Readings FIRST LESSON The first lesson is from The Genesee Diary: Report from a Trappist Monastery by Henri Nouwen In praying for others, I lose myself and become the other, only to be found by the divine love which holds the whole of humanity in a compassionate embrace. SECOND LESSON The second lesson is from the Gospel of Luke, Chapter 11 verses 1 through 13 |
This Week's Sermon Date: July 25, 2010 Title: What Should We Ask For? Message Delivered By: Rev. Dr. Joe McMurray I know I have told this story before, but it is one worth repeating from time to time. And since I found a scorpion in our kitchen, recently, it was a reminder that A turtle was happily swimming along a river when a scorpion hailed it from the shore. The turtle wisely kept its distance, since everyone knew scorpions were not to be trusted. "Dear friend turtle!" called the scorpion. "Please let me climb upon your back and take me to the other side of the river!" "No," replied the turtle, "for if I do, you shall sting me, and I shall die." "Nonsense!" replied the scorpion. "If I kill you in the middle of the river, you shall sink, and I shall drown and die with you. Do not believe all the things you have heard about me. I just want to get to the other side of the river." The turtle thought this over, and saw truth in the scorpion's statement. He cautiously swam close to the shore and let the scorpion climb upon its back. The turtle then began swimming towards the other side of the river. Halfway across, he felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck. "Why have you stung me?!" cried the turtle as his body began to stiffen. "Now we will both die. I will die from your sting, and you shall drown! How could you do this? Why did you do this?" "Because it is in my nature," replied the scorpion as they both sank beneath the waters. For me, the meaning of this story is not that we should never trust anyone. It is not that we should never let anyone get close to us. It is not meant to suggest that we should use so much caution in our encounters that we never engage the world. For me, the meaning of this story is—pay attention to the nature of others, and to the nature of the world. We must also pay attention to our expectations of others. We continually set ourselves up—to be let down. And we set others up—to fail. By allowing others to live into their natures, whether we like them or not, or whether we agree with them or not, we leave them free to follow their own path. And if their natures are not compatible with ours, we must learn to let go, and to okay with that. Please pray with me: Lift our eyes up to the heavens, O God; open our eyes and open our hearts so that they may be filled with your grace and blessing. Make us instruments of peace in a world fraught with war, touchstones of love in relationships that are broken and torn, and beacons of light in a world that dwells too often in shadow. Help us trust in you, as you trust in us. And may my words and all of our thoughts be filled with honor and praise to you. Amen. How often have we heard the phrase, “I’ll be sure to pray for you”? It is probably one of the most often-used phrases in Christian communities. Many of us use it often, and most often, we are comforted to know that others are thinking of us and keeping us close in their hearts. It is a reassuring thing to know. But what is the result of prayer? And what does the act of prayer really mean? And who really prays? From what we know in the Gospels, Jesus prayed often. After all, it was an important part of his tradition. Sometimes Jesus prayed with his disciples, other times with large crowds. He also prayed in isolation—away from others. Jesus’ prayers were deep and sometimes seemed to be from a place of deep pain. We don’t necessarily associate prayer with pain in its most common forms, but often those who pray are in very deep emotional or physical pain. In today’s gospel, the disciples ask Jesus how to pray, just as John the Baptist had taught his disciples to pray. And he taught them the prayer, some of which we know well: ‘O God, hallowed be your name. There are all sorts of prayers. There are communal prayers that we speak together in this room every Sunday. There are private and personal prayers that we do not share with anyone else. Many of us give prayers of thanksgiving before meals, or when we greet the morning or before we sleep at night. There is intercessory prayer (in close proximity or at a distance from those being prayed for) that attempts to intercede with God on behalf of those in need. There is organized prayer (groups that meet on a regular basis for the purpose of praying together for a specific purpose). And there is spontaneous prayer, often used in light of an event we have witnessed that has just taken place. But does prayer work? And what kind of question is that? What does the term “work” mean? When we think of prayer, we often talk about it in terms of a request. We want something, and we pray for it—even if that something is insignificant; or if it is much more serious, as in the healing of the mind or body; recovery from a substance addiction; prayers for safety for travel, or for those fighting in war; the passage of laws that reflect equality for all citizens of the world. And the list goes on. When I was growing up in Peoria, Illinois, I attended Holy Family School, a Catholic grade school other, and than the summer vacation, the thing we most looked forward to was the school picnic, which also took place during the summer. It was a time to go to Laura Bradley Park and