Prayer as Divine Romance

Have you ever noticed how the deepest moments of human connection often happen in silence? Think of a mother holding her newborn child for the first time, or an elderly couple sitting together on a porch swing after fifty years of marriage, their hands intertwined. No words are spoken, yet volumes are communicated. In these moments, we glimpse something profound about the nature of love itself—that it moves naturally from words to presence, from explanation to experience, from knowing about to simply knowing.

This same mysterious progression marks our journey with God in prayer, a truth the great Carmelite mystics understood with remarkable clarity. They saw prayer not as a religious duty to be performed, but as a romance to be lived—a divine courtship that follows the very patterns we see in human love. Just as earthly romance naturally progresses from formal conversation to comfortable companionship to wordless communion, so too does our relationship with the Divine move through distinct stages, each more intimate than the last.

Think about how relationship begin with conversation, getting to know each other. There's where "speaking" and "listening" becomes paramount. It's what most of us think about when we think of prayer. This is called verbal prayer. But every romance eventually progresses beyond the exchange of words. You start doing things together. Sharing experiences becomes a big part of what builds the relationship. It's one thing to know a lot about a person, it's another think to enjoy doing life together. This is analogous to mental prayer, or meditation. And if you establish that foundation, you might find that you're in love, and discover that often you'd rather simply be with each other, to rest in each other's arms, while saying and doing nothing at all. You simply lead into your shared love. That's what some call "contemplative" prayer.

Let me expand on each of these.

Using Words: Verbal Prayer as The Architecture of Intimacy

The Carmelite tradition, particularly through the writings of St. Teresa of Ávila and St. John of the Cross, offers us a map of this spiritual romance. They understood that prayer, like human love, has its seasons and stages. We begin with verbal prayer—those formal, spoken conversations with God that mirror the early days of courtship when words are essential tools for discovery. St. Paul reminds us of our spiritual growth in his first letter to the Corinthians:

"When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways" (1 Corinthians 13:11, ESV).

This is not to diminish verbal prayer but to recognize it as the beautiful beginning it is meant to be.

In the early stages of romance, conversation is everything. You share your stories, your dreams, and your fears. You ask questions to understand the other person's heart. These verbal exchanges are the scaffolding upon which intimacy is built. When I was a pastor, and would do marriage counseling, I sometimes would discover that some couples hadn't spent enough time in this stage. Often, infatuation took over, and they never bothered to learn basic truths about each other: such as whether they wanted children and how many. They didn't discuss how to discipline children, or how they'd balance their professional and family lives. Communication is essential, and ideally, it happens at the beginning of a relationship. It doesn't ever end though. We return to it, though eventually, less often needs to be said than in the beginning.

So too with God. Our early prayers are often lists—petitions, thanksgivings, and confessions. We tell God about our day, our needs, and our gratitude. We recite the prayers we've learned: the Our Father, the Psalms, and the ancient words that countless believers have spoken before us. Regarding this stage, St. Teresa of Ávila emphasizes in The Way of Perfection that even vocal prayer is a direct encounter with a Person:

"Since you are speaking to Him, see that you don't speak with Him while thinking of something else... for in order that it may be vocal prayer, it must be accompanied by the soul’s being aware of what it is saying and to whom it is speaking" (The Way of Perfection, 22.3).

Think about a bad blind date! If you are talking, and you notice the other person is barely paying attention, their mind in wandering, well it might be a sign: he's just not that into you. However, it might be the case that something was on your mind, you'd just had a really hard day, or received bad news. You might find it difficult to focus on a conversation - so we shouldn't "judge" the relationship prematurely. However, at some point, we need to work on our attentiveness if the relationship is going to progress beyond the stage of "early dating." In our relationship with God, we need to do more than present Him with a grocery list of things we want from Him. We need to open our hearts, speak from the depths of our souls, and trust that He is listening -- because when it comes to God, he'll never be the "bad blind date" who ignored you the entire time. He's already in love with you.

