Prayer

PART of my secret past includes not only high-school teaching, but ten years as a Christian minister as well. Five of those years were spent here in northern Arizona, where I served a small church in Dewey. Back then I was the only ordained woman in this area and a bit of a curiosity around here. Somehow I found that delightful, and enjoyed the attention.

During those years all sorts of people asked me odd questions as they tried to understand a woman clergy-person. One time a needy fellow came to the church door and asked me if he could see the minister. He was incensed when I told him I was a minister, and he refused the handout I offered, calling me names which I’ve conveniently forgotten. Still, I have many wonderful memories of those years, in and outside church life.

My role and robes encouraged people, especially children, to endow me with a direct connection to God. During a worship service, they would ask me to say aloud their concerns, hoping God could hear and help. One of my favorite memories is the time, back in California, when I was leading a worship service highlighted by a chorus of twelve children. They were to present songs from a musical called Jonah, and they sat together in the choir loft waiting to perform.

In the middle of the service I asked the congregation for special personal concerns that I’d add to our community prayer. After I heard from several members, they pointed to the children in the choir loft who were waving their hands for a turn. I hesitated because I assumed the children would ask for prayers that their performance would be a success. Instead, we heard the worries of those little actors: a teacher had to quit because of her illness; parents were divorcing; a pet dog suffered with a broken leg.

And so we prayed for the teacher, the dog, and for comfort during a divorce. Did those prayers matter? Even now, I’m asked that question by people who know of my clerical background. I wish I could say here that I know the answer, but I don’t. What stays with me, however, is a respect for those believers who pray.

In graduate school I took a course in prayer with a woman who was a believer. I so envied her and those students who also believed in the power of prayer. It was as if they wore cloaks that protected them from darkness. (Her name was Flora, of course.) The class covered prayer in many religions. Even though I learned a lot from Flora, I finished those studies without easy answers.

All cultures have a cohort of religious faithful who believe in protection and care from their gods, and they can turn from their everyday lives and find comfort and healing in prayers. They may reach toward that mystery in silence or in ritual. They might murmur, bow, or lift their hands as they seek help from a mystical being. Or they place their faith in a human leader or shaman to seek for them.

Believers have no problem with the mystery of prayer; it’s the curious, doubting mind that keeps the question alive. Is prayer a foolish gesture to make us seem righteous? Is it a selfish act to bring on special success? Does it really help the suffering? It seems we will always confront those questions. Unless the Messiah returns to earth, as some believe, humanity must wonder.

Nurses have told me that some religious patients who prayed for healing did better than those who did not. Was that God’s doing? Or was it the power of the psyche to lift the immune system to do its work? My professor never answered that question, but she did refer to incidents in which prayer seemed to change things, to make ‘the rough places plain.’

I’m not comfortable with the easy explanation that we alone create the healing needed for our souls and bodies; that feels arrogant. I think our peace and comfort comes from more than ourselves, and we are healed when we live in an atmosphere that is filled with a spirit of generosity and love. Whether or not the healing response comes from God, we seem to be restored by compassionate people in a community of support.

How can we pray in a setting that is hostile? I find in our country today a leadership that is ignorant, cruel and self-serving. The spirit created by such an atmosphere can’t be responsive to our needs and prayers. Yet I can’t turn away from the real world I actually live in, a nation I must confront before I can find a place to pray.

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