Pray for Me

Pray for Me 

Today my boyfriend was out in front of the house, trimming back a pesky Brazilian pepper tree that was growing into the road. A man happened by on a bicycle, stopped and began chatting with Bernie.  He mentioned that he had once been friends with Alma (our neighbor’s mother) and was sad to hear that she had died some years back. The man talked about his lifetime in the area, his earliest job as postmaster, his ownership now of a fire and burglar alarm company. He added, offhandedly, that he is also a minister and does work at the prison and the local hospital. It was a pleasant enough conversation. Then as the man was riding away on his bike, he stopped, came back, and asked Bernie if he could pray with him. Bernie thanked the man but said, “No. That’s okay.” The minister/fire alarm salesman was genuinely offended. “Why not?” Bernie explained that his spiritual life is very interior and he’s most comfortable keeping it that way, praying within himself. The visitor became quite agitated at this point. Didn’t Bernie want all the help he could get? Surely the minister’s prayers would bring Bernie the good fortune he needed. Didn’t he care about that? Didn’t he want God’s blessings? When Bernie continued to stand his ground, the man angrily got on his bicycle and rode away.

Bernie’s an agnostic. The man on the bicycle—and thousands just like him—is the reason why. In point of fact, Bernie attends church with me on most Sunday mornings. He even “gets it,” he says, the peace and sense of community found in this weekly ritual. What he doesn’t get and will not tolerate is the arrogance and disrespect of so many Christians, demanding that the laws of the land be shaped to reflect their own outdated ideas and insisting that we sit still for their magical prayers.

What good is prayer anyhow? I’ll tell you—it’s good for the pray-er. I pray deeply at times for people I love and for people I don’t even know. I pray when life overwhelms me, when I’m fearful and confused, and when in my helplessness I understand that there is nothing else I can do. Maybe that cosmic energy somehow makes its way back to the person for whom I am praying. Maybe my prayers make God change his mind and come down from heaven and intercede in the world, though that has not been my personal experience. So what changes? Me.  The storm in my soul begins to calm. I slowly come to understand that while I cannot shape or control many of the circumstances before me, I can ride it out, whatever “it” is. I suspect that is the way of the Spirit, entering where it is invited to either stir us up (for action, for justice) or calm us down (in times of stress and distress).

When I was growing up in the panhandle of Texas, there was an old crusty farmer in the community who would often find himself the target of some good Christian intentions. It seemed that members of the local Baptist church were all the time stopping by to pray for ol’ Jack. He was good-natured about it. He’d slap the would-be evangelist on the back, saying, “You go right ahead, now. I could use the prayers and God knows you need the practice!” I’m not sure any of those folks ever caught the back-handed meaning to Jack’s words.

As for me, I think I’ll join Bernie in turning down the invasive prayers and arrogant theology of those seeking to add another notch to their Bible belt. As for my family and friends and the compassionate strangers who ask for wisdom and strength on this journey we share, pray on! I am always grateful for those who offer partnership and community rather than patronage.