August 31, 2022
“Now that Man Can REALLY Prayer”: A Prayer
O Lord, I still remember it even though it was years ago,
walking into the hospital room
of the father of one of our members,
greeted by those standing around his bed,
one of them saying
I just missed their pastor,
a wonderful pastor, she said,
then adding,
“Now that man can REALLY pray!”
And I thought,
oh, great,
I’m up against a
praying pro pastor,
praying phenom pastor,
praying powerhouse pastor, a
preacher who can REALLY pray, a
preacher who can certainly
out-pray
me,
make my prayers sound
feeble,
foolish,
fatuous;
insecurity,
my demon friend
since childhood,
possessing me,
making me wonder
if I should apologize
in advance
when I finally got around to praying,
and pray
I did,
asked to,
and so
mumble,
stumble,
bumble,
I did,
because
no good at
praying off the cuff,
pulling one out of the air,
praying at the drop of a hat,
as in
no warning,
no prep,
no chance to think;
as in
out-loud, gulp, clutch;
as in
sweat, panic, terror (which make me, I guess, a good Lutheran
but a lousy pray-er);
can write
a prayer,
or better,
write out
the prayer
I hear,
the prayer
that comes,
the prayer
that is not mine, yet is mine;
but can’t just
up and pray
on the spot;
stutter,
stammer,
sputter,
good at that.
O Lord, I guess all this came to mind because wasn’t sure
what to pray tonight,
hummingbird mind flitting,
drawing a blank, wondering
what’s the matter with me,
wishing I was one of those
praying pro, phenom, powerhouse pastors;
kept listening,
silence answering,
finally realizing
silence was the answer,
my scribbled scribbling about not knowing what to pray
was the answer: pray
about
praying,
as in finding it
hard to pray,
because
more than a few of us do find it
hard to pray,
or at least
feel that we don’t know how to
REALLY pray.
And so help us to understand, O Lord, that there is no
Super Bowl of prayer, no
World Series of prayer, no
Olympics of prayer, not a
competitive sport,
no judges judging,
no points awarded,
no winners or losers,
there is only
you
and
each of us,
and the words
we manage to say
with whatever words
we manage to find;
honest words that
ask, thank, plead, praise, beg, accuse, cry out;
joyful, sorrowful, angry words too;
fear, happiness, loneliness, speaking for us;
maybe just
“Heal her!” “Heal him!” “Help me!”
maybe just talking
to you,
to ourselves,
to the ceiling.
Help us
to understand
no need for
flowery,
florid,
flourishes;
no need to be
alliterator alliterating alliterations;
no need to be
a pro; just
ourselves,
our real selves
who approach you with faith or little faith,
hope or despair,
first resort or last resort.
And help us
to trust
that the Spirit
will carry to you
our mumblings and stumblings and bumblings,
our sighs and longings and silences,
transforming them
into
the prayers we so want to pray,
if only we could.
And maybe sometimes, Lord, the best prayer we can pray for
those who are ill or receiving treatment or recovering,
those who are dying or grieving or struggling,
the people of the Ukraine and the
homeless and hungry,
is to pray that the Spirit will carry to you
the anguish or anger or sorrow or helplessness or fear we feel,
our longing for healing and peace and hope to grace them all;
will find the words for us.
O Lord, move us to pray as best we can, however we can,
and to keep praying
even when we feel our prayers
are foolish, feeble, fatuous, and to
keep believing
that our words,
no matter how
jumbled,
are prayers, and to
keep trusting
that the Spirit
will help us,
the very Spirit
who is the only one on earth
who knows
how to
REALLY pray.
Amen.