gift rather than an achievement.

Ancient prayers remind us that God has been faithful long before us—and will remain faithful long after us. They anchor us in something deeper than feeling or circumstance.

Prayer
Faithful God, thank you for prayers that carry us when our words fall short. Shape our hearts through the wisdom of those who trusted you before us. Amen.

Reflection Questions

1. When do words feel hardest to find in prayer?

2. How might ancient prayers support your faith?

3. What comfort comes from shared prayer?