The Real Prayers Are Not the Words,
But the Attention that Comes First

by Mary Oliver

The little hawk leaned sideways and, tilted,
rode the wind. Its eye at this distance looked
like green glass; its feet were the color
of butter. Speed, obviously, was joy. But
then, so was the sudden, slow circle it carved
into the slightly silvery air, and the
squaring of its shoulders, and the pulling into
itself the long, sharp-edged wings, and the
fall into the grass where it tussled a moment,
like a bundle of brown leaves, and then, again,
lifted itself into the air, that butter-color
clenched in order to hold a small, still
body, and it flew off as my mind sang out oh
all that loose, blue rink of sky, where does
it go to, and why?

             —From Poetry, May 2005

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Dear Families,

In the Episcopal service, and in many Christian churches, prayers are preceded by a phrase from the leader, “Let us pray.” And then a pause. In that moment we ready ourselves in the hopes of a communication, an exchange, a connection with something larger than ourselves. We gather our attention, knowing that, as the title of Mary Oliver’s poem suggests, The Real Prayers Are Not the Words, But the Attention that Comes First. We are in that attentive moment right now, before the school year begins. Like the “little hawk” in Mary Oliver’s poem, we rest, we watch, we circle. Next, we too will square our shoulders, and dive, acting upon our intentions.

It is my hope that in this moment of attention, as you prepare and pack with your child for the year ahead, that you will consider how little we need—beyond rest, focus, and desire—to make this plunge. I often tell your children that they have everything they need to flourish inside of them and among them. Their schoolmates, this campus—I can hear the ospreys and a red-bellied woodpecker in conversation as I type, the background cicadas forming a Greek chorus—their imaginations, experiences, questions, their books and notes, are all critical. They can walk to town, take a shuttle on the weekend, or go to the School Store should they need anything else, no auto- subscribe required. Less is more. Look at the boxes collecting on your floor or in the hall and consider what might be left behind. Things distract us from our purpose when, to connect with something larger than ourselves, attention is required.

Speaking of distractions, St. Andrew’s has been phone-free since 1929, and we hope to reduce our reliance on devices even further through this year. We have all read “The Anxious Generation: How the Great Rewiring of Childhood Is Causing an Epidemic of Mental Illness,” and I hope you have as well. (We will offer a Zoom book discussion with parents and faculty in the next few weeks: stay tuned.) The idea of the book is that devices have stolen childhood time that in past millennia was dedicated to activities crucial for brain development and emotional wellbeing. We reclaim that time, as much as we can, with our phone culture. What do we do with it? Your children play; they joyfully connect with each other and the adults around them, and this is critical to them becoming who they are. They experience nature on our 2,200 acres, observing and reflecting. (And perhaps considering, “that loose, blue rink of sky, where does / it go to, and why?”) They keep regular bedtimes, to rest and recharge. In service and in chapel, they work for and lift up those who are poor, despairing, small, or excluded. In this “found time,” students may even occasionally experience boredom—a great incubator of growth, creativity, agency, and friendship in young people. This slower time is about connecting to our purpose and community, a meaning larger than our own little concerns, which is a source of contentment and pleasure. (The poem claims, “speed, obviously, was joy”; the next line calls the claim into question. It’s worth considering this tension in our lives and relationships.) We count on your partnership in this—that you, too, will slow the pace of connection with your child.

All of this takes great courage in real life when the virtual formula is so easy. But St. Andrew’s—small, all-boarding, accessible to all—is fundamentally a place of bringing together. We have gathered a gloriously diverse group of people here, with a wealth of experiences and backgrounds. In an atomized world, we are a rare microcosm. I expect us to take heart in that and take advantage of this opportunity to see the humanity in all, learn from each other, listen carefully, and express ourselves freely and with civility. We will keep you informed about how we are encouraging discourse and understanding in this election year, which has already proven to be confusing and unusual even to those of us who have lived through a great many presidential elections. We take seriously the responsibility of shepherding your children through this time in a nonpartisan way that promotes learning, engagement, and stability.

I look forward to seeing you when you arrive—a joyful occasion for us! Until then, I pray that you will find rest and intention in this “slow circle,” this pause, before it all so swiftly begins again.