Sojourners Church has prayer meetings every Wednesday. It’s not widely attended. It should be, since the growth of a church is directly related to how often we talk to the One whose church it is. But people come up with all kinds of excuses to not be there… or they don’t offer any excuse; they just don’t go. (That was me last semester.)
It’s not that they don’t care about the church. It’s that they don't care enough to make this effort. And considering that this is such a little thing, it brings to mind the parable Jesus made about the slaves who were trustworthy in little things; thus their master put them in charge of big things. [Mt 25.14-30] And then there was the slave that wasn’t, but I don’t need to bring him up.
But I can understand some of the reason why they don’t want to attend. It’s the public prayer. Public prayer always makes me uncomfortable. Not because I have any fear of public speaking; it’s because I have a fear of hypocrisy. Public prayer always seems to bring out the hypocrite in me.
I start doing the preaching-described-as-prayer thing. You’ve all seen this behavior—probably so often you don’t think anything of it—where a person is publicly praying, and suddenly a little mini-sermon pops out. Something along the lines of, “We ask you for this because we know that…” and this is followed by something that perhaps everyone didn’t know, and it’s secretly meant to instruct them. Or at least show off the wisdom of the one praying. Or to show sincerity, or to show one’s knowledge of scripture, or to show anything other than what prayer is about: Communion with God. Once it stops becoming that, it’s not prayer.
Then there’s my other bad habit: Hebrew poetry. I’m not the only one who does this: I say something, then I say it again a different way. (I call it Hebrew poetry because read the Psalms—it’s Hebrew poetry.) “Oh Lord, please help us get our work done. Please help us accomplish our goals. Be with us when we do our tasks. Stand by us as we toil. Be with us when we do the things we need to. Strengthen us on our journey. For” (’cause it always sounds good to toss in a quote) “your yoke is easy and your burden is light.” I don’t actually say it to be poetic. I say it to pad the prayer out into something substantial, so that I don’t whip out a thirty-second prayer. And again, it’s hypocrisy.
At least I’m over the “Lord God Lord Jesus Holy Spirit Father God” phase, where I’ve gotta keep saying the name of God over and over again—to remind everyone who I’m praying to, and as a substitute for “uh.” Some of us Christians say the name of God in prayer more often than the Hare Krishnas.
All these bad signs point to one obvious diagnosis: Prayer immaturity. I don’t really pray enough. If I did, I wouldn’t sound like a babbling pagan or a holy hypocrite. I’d sound like I was talking to God.
I sound like I’m talking to God when I’m not praying in public, but it’s different. When I’m praying in private, God prays back. (Yes, that’s exactly the right word for it. He praises me—he’s very encouraging—and has requests of me. He rebukes me too, but in an encouraging way.) It’s not a one-way thing like public prayer is. Maybe that’s why I’m so uncomfortable with it; so much of it is putting on a show for the people around me, and it’s not an accurate show either.
To be fair, it wasn’t an accurate show when Jesus did it either. “Father, thank you for having heard me! …I know, you always hear me. I said this for the sake of this crowd standing here, so they’ll believe you sent me.” [Jn 11.41-42] Maybe that’s what I should do; stay honest by admitting that it’s all a show. ’Cause it is. And so long as we don’t admit it, it’s gonna stay a show that some of us are always gonna feel uncomfortable watching.