“Your Will Be Done”

     Early on in life, the traditional method of praying via the Presbyterian Church became my staple diet. Head bowed, eyes closed, fingers clasped so tightly that knuckles turned white…all the while wondering what we were doing. Any peep during the service, other than from the responsive reading, met with scolding glares. Never mind the fact that I couldn’t understand half of the responses – “Wither thou goest, I will beith with theeith for evereth.” 

     Tapping my brother’s leg, I whispered out of the side of my mouth, “This stuff sounds a lot like that country singer Mel Tillis when he tries to talk. Maybe we should stick with singing, too,” I added.

      Opening one eye with my best Popeye imitation during prayer time caused further wrath to descend upon me during my early years. (How they knew I opened an eye without opening theirs I will never know). They sensed it…the gift of oversight? All the white knuckles around the sanctuary reminded me of being on a flight experiencing serious turbulence. Maybe Jonathan Edwards was onto something with that sermon, “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God.” This scene repeated itself wherever I visited friends and relatives; Methodists did it. Lutherans did it. Even Baptists did it – the only difference was the preacher’s ability to say Jesus in more than two syllables.

     I’d heard the Catholics did things differently than Protestants – including praying.  Something about Hail Marys and ‘grocery beads’. Now I confess that paying close attention was not one of my strong suits growing up. Just ask Miss Morris. I apparently didn’t learn everything I needed to while in her kindergarten class.

     Being of Irish descent, a visit to my Catholic kin in Pennsylvania gave me a chance at a first-hand education. My first Mass we solemnly paraded down the center aisle, each person dipping his or her finger in water, kneeling and doing the sign of the cross before entering the pew – except for me. Felt right at home as every eye wagged its finger at me as I scooted in without washing my hands or taking a knee. The tell-tale lump in my throat got me to reflecting, “Maybe this Protestant/Catholic divide isn’t as big as they all think.”

     Didn’t get any better as the service progressed. Have you ever seen the person in the marching band who is a step behind, frantically looking side-to-side only with their eyes in an attempt to figure out which direction to head next? That was me. Like a fully automated factory, every other person rose in synch, sat in synch, genuflected in synch, and flipped the kneeling pads down and back up in synch. Looked more like an up/down football drill than any worship service I’d been to. 

     Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, prayer, sign of the cross, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk. Sounded like the seats at Shea every time the fans rose in unison for a big play by the Mets, and then settled in until the next hurrah. No trouble telling which farm team was training me for the big leagues. 

     Frantically flipping through the Catholic order of worship, I’d just get to the right page when they finished their prayers – which everyone else had memorized. “...Died under Pontius Pilate, buried, rose three days later…” I thought the Mel Tillis imitation was bad until the priest broke out praying in Latin! 

     “There’s gotta be a better way to figure out this prayer thing.”

     After becoming a disciple of Jesus at age nineteen, I figured that praying would be a snap. Open mouth, prayers flow forth, done deal. Wrong. I sounded more like Mel than Moses...at least how Charlton Heston portrayed him parting the Red Sea.

     I searched everywhere I could think of to get a grasp on prayer. Talk about chasing after the wind. Healing services plopped me in a pew next to a person speaking something that sounded like a variation of Fred Flinstone’s, “Yabba, Dabba, Doo.” (At the time no one had explained to me the phenomenon of praying in tongues). I had one eye on that lady the entire time of prayer…and afterwards. I didn’t care if a cadre of elders escorted me out of the sanctuary – I was kind of hoping they would! 

     Charismatic prayer times seemed like a spiritual aerobics class. I kept waiting for Richard Simmons to show up and lead everyone jumping on one leg, head whipped back, left palm high toward heaven, right hand shaking the Bible as if it were a clacker at a football game. All the hootin’ and hollerin’ left my ears ringing and my head shaking. I didn’t understand a word. “Is this the right way to pray, Lord?” 

     Certainly graduating from a Christian university and two seminaries would bring fluidity to my prayers. Unfortunately, all that formal training didn’t include one class on prayer. So the words of James continued to haunt me. Were my prayers “self-centered, seeking to squander what I received on myself?” “Did I have evil motives or pure ones?” “How could I possibly know with certainty that I was praying God’s will?”

The true end of prayer is to say to God, ‘Thy will be done.’ The prayer of the man who is pleasure-dominated is: ‘My desires be satisfied.’ It is one of the grim facts of life that a selfish man can hardly ever pray aright; