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| "Old Woman Praying" Theophile Lybaert, Belgian (1848-1927) |
“I ask not only on behalf
of these, but on behalf of those who will believe in me through their word.” (John 17:26)
The last time I was given the great honor
of preaching the Divine Service for Saint David’s Day by the Philadelphia Welsh
Society, the Society’s musician, a brilliant Welsh-American named Jack
Williams, made the very pious request that the worship leaders gather in prayer
before the start of the service. He made this request—quite naturally—to the
Society’s chaplain, a distinguished (and stunningly beautiful, may I add?[i]) Episcopal priest named
Anne Thatcher. The Rev. Ms. Thatcher demurely suggested, “Perhaps Pastor
Griffiths will lead us in prayer..?”
I was more than happy to comply, and I
launched into an orison beseeching the Almighty to grant us cheerful singing
voices, accurate instrumentation, faithful preaching, and the presence of the
Holy Spirit. Of course, as I now reflect on it, this prayer had been answered
before I opened my mouth as Welsh people always sing cheerfully, the musicians
were excellently trained and talented, and whenever two or more are gathered in
Christ’s name, the Spirit is always with us. The only need for divine
intervention might’ve been for the preaching which, as it fell to me to
deliver, would be as faithful as my theological and homiletical abilities could
make it.
But what struck me as I later pondered
that exquisite worship experience was the Rev. Thatcher’s polite request
vouchsafing of me the prayer duties. I recalled that I had never actually heard
an Episcopal cleric pray extemporaneously. The Episcopal rector in my Ministerium
read his prayer out of the Book of Common
Prayer for our ecumenical Easter sunrise service. The Episcopal priest who
taught one of my pastoral care classes at the seminary also refused to lead our
class in prayer, requesting that the students take turns offering morning
petitions.
I mentioned this to my music director,
Frank, who opined that Episcopalians are taught that the Book of Common Prayer has brilliantly and elegantly phrased every
praise, petition, intercession, or word of contrition which need be directed to
God’s attention, and that all a supplicant need do is consult the appropriate
page in this august tome for exactly the words most pleasing to God’s ears.
I’m not sure Frank is correct in this assumption,
but I think there’s something to be said for teaching the faithful how to pray.
In his day, Martin Luther railed against the vain repetition of prayers,
excoriating believers who falsely thought of prayer as a good work, the
repetition of which would please God and lessen time in Purgatory. He
encouraged the faithful to pray honestly to God from the depths and longing of
their hearts, and to do so boldly and often as a child approaches a loving
parent. Although he rejected the recitation of written prayer, Luther would
compose hundreds of prayer himself in order to give Christians an idea of how to pray[ii].
In my own time as a parish pastor, I’ve
noted that, five centuries after Luther, there is still a huge reluctance among
the faithful to pray extemporaneously and publicly. When I began my ministry at
Faith Lutheran in Philadelphia over twenty years ago, I would ask members of
the congregation to say a prayer to bless the Sunday morning sermon. This request
met with such great resistance that I dropped this practice within the first
few years.[iii] Subsequently, I have
often asked Confirmation students to write prayers of their own or to lead prayer
at the close of class. Public prayer is a phobia which we in the church have to
stamp out, and I try to be as good a therapist as I can be—leading by example,
gently encouraging, and pointing out how simple a conversation with God can be.
In the Gospel appointed for Easter 7 Year
C in the RCL (John 17:20-26) Jesus is concluding what Bible scholars call the “High
Priestly Prayer.” It can very well be used, as the great Johannine scholar
Karoline Lewis[iv]
points out, as a blueprint for prayer. In verses 1 – 7 Jesus prays for himself.
This is not a bad idea, as he’s about to be crucified.[v] In verses 8 – 19, he prays
for the disciples—knowing that they are also about to undergo excruciating trials,
the likes of which would discourage anyone who lacked a lovingly bonded
relationship with Jesus. Finally, as Dr. Lewis so wonderfully notes, Jesus is
praying for us. He prays, “on behalf
of those who will believe.”
I ask you, how splendid a thought is that? Jesus included us in his prayers while we were still unborn and unbegot. He knew in advance that we would
feel, from time to time, the dark separation from God and others, so he asked
the Father to put his love within us. When we pray, we access this love. Our
faith approaching God unites us with Jesus, and it also unites us with all the
saints who have believed before us and with those who are yet to come.
I really like Jesus’ three-petition
outline. First, I pray for my own needs. Second, I pray for the needs of those
around me. Finally, I send a prayer out into the void for the needs of those
whom I don’t know or the needs which are yet to arise. Far from being a “message
in a bottle,” such a prayer is a lifeline tying me to others and reminding me
that God’s love has been given to me and all the world. Beautiful, artful
phrases are not necessary. What matters is the certainty that, whenever I lift
my voice in prayer, I am united with Christ and with all the saints—past,
present, and future.
Pray boldly, my friend! Thanks for visiting.
[i]
Perhaps I need not add this. We Welsh are just naturally an attractive race of
people.
[iii]
I haven’t asked anyone to do this in eons, but the memory of it is still alive—a
sort of congregational form of PTSD.
[v] In
such a circumstance, I’d be praying my butt off. Wouldn’t you?
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