Praying against the grain

Imagination and scripture

Nov 21, 2025

a man sitting at a table with his head in his hands — Photo by Malachi Cowie on Unsplash

The Gospel

¹Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. ²The devil had already put it into the heart of Judas son of Simon Iscariot to betray him. And during supper ³Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, ⁴got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. ⁵Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. ⁶He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, ‘Lord, are you going to wash my feet?’ ⁷Jesus answered, ‘You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.’ ⁸Peter said to him, ‘You will never wash my feet.’ Jesus answered, ‘Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.’ ⁹Simon Peter said to him, ‘Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!’ ¹⁰Jesus said to him, ‘One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you.’ ¹¹For he knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, ‘Not all of you are clean.’

¹²After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to them, ‘Do you know what I have done to you? ¹³You call me Teacher and Lord—and you are right, for that is what I am. ¹⁴So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. ¹⁵For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. ¹⁶Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. ¹⁷If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them. ¹⁸I am not speaking of all of you; I know whom I have chosen. But it is to fulfil the scripture, “The one who ate my bread has lifted his heel against me.” ¹⁹I tell you this now, before it occurs, so that when it does occur, you may believe that I am he.²⁰Very truly, I tell you, whoever receives one whom I send receives me; and whoever receives me receives him who sent me.’ - John 13:1-20

The Prayer

“You do not know what I am doing, but later you will understand.” – John 14:7

The upper room is stone, with east facing windows overlooking the street. The wooden shutters are open. It is dark, and a gentle breeze caresses the night. The room is dimly lit by oil lamps placed in alcoves along the walls. There are rushes on the floor and low couches scattered around the room. A large table sits against the south wall with leftovers from the meal that has been shared. There is a faint smell of fish and human sweat, with some thirty disciples gathered with Jesus.

Mary, Jesus’ mother, is there and I am sitting next to her. She holds my hand as Jesus washes her feet. He smiles, radiant with joy. Mary is quietly crying, and I can feel the shudder run through her body. I put my arm around her. She tells me that she is overwhelmed by her son’s humility – he is always like this.

“Why does he do this?” I ask her. “He is showing you that real joy comes in serving others,” she replies. “By giving yourself away to others, you become empty so that he can fill you with his love; so that you can share in his life. He is giving you an example to remember.”

Now, I can feel Jesus washing my feet. The water is cool, but his calloused hands are warming as he massages my feet and dries them with his towel. He says nothing; he does not interrupt his mother. Mary continues to speak to me. “There will come a time when you must let go of someone or something – maybe yourself – so that others can be served. You must empty yourself so that he can fill you up. Again and again and again.

“You emptied yourself to receive him,” I tell her. “Yes,” she replies, “and then I had to give him away. Let him go.”

I wonder, “What must I let go?”

Reflection

Contemplating a Gospel scene is not simply remembering it or going back in time. Through the act of contemplation, the Holy Spirit makes present a mystery of Jesus’ life in a way that is meaningful for you right now. Use your imagination to dig deeper into the story so that God can communicate with you in a personal, evocative way.^[1]

I’ve not been one for praying with the imagination. I prefer sitting in silence. But sometimes we are called to pray against the grain. I discerned with the help of my spiritual director – through some humbling experiences – that I needed to consent to God working in and through my imagination; to sanctify my imagination. Not that I needed to give up silence, but rather that I needed to round out my prayer life so that I could become usable for God in a new way. You can teach an old dog new tricks (especially if the “new” tricks have been around for a while).

So I’m dabbling in Ignatian-style prayer with scripture, beginning with the familiar story of Jesus washing his disciples feet. Of course, Mary was there. She followed Jesus around, was at the foot of the cross and, later, was with the disciples at Pentecost. Why wouldn’t she be there?

Praying with the imagination is not about historical reconstruction, but it is about truth. It is about allowing the spaces in between the words of scripture to speak. It is a way of telling all the truth, but telling it slant à la Emily Dickenson – seeing it from a different angle through the perception of the spiritual senses. Often, it is a personal truth – an insight or invitation that is for the one who is praying – but it also may have wider application.

Scripture and tradition do not constrain our prayer. They inspire our prayer. And they may do so in unexpected ways – like Mary showing up at the last supper. Praying with the imagination can effect a kind of knowing that is more a being-with. Drawing on Meister Eckhart, Simon Critchley describes this as the experience of “released existence.”

“For Eckhart, this means living without a why, giving up the usual endless questions we ask and instead just being there with what shows itself . . . The point is not in asking why a thing is the thing that it is, but rather letting the thing be and letting ourselves be with that thing, and all things. What is released in releasement, what is lâzen in gelâzenheit, is a relaxation of the will, where the soul is open and God is open. Both soul and God let go and meet in a kind of softening or unwinding of the tightly knit core of the will and its attachment to things, even its attachment to God.”^[2]

Here, I would add that this includes attachment to the way in which we have interpreted scripture. This doesn’t mean we might not still have questions. I certainly do! It simply means being released into our relationship with the story, our relationship with Jesus, or Mary, or some trusted wisdom figure, until we touch into God. It means being in Love more than being right, but this Love itself reveals dimensions of truth beyond our intellectual capacity to understand. “You do not know what I am doing, but later you will understand.” That “later” is the now of Love.

Although I am edified by the words Mary spoke to me in this prayer, even more powerful were Jesus’ beatitude and Mary’s presence. It is how they were - and are - with me that makes all the difference. This is the gift of released existence, even if only for the few moments of prayer.

When he was accused of heresy, Eckhart responded, “I can be in error, but I cannot be a heretic, because the first belongs to the intellect and the second to the will.” In the experience of released existence, we may be in error since the intellect is limited (maybe Mary wasn’t at the last supper) but we cannot be heretics, because in Love we experience not simply freedom of the will, but freedom from the will.^[3] There is only being-with in Love.

The point is, don’t worry about whether your imagination takes you beyond the story when praying with scripture. More important is to discern whether or not it is taking you deeper into Love. My meditation on the last supper revealed an invitation to sit light with the need to know, to embrace humility, and to let go of whatever may be inhibiting my capacity to respond to the invitation to Love that is before me right now.

I don’t yet know what this letting go will require of me. That is OK. In a time of enormous personal transition in a world in trouble, this is the Word beneath the words that I needed to hear: Mother Mary, coming to me, speaking words of wisdom, “let go and experience true joy.”^[4]

Awakened Heart

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