Moving Beyond Words: Mental Prayer/Meditation

Just as human relationships naturally evolve beyond the need for constant conversation, so does our prayer life. Mental prayer emerges as the relationship deepens. This is like that stage in a romance where you begin doing things together—cooking meals, taking walks, or sharing hobbies. You're still communicating, but now much of it happens through shared activity rather than direct dialogue. St. Teresa of Ávila, in her autobiography, provides the quintessential definition of this stage:

"Mental prayer, in my opinion, is nothing else than an intimate sharing between friends; it means taking time frequently to be alone with Him who we know loves us" (The Book of Her Life, 8.5).

In mental prayer, particularly through meditation, we enter into the mysteries of Christ's life not as distant observers but as participants. We walk with Jesus along the dusty roads of Galilee, sit at table with Him at the Last Supper, or stand at the foot of the cross. The author of Hebrews captures this participatory dimension when speaking of faith's heroes: "These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar" (Hebrews 11:13, ESV).

Through meditation, we too greet these mysteries, making them present and real in our spiritual imagination. The Carmelite tradition particularly emphasizes this imaginative engagement with Scripture. St. John of the Cross taught that in meditation, we use our faculties—memory, understanding, and will—to draw close to God through the humanity of Christ. We remember the Gospel scenes, seek to understand their meaning, and allow our will to be moved by love. It's an active engagement, like a couple working together in the garden, their love expressed through shared labor rather than words alone.

Meditation is in many ways participating in His story (Jesus' birth, life, death, and resurrection) and it's inviting Him into your story. He has His Sorrowful Mysteries (e.g. His agony in the Garden, His scourging at the pillar, the crowning with thorns, the carrying of the cross, the crucifixion) and when we meditate on those, we allow Him to also enter OUR sorrowful mysteries. We find, then, an alignment between HIs sorrow and ours. The same goes when we reflect on his joyful mysteries, e.g. when he was incarnate in Mary's womb, his birth, when he was teaching in the temple at the age of twelve, and allow that joy to enter our joys. The same goes with His glorious mysteries: His resurrection, prime among them! Where do you need resurrection in your life? Meditating on His resurrection can give you confidence and bring restored life into the area of your life where it's needed.

The Silence of Love: Contemplative Prayer

Yet even this active meditation is not the summit of prayer. As human love matures into that blessed state where presence alone suffices—where a glance, a touch, or a shared silence speaks volumes—so prayer naturally moves toward contemplation. It is like a couple in love who would rather simply sit in each other's arms on the couch for a long while than speak, than do something together. Real romance always leads to this place, eventually. This is what the Carmelites call "acquired contemplation" or "the prayer of quiet," where the soul begins to rest in God's presence without the need for words, images, or even thoughts.

St. John of the Cross, in The Ascent of Mount Carmel, describes this transition from meditation to contemplation. He notes that meditation eventually becomes difficult and dry, that the soul finds more peace in loving attention to God than in discursive thought, and that there emerges a general, loving knowledge of God that transcends particular considerations (The Ascent of Mount Carmel, II.13.2). It's like that moment in a relationship when you realize you're no longer falling in love—you simply are in love, and this love has become the very atmosphere you breathe. Jesus Himself points to this wordless communion in His high priestly prayer:

"I in them and you in me, that they may become perfectly one" (John 17:23, ESV).

This is not a unity achieved through words or even through shared activity, but through a mutual indwelling that transcends all activity. It's what St. Paul experienced when he could say: "It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me" (Galatians 2:20, ESV). It should be noted, at times, this might not be as thrilling as it is early in a relationship. Love grows, it matures, it gets deeper. The "infatuation" or the feeling that you notice when falling in love has to grow, it has to cocoon in contemplation into a mature love.

While we might look back on our "falling in love" stage fondly, if our relationship has progressed well, we will also recognize that we'd never really want to "go back" once we've experienced a deeper, selfless, sacrificial love. After all, back when we were "falling in love" there was also some fear involved, fear that it might not be real, that it wouldn't last, that we might not hold our partner's interest forever. A more mature love is perfected and no longer plagued by these fears. It is where we can truly be 100% vulnerable with our Beloved.

