Brief note: Raised in a conservative evangelical tradition, sermons on prayer were as common as “Amens” from Deacon Ted or Betty’s scalloped potatoes on potluck Sundays. We were Sunday-schooled by: “God has established prayer as the means to receive his supernatural help…so to live a life worthy of the gospel (John Piper).” We were sprinkled, dipped and baptized into the importance and imperative of prayer. And yet I’m not sure if we (well, me) understood it. I studied it, I practiced it, but never made sense of it. Still, despite the oddness of prayer, despite my beliefs that have angled away from evangelical currents, I’ve never really quit praying…I’ve just quit calling it that. Now, sitting quietly in an attitude of lovingkindness (with someone’s name) seems the best I can do, perhaps the most I should do.
While this poem is a response to my old beliefs about prayer, I think it ends with an opening — that is, the notion that to pray is not a thing.
A Theology of Prayer (Or Reasons Prayer Goes Unanswered)
Perhaps it’s absence of patience,
my insistent ‘now’
that prevents a response.
More righteous or virtuous?
certainly room there, but
more is a bucket with a hole in it.
Frequency may be my undoing: failure
to heed that bidding — pray without ceasing,
not unlike the way my old Ford Econoline
kept stalling on every incline.
Maybe it’s place and attendance:
forsaking-the-gathering? Guilty.
Which reminds me that there could be
something unconfessed — a sure non-starter.
Perhaps doubt is the problem; my belief,
the swinging doors of an old saloon.
Or more formally: my focus is faulty,
as it’s not to God’s glory.
Then there’s [His] will,
either knowable or inscrutable, which,
should my plea land beyond,
I’m pretty much screwed.
Maybe it’s worry (which the faithful say
is a form of unfaith) that gets in the way,
my daily anxiety over someone’s healing,
like some badger borrowing at the base of my brain
Possibly [He’s] answering a bigger petition,
so you can grow, as I’ve been told,
because your way isn’t [His] etc., etc.
Could be pride’s march to hypocrisy
or exhaustion leading to lethargy,
or one of the remaining five.
Then again maybe it’s just my ignorance.
Like the day, all those years ago, I went outside
and hung my prayer on a low branch
and waited, season upon season,
for the tree to take it up —
only to be mistaken about the way a tree grows.
Very interesting. I never thought about prayer at all like that, and certainly not imaginative enough to hang it on a tree.
Thanks Joanne!
The last line … BAM!
I also love:
Perhaps doubt is the problem; my belief,
the swinging doors of an old saloon.
Beautiful, as always, Stephen.
You are gracious and kind. Thank you Laurie!
A remarkable, honest and kind depiction of the complexity of being “angled away from evangelical currents…”. Fittingly, words of another poet come to mind:
Prayer is the soul’s sincere desire,
Uttered or unexpressed.
The motion of a hidden fire
That trembles in the breast.
Lovely! Thank you Ray!
Thanks, Steve,
The mistakes that conservative evangelicals have made about prayer…. I read a book once by a very famous pastor of that ilk entitled, “Too busy not to pray.” I thought it was a good book at the time. Much more recently, that pastor was removed from his very large church for sexual harasment of his staff!
Loved the last line – reminded me of the “poem as lovely as a tree.”
Ah, the all too common failing (although failing is an insufficient word) of powerful, puffed-up preachers. As happened, his successor (co-founder) lasted three months before he too was removed for the same charge.
But thanks Sam, for reading and for the encouragement.
Stephen,
I always seem to “find” your writing late, but at that perfect moment. I was just having a conversation with my brother (6 years younger) today about our memories of church and church people and the private preaching, scolding and warnings they gave us. Your line “and the Could be pride’s march to hypocrisy” was too perfect. We were reflecting on social media comments posted by cousins – raised in the same church and culture – and wondered how they diverged so much from us in their thinking and beliefs. He reminded me that it was the two of us who diverged from the fire and brimstone and hypocrisy. I guess this is due, in part, to our “liberal” education and our global travels where we have met and broken bread with some of the “other,” or the heathens as some from our church would have called them. And then, of course, there was the latest titillating story of hypocrisy that broke from Mr. Jerry Falwell, Jr.
I am going to ponder your ending for some time, as I look for those prayers hanging on low branches and strive to be more observant of the way that trees grow.
Thank you Diane! Your story links to my own. Thank you so much for adding to it.