frolic with all your classmates. When you arrived, every child received three tickets: one for soda, one for ice cream and one for Cracker Jacks. That was a big deal in those days. There was a huge grassy hill in the park (or at least, it seemed huge then) that everyone used to climb it and then run down. Everyone would be chasing everyone else; there’d be all sorts of games to play, and it was just all-around fun. Once, when I was in about 4th or 5th grade, it had rained the entire week before the picnic date. On that morning, it was overcast and drizzling. We were all breathlessly awaiting word as to whether or not the picnic would be cancelled. I remember standing in my grandmother’s bedroom looking out the window, all forlorn, fearing deep down that no matter what, we were not going to have our picnic that year. But despite that feeling, I prayed and prayed, the most sincere prayer a young boy could pray at that age. I prayed for God to take away the rain. I prayed that God would reward us with good weather. I prayed that the sun would come out and instantly dry up the ground. I prayed that if the picnic had to be cancelled, it might be rescheduled for the next week or some week in the near future. And the call came. And the picnic was cancelled. The rain kept falling—indeed, it was raining harder than it had all week; the sun did not come out at all; the ground was no longer just wet—it was muddy; and as a last insult, the picnic was not going to be rescheduled because the park was booked for the rest of the summer. I was so disappointed that my prayers had not been answered. I remembered hearing in church on Sunday what was said in the scriptures: “everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened.” I asked, but did not receive. And I didn’t understand. I didn’t always understand when people told me how deeply they believed in prayer. Though a few times, prayer would seem to work, for some of the really big things, it didn’t. I prayed that I would win the school spelling bee, but I didn’t. I prayed that I’d get to sing a solo in the school pageant, but I didn’t. I prayed that it would snow 12 inches as the weatherman said, so we wouldn’t have to go to school the next day (and because I didn’t do my homework) but it didn’t. I couldn’t figure it out. Was I that bad a person? It seemed I was never rewarded by receiving the things I wanted that I prayed for. And we were taught then that answered prayers were a sign that you were in good favor with God. Not feeling in good favor with God in those days, for quite some time after that, I didn’t feel my prayers would be answered in the ways that I thought they should be. When I grew older, some of the really important things for which I prayed were very serious: that my brother’s cancer would go away, that my dad’s bypass surgery would be successful, that my aunt’s stomach cancer would stay in remission. Years later, I would pray for the preservation of the lives of friends and loved once who were dying of AIDS. But I felt that by and large, I had a very poor track record with prayer. And I wondered why I bothered to pray; I wondered if prayer was worth the trouble. The more I read about prayer and studied it, and the more I asked people about it or witnessed how many people asked for prayer, the more disappointing the results. It seemed that the more specific prayer was, there was a greater chance that it would not be “answered,” or at least that it would not be fulfilled. The ratio of success to failure was not a good one. That was before my ideas and beliefs about prayer were transformed. Ultimately, as my faith evolved, I realized something else about prayer, or at least how it fit into my own life. For me, prayer was no longer about asking for specific things. Prayer wasn’t about judging results. Prayer became more about acceptance—that if there were challenges to bear, that I could withstand and accept what lay before me. Prayer became more about good will, and focusing my energies on others instead of myself. Prayer became my work—doing a good job as often as I could, honoring the gifts God had given to me. Some people believe prayer can cause miracles to happen. Some believe prayer is positive energy released into the universe that can actually change polarity and thus, have the capacity to change specific events. Henri Nouwen says that when we seriously pray for others, we participate in the act of “bring(ing) them into our innermost being” by feeling what they feel—pain, suffering, challenge, tragedy, hopelessness and despair. It means walking the journey with them, even from afar—almost as if we are exiting our own bodies and entering their souls. Nouwen says, it is as if we become them. This is how we achieve true compassion for one another—by losing ourselves and “becoming the other.” And God is the one who dispenses true compassion through us. No, I don’t know how prayer “works.” But no matter what we believe about prayer, it seems clear that when our prayerful intentions are positive and uplifting, the possibility of hope within the soul increases dramatically. When people know they are being prayed for, there is a renewed sense of optimism, because with prayer comes the knowledge that they are cared about, that they are not alone, and that they are surrounded by love. If someday we find out that this is all that prayer does—it reminds people that they are cared about and loved—it would be well worth the effort. May we continue to follow where God is leading. Amen.
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