Happy Hour of Prayer
If a theme has emerged from all our time goofing off at (theologic) Al’s Bar and Grill, when we should be working on the next sermon, visiting people in the hospital, or at home with the family, then it seems to be prayer. Julie and Lynn wrest the conversation away from the topics of sports and sex so favored by the boys, by saying, after clearing their throats, “Let us pray.”
Not that they are more pious than the rest of us. They just seem to have an intuitive (or is that preternatural) understanding that there are things more important than the current NASCAR standings.
Then there was Gerald’s powerful rant against “the media” from a refreshingly leftist point of view, which we couldn’t have said better ourselves. He referenced that recent scientific study concerning the medical effectiveness of intercessory prayer. In a comment, I referenced back a New York Times Op-Ed piece by an Episcopal Priest and hospital chaplain.
And, because a couple of people in my church had asked what I thought about that study, I made it the topic of our most recent newsletter. I won't bore you with the whole essay, but the gist of it is that I agreed with the Priest’s point of view. I was glad with the results of the study. Because the idea of empirically detecting the presence of God and measuring the value God’s work is just plain ridiculous.
That got me to thinking about the mind-snagging story of Jacob wrestling with the man/angel/God in Genesis 32. In that story, Jacob the trickster puts up a mighty effort, and seems to be an even match for his antagonist, until his “hip” is put out of joint. The angel seeks to know Jacob’s name; Jacob wants to know the angel’s. “Now who are you? Haven’t we met?” One can almost see the two standing up straight on the river bank and digging out calling cards from their wallets, making sure they are dry. “Wait a minute; my email address has changed. Got a pen?” Networking at the intersection of heaven and earth.
As it turns out, the angel gets to re-name Jacob “Israel,” that struggler with God. But the celestial being does not give up his or her own name. Jacob must be content with the blessing he is given before the Other rejoins the heavenly host.
There’s something about the name. Naming is a god-like activity. See Genesis 2. But mixed up in all the sin that oozes from the next chapter is the perversion of the privilege. The more we know about life on earth, the more we destroy it. Instead of knowledge leading to wonder and gratitude, it leads to the exploitation of nature and profit of the few over the impoverishment of the many. Like the 18 wheel truckers used to say, and may still say, a name is a “handle” for grabbing onto a person. The easier to hold you down and give you a shake, my dear.
No wonder God protects the divine name. Once it’s given (Exodus 3) as YHWH, it has so many possible meanings that it will keep us scratching our heads for centuries. Next thing we know, the speaking of it is all but prohibited (Ex. 20), because the wise old Hebrews understood that it’s all but impossible for human beings to pronounce God’s name purely, with no accent of a self-justification. So from then on, only nicknames for God seem safe for biblical people: Lord, the God of Abraham, the Almighty One, God of grace, etc.
I said I was not going to treat you (or was it bore you) with my church newsletter article. I lied. Sort of. Here’s a paragraph or five.
God will not be manipulated. God is not our personal shopper, our errand boy, our girl Friday. We need to remember that when we engage in the spiritual discipline of prayer. Prayer is conversation. Expressed relationship. There are no bodily postures or verbal formulae which we might use to guarantee that God will intervene for us and change an outcome. The Lord of the Universe cares for us personally and corporately, but that doesn't mean that God rescues us from every danger -- in the way we expect a rescue and when we expect it.
I’m glad that this study was not able to capture God and force God to give up the goods on which intercessions are “effective,” complete with percentages. Think how such a finding might further commercialize religion, accelerating the church’s slide into becoming just another service-providing industry. Every little girl and boy who prayed for a pony and didn’t get one could register a complaint with the PCC -- the Prayer-based Communications Commission. Churches would find new ways to compete with one another, publishing prayer success rates on electronic signboards in front of their buildings, or scrolling them across the bottom of the television set during annual screenings of “The Robe” at Easter and “It’s a Wonderful Life” at Christmas.
Then I quoted the aforementioned Op-Ed piece (11 April 2006), written by Raymond Lawrence:
“Doctors in particular should be pleased that the study demonstrated no benefit from intercessory prayer by strangers. Recently, a colleague told me about a devout, well-educated woman who accused a doctor of malpractice in his treatment of her husband. During her husband’s dying days, she charged, the doctor had failed to pray for him. If prayer could be scientifically shown to help, every doctor would be obligated to to pray with patients, or at least provide such service, and those who declined to do so would properly be subject to charges of malpractice.”
Science is interested in cures. Cure rates, measurable progress. That’s the way it should be. But faith is interested in healing. Shalom, in the sense of well-being, is what faith seeks, the kind of peace that the world, with its arrangements of domination and power, of competition between privilege and deprivation, cannot give. A healthy soul is known by growing relationships with God, with other people, and within the self. You can’t measure that.
Prayer is as vital to our well-being as breathing. It is not a mere technique for getting what we want. The healthy soul’s most sincere desire is found in the heart of the prayer our Savior taught us: “thy kingdom come, thy will be done (not mine), on earth (today, here) as it it is in heaven.” Amen.
Not that they are more pious than the rest of us. They just seem to have an intuitive (or is that preternatural) understanding that there are things more important than the current NASCAR standings.
