On Thinkers and Pray-ers

In search of some old, important documents,

I stand on a metal chair, and stretch on tip-toes to reach the boxes on the highest shelf of the cavernous storage closet.  I struggle with boxes of many sizes and different weights.  They are topped by old pieces of construction paper art work created by my children many years ago.  I carefully slide the art work out of harm’s way.  The box I need is here somewhere, squeezed between a library of old photo albums and a pile of small keepsakes that rest loosely on the shelf.  I fear the entire contents of the shelf will come down on my head, but I have no taller ladder, and the documents must be found.

Pulling the larger boxes down, one at a time, I finally lift the corner of a lid and know for sure I have found the right carton.   A small white prayer book peeks out at me.  The binding is cracked and the picture of Jesus surrounded by children is faded, but it is still beautiful.  Inside I recognize the wobbly cursive of the second grader that was me.  I remember how proud I was the day I received this little book.  Something momentous happened in the conveyance, and I became a member of the special forces.

I carefully turn the pages that contain a few short prayers and many beautiful illustrations.  Young children can’t read a lot of big words, but the pictures tell the stories.  They spoke to me then. They speak to me now.

When I think about other pray-ers, President Abraham Lincoln always comes to mind.  I admire him for his conscience and his moral courage, for rising to the occasion whether in his struggles to maintain his mental health, coping with the death of a child, facing the issue of slavery, or commanding a country at war with itself.  I recall that Lincoln said he was not so much worried about God being on his side, but whether he was on God’s side.  Lincoln reported that he was often driven to his knees because he knew he had nowhere else to go.

In 1999 the talk show host, Larry King, wrote a book called Powerful Prayers.  King used his interviewing skills to have deep conversations about faith, hope and prayer with the powerful and famous.  It was interesting to see where thoughts turn in the lives of people who carry big responsibilities and much influence.  In many ways, they were so much like me.

During my years as a hospice social worker, I listened to the prayers of the dying.  Sometimes I was asked to pray with them.  Occasionally, some who had reported being atheist or agnostic, found themselves urgently requesting a chaplain in their final days.  There were times when I would arrive at a patient’s home and be moved by an invisible Presence, and I would think, “God is here.”   Other times at a bedside, I would study the movements of devoted caregivers and realize their entire lives were action prayers.

I recently went to see the Mr. Rogers movie, a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood.  In the film, Mrs. Rogers shares that her husband worked at becoming who he was.  One of the things he did each day was pray for people by name.  How lovely to think that someone whispers your name to God each day. It reminded me of research studies on intercessory prayer where the subjects being prayed for improved more than the control group.  Hmm.

The Irish-born writer and atheist who later became a well-known theologian,  C. S.  Lewis, said of prayer, “I pray because I can't help myself. I pray because I'm helpless. I pray because the need flows out of me all the time, waking and sleeping. It doesn't change God. It changes me.” 

When my son was little, he did not care much for going to church.  He tried to shore up his argument in favor of not going to church by saying that he did not believe in God.  At a later time when his mind was troubled, and working on a problem, he said, “Mom, maybe God…”  Then he caught himself, and quite puzzled said, “Hmm.  Maybe I do believe in God...”  It was both a question and an answer.

Not everyone is a believer.  Not all who believe share the same beliefs.  But I’ve learned that most of us are talking—sometimes silently, sometimes out loud, sometimes it is quick words of thanks, other times, lengthy and desperate pleas, and often, we are engaged in rambling conversations.  Some call it prayer.  Some call it therapy.  Some call it thinking.   Call it what you may, but I have learned that it changes things, and it changes me.

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