Have you ever found yourself hesitating in prayer or unsure if your words matter or if the Lord is listening? This tension is the focus of Baldwin of Ford’s “On Hesitation on Prayer” from his book, The Commendation of Faith. Hesitation in prayer stems from hesitation in faith. He writes, “The reason for hesitation in faith is because we put too little trust in God and too much in ourselves.”¹
Baldwin of Ford presents a paradox central to the monastic journey: the interplay of human frailty and divine fidelity. He highlights the vulnerability of prayer—the “confusion of uncertainty and ignorance”²—wherein even the righteous feel adrift, unsure if heard or what to ask. An example of this is found in 2 Corinthians 12:7–8: “…a thorn in the flesh was given to me, an angel of Satan, to beat me, to keep me from being too elated. Three times I begged the Lord about this, that it might leave me, but he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.’”³ Here we see how Paul’s prayer for himself is unanswered. “The righteous are sometimes ignorant of what it is proper to ask,”⁴ as Paul clarifies in Romans 8:26–27: “We do not know what we ought to pray for.”⁵ Jesus echoes this to the sons of Zebedee in Matthew 20:22: “You do not know what you are asking.”⁶
Baldwin of Ford observes that even when we rightly “ask from God wisdom, charity, humility, patience, peace of mind…we still do not know whether what we seek is the right thing for us to have or for him to give.”⁷ We remain limited in understanding. Paul exemplifies this tension when he wrestles with uncertainty over whether to pray for earthly life or heavenly gain. He writes, “For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21).⁸ This is not faith’s failure but a recognition of creaturely limitations, a surrender surpassing eloquence. “Even though they trust resolutely in the mercy of God, they still tremble because of their frailty.”⁹
This speaks to the core of the monastic vocation: the certainty of weakness. Standing before God, stripped of illusions—aware of flawed motives, the poverty of our righteousness, and our fragility—is humility, not despair. This humility, as St. Benedict’s Rule emphasizes, urges daily confession of evil deeds (RB 4),¹⁰ not to dwell in guilt but to escape self-reliance.
However, Baldwin does not leave us trembling. He addresses the paradox animating monastic prayer: hope and fear’s coexistence. “When they pray, they are placed between hope and fear: how, then, do they ask in faith without hesitation?”¹¹ Baldwin’s resolution is simple yet radical: “They do not hesitate in that faith which in all things and through all things, they do not doubt to be true.”¹² This is not blind certainty but fiducia—trust rooted in God’s unchanging character, not feelings or outcomes.
For us, this is embodied in stability’s rhythms: rising for Vigils, chanting the Psalms, and the moments of prayer before work. Offering our hearts in silence as we pray, “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me,” perfectly embodies this union of frailty and trust, doubt and surrender. Our charism expresses this explicitly: “Our lives are wholly directed to experiencing the living God. Ready to receive the Holy Spirit’s gift of uninterrupted prayer, this search animates our whole day.”¹³ This search animates us not to solve the problem but to live each day the incarnational mystery of Christ in our daily lives.
Yet we are unaware of His presence in our daily lives because of “so much activity, so much movement, so much useless talk, so much superficial and needless stimulation.”¹⁴ Are we truly seeking God? If so, we have the hope and possibility of finding Him. It calls us to stability of heart—anchoring us whether in the choir, scriptorium, garden, bakery, refectory, or wherever we are. When unsure what to ask, we join Christ in Gethsemane: “Your will be done” (Matthew 26:39).¹⁵ Hesitating between hope and fear, we walk with the disciples to Emmaus (Luke 24:13–35),¹⁶ the stranger beside us being the answer to our unspoken longings, like children trusting a Father who knows our needs.
“But one is also permitted to fear and doubt devoutly,”¹⁷ as illustrated by two profoundly contrasting biblical pleas. “Someone who doubts focuses a great deal of attention either on the power of God or on his will.”¹⁸ The desperate father who cries, “If you can do anything, help us and have mercy on us” (Mark 9:22),¹⁹ and the leper who said, “Lord, if you will, you can make me clean” (Matthew 8:2),²⁰ demonstrate this. “The leper doubted his will, not his power…[and] received the assurance of his will, the grace of a cure.”²¹ “But he who doubted his power and said, ‘if you can,’ straightaway heard this: ‘if you can believe, all things are possible for the one who believes’” (Mark 9:23).²² Baldwin frames these accounts as mirrors of the human condition: doubt that questions God’s plan can coexist with faith, but doubt that questions His omnipotence endangers the covenant of trust. “But to hesitate through distrusting the promises of God is not in any way permitted.”²³
Monastic life is familiar with this tension. The Divine Office voices both unshakable hope and doubt. Baldwin’s “devout doubting” mirrors the Psalms, showing doubt as faith’s refining fire. Such questioning does not reject God’s goodness but refines our understanding, as in Job’s confession: “I have dealt with great things that I do not understand” (Job 42:3).²⁴ This doubt safeguards against pride, anchoring us in humility. “It is not undevout simply to be ignorant of these things, and thus simply to doubt what God hides by not revealing it.”²⁵ Doubting what God has not revealed is not weak faith but humble acceptance of our limited perspective. This is monastic stabilitas: remaining rooted even in obscurity, trusting that “I shall know fully, as I am fully known” (1 Corinthians 13:12).²⁶
In our prayer, we chant the Psalms with both conviction and vulnerability, weaving lament and praise into a hymn of trust. To trust is to surrender everything into the hands of God, who knows what is best for us.