Then there was Gerald’s powerful rant against “the media” from a refreshingly leftist point of view, which we couldn’t have said better ourselves. He referenced that recent scientific study concerning the medical effectiveness of intercessory prayer. In a comment, I referenced back a New York Times Op-Ed piece by an Episcopal Priest and hospital chaplain.
And, because a couple of people in my church had asked what I thought about that study, I made it the topic of our most recent newsletter. I won't bore you with the whole essay, but the gist of it is that I agreed with the Priest’s point of view. I was glad with the results of the study. Because the idea of empirically detecting the presence of God and measuring the value God’s work is just plain ridiculous.
That got me to thinking about the mind-snagging story of Jacob wrestling with the man/angel/God in Genesis 32. In that story, Jacob the trickster puts up a mighty effort, and seems to be an even match for his antagonist, until his “hip” is put out of joint. The angel seeks to know Jacob’s name; Jacob wants to know the angel’s. “Now who are you? Haven’t we met?” One can almost see the two standing up straight on the river bank and digging out calling cards from their wallets, making sure they are dry. “Wait a minute; my email address has changed. Got a pen?” Networking at the intersection of heaven and earth.
As it turns out, the angel gets to re-name Jacob “Israel,” that struggler with God. But the celestial being does not give up his or her own name. Jacob must be content with the blessing he is given before the Other rejoins the heavenly host.
There’s something about the name. Naming is a god-like activity. See Genesis 2. But mixed up in all the sin that oozes from the next chapter is the perversion of the privilege. The more we know about life on earth, the more we destroy it. Instead of knowledge leading to wonder and gratitude, it leads to the exploitation of nature and profit of the few over the impoverishment of the many. Like the 18 wheel truckers used to say, and may still say, a name is a “handle” for grabbing onto a person. The easier to hold you down and give you a shake, my dear.
No wonder God protects the divine name. Once it’s given (Exodus 3) as YHWH, it has so many possible meanings that it will keep us scratching our heads for centuries. Next thing we know, the speaking of it is all but prohibited (Ex. 20), because the wise old Hebrews understood that it’s all but impossible for human beings to pronounce God’s name purely, with no accent of a self-justification. So from then on, only nicknames for God seem safe for biblical people: Lord, the God of Abraham, the Almighty One, God of grace, etc.
I said I was not going to treat you (or was it bore you) with my church newsletter article. I lied. Sort of. Here’s a paragraph or five.
God will not be manipulated. God is not our personal shopper, our errand boy, our girl Friday. We need to remember that when we engage in the spiritual discipline of prayer. Prayer is conversation. Expressed relationship. There are no bodily postures or verbal formulae which we might use to guarantee that God will intervene for us and change an outcome. The Lord of the Universe cares for us personally and corporately, but that doesn't mean that God rescues us from every danger -- in the way we expect a rescue and when we expect it.
I’m glad that this study was not able to capture God and force God to give up the goods on which intercessions are “effective,” complete with percentages. Think how such a finding might further commercialize religion, accelerating the church’s slide into becoming just another service-providing industry. Every little girl and boy who prayed for a pony and didn’t get one could register a complaint with the PCC -- the Prayer-based Communications Commission. Churches would find new ways to compete with one another, publishing prayer success rates on electronic signboards in front of their buildings, or scrolling them across the bottom of the television set during annual screenings of “The Robe” at Easter and “It’s a Wonderful Life” at Christmas.
Then I quoted the aforementioned Op-Ed piece (11 April 2006), written by Raymond Lawrence:
“Doctors in particular should be pleased that the study demonstrated no benefit from intercessory prayer by strangers. Recently, a colleague told me about a devout, well-educated woman who accused a doctor of malpractice in his treatment of her husband. During her husband’s dying days, she charged, the doctor had failed to pray for him. If prayer could be scientifically shown to help, every doctor would be obligated to to pray with patients, or at least provide such service, and those who declined to do so would properly be subject to charges of malpractice.”
Science is interested in cures. Cure rates, measurable progress. That’s the way it should be. But faith is interested in healing. Shalom, in the sense of well-being, is what faith seeks, the kind of peace that the world, with its arrangements of domination and power, of competition between privilege and deprivation, cannot give. A healthy soul is known by growing relationships with God, with other people, and within the self. You can’t measure that.
Prayer is as vital to our well-being as breathing. It is not a mere technique for getting what we want. The healthy soul’s most sincere desire is found in the heart of the prayer our Savior taught us: “thy kingdom come, thy will be done (not mine), on earth (today, here) as it it is in heaven.” Amen.
Dee
posted by Rick at 10:40 AM
1 Comments:
You know, I never prayed for a pony. I never wanted one. But I did pray once for a dog. I was young enough, too, that I believed absolutely that my prayer would be answered. I prayed at night in bed, and I was dumbfounded that there wasn’t a dog on the foot of my bed in the morning. Well, not completely dumbfounded: I summoned sufficient voice to ask my mother about it. “Maybe,” she said, “that was the wrong kind of prayer.” She said it though, as I remember, kindly. She had (still has) a sense of humor about nearly everything. She smiled, if she didn’t chuckle. And her smile had a shrug-of-the-shoulders sense about it. She wasn’t saying she knew what the right kind of prayer was—and I didn’t ask—nor that the dog prayer was absolutely the wrong kind, just that it might be.
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