Public Prayer

My church in the early morning sunlight this fall; we made jokes when I was a student that the architect was "Captain Billy Whizbang."The older I get, the less I want to pray publicly.

That may seem like a no-brainer to some readers, but you have to understand: I was brought up at the front of my church. Whether I was singing in a choir, playing the piano, leading a hymn with the organ, telling a story, preaching a sermon, or presiding over a program, I have spent many hours of my life up front in church. I am comfortable there, for the most part. Except now, for praying. And I have been asked to pray twice this fall in front of the congregation.

I sat in church recently and tried to analyze why this is. I should be getting better at it instead of dreading it more and more. I am committed to God. I believe I can say to God whatever is on my heart. I am a verbal person. I am comfortable with personal prayers that are more formal, or that are brief sentences or silent messages sent heaveward throughout the day. So it isn't because I don't want to talk to God. Even as I become less and less sure that I know who God is and how to describe or characterize Him, I still long to be in His presence, communicating in whatever way I best can express myself.

I think my reluctance is because of the people. When I am praying up front, I feel that I am there to express the hearts of the people on whose behalf I am praying. I've become increasingly unsure as to how to do that.

Take the most recent time I prayed in front of the church, for example. That would be this weekend. As I sat on the platform, I looked out and pondered the stories of the congregation. I saw whole families sitting together. One family was gathered from far-flung places for their patriarch's 90th birthday. How lovely it must be for them to rehearse their family stories and traditions together, to hear their granddad expound with his characteristic wit! Another mom had her son and his new wife home from Stanford for Thanksgiving weekend; he's on a free ride for his PhD in Physics there. She must be listening with such pride to his stories and soaking in the radiance and companionship of this young couple in their first year of marriage.

But then there were other people I watched from my seat on the platform. There was a woman who I know has harbored a huge grudge in her heart, twisting the story of her wrongdoing until she now firmly believes the wrong was done to her. And there was a teacher who has used sarcasm and putdowns to make his students' lives miserable, leaving them discouraged and angry. There was the father who has beaten cancer and is now agonizing over his daughter's fight with a life-threatening disease, having to face the question of whether she will be there in the long run for her own children. There was a young father in the back without his wife and children, and I wondered where they were. And there was the pastor sitting near the front who showed up just when I needed someone to listen to me in a very dark time about eighteen months ago.

There were others: There was an alumnus of our university who has let go of the beliefs he grew up with, and yet he was there this week for some reason. And there was the woman whose husband is verbally abusive to her; he was sitting with her in their pew. Over there was a couple whose young daughter died a few years ago, who have prayed and cried and still carry the grief fresh in their hearts. And up there was the elder whose daughter--so I'm told--left home as soon as she possibly could in order to get away from her dysfunctional father. Then there was the aging widow way back on the right whose husband died earlier this year, and the young widower over there on the left who faithfully comes each week by himself. I wonder what goes through his head as he worships with his home congregation, or where his child was this week, five years after losing Mom.

How do I pray on behalf of all these people? What do they need for me to say to God? And how to I pray in such a way that we all respect the holiness of God, the sacredness of this "space in time" with Him? How do I pray in such a way as to acknowledge the practically unthinkable concept that we dare to gather before the God of the universe and attempt to communicate with Him?

I thought of giving up on my own words and just leading the congregation in the Lord's Prayer. Jesus gave us an example, and it's a perfect one. So I thought of beginning by acknowledging God's holiness and our dependence on Him. I considered speaking of our need for forgiveness--our individual needs for a Savior from our wretched, miserable selves and circumstances. But then I sort of got lost, thinking about all these people I know, of all their situations, and of all the commonalities and differences among us.

When I was done and left the platform to slip into our pew, I whispered to Husband, "I don't like praying up front, the older I get."

"Yes," he whispered back. "They should leave the praying to the young people who know the answers to everything."