The Dance of Grace and Nature

What makes the Carmelite understanding so profound is its recognition that this progression in prayer is both utterly natural and entirely supernatural. It is natural because it follows the patterns we see in all intimate relationships. It is supernatural because it is God Himself who leads this dance, drawing the soul ever deeper into His embrace. St. Teresa warns against trying to force this progression. In The Interior Castle, she emphasizes that we cannot make ourselves contemplatives through our own efforts any more than we can make someone fall in love with us.

"His Majesty must place us there" (The Interior Castle, IV.3.2).

We can dispose ourselves through faithfulness to prayer, through moral discipline, and through acts of love, but the movement from meditation to contemplation is ultimately God's gift. This teaching liberates us from the burden of spiritual perfectionism. We don't need to feel guilty if our prayer remains verbal for years, even decades. A couple married for thirty years may still find times when they need to talk things through, when words become necessary again. So too in our relationship with God. The stages of prayer are not rigid categories but fluid movements in an ongoing dance.

Living the Romance

How then shall we live this divine romance in our daily lives? First, we must be faithful to the stage where we find ourselves. If verbal prayer is where you are, then pray those words with all your heart. The Psalms give us a perfect school for this—honest, raw, beautiful words that express every human emotion before God.

"My soul thirsts for God, for the living God" (Psalm 42:2, ESV).

Let these ancient words teach your heart its own language of love. If you find yourself drawn to meditation, then cultivate this gift. Set aside time each day to enter into the Gospel mysteries. Use your imagination sanctified by faith. St. Ignatius of Loyola, though not a Carmelite, offers excellent guidance here in his Spiritual Exercises, teaching us to engage all our senses in contemplating Christ's life. He encourages us to "enter" into the stories of Scripture, to make ourselves a character, and enter into dialogue with the characters presented in the text.

What did the stable in Bethlehem smell like? How did it feel to be a disciple standing there when Jesus confronted the religious authorities? Does it make them/you nervous, or does it make you feel vidicated? What do these things tell you about your spiritual condition at the moment?

These concrete details make the mysteries real and present. And if God grants you moments of contemplation—those blessed times when all you can do is rest in His presence—then receive this gift with humble gratitude. Don't try to think or speak; simply be. God is not found primarily through knowing, but through loving.

Second, remember that this progression is not always linear. Life's circumstances—illness, loss, stress, or sin—can move us backward in the journey. A couple facing crisis may need to return to long, verbal conversations after years of comfortable silence. So too with God. Be patient with yourself and trust that He is patient with you.

Finally, let this understanding of prayer as romance transform how you approach your entire spiritual life. Every moment becomes an opportunity for intimacy with God. Brother Lawrence, in his Practice of the Presence of God, shows us how even washing dishes can become contemplation when done in love. The boundary between formal prayer and daily life begins to dissolve as everything becomes a way of being with the Beloved.

The Ultimate Embrace

The Carmelite vision of prayer as divine romance ultimately points us toward our final destiny. Heaven itself is nothing other than the eternal contemplation of God, the endless embrace of the soul and its Creator. All our prayer now—whether verbal, meditative, or contemplative—is preparation for that ultimate union.

In this light, every moment of prayer, regardless of its form, becomes infinitely precious. The stammering verbal prayers of a beginner are as beautiful to God as the wordless contemplation of a mystic, just as a first "I love you" between new lovers is as precious as the comfortable silence of a golden anniversary. What matters is not the stage of the journey but the sincerity of the love that moves us forward. Let us then embrace this divine romance with courage and joy, trusting that:

"He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ" (Philippians 1:6, ESV).

Whether we find ourselves in the speaking stage, the doing stage, or the being stage, we are held in the embrace of Infinite Love, who desires nothing more than to draw us ever deeper into the mystery of His own life. In the end, prayer is not about techniques or stages but about love—the love that moves the sun and the other stars, the love that moved God to become human so that humans might become divine.

 

God Bless,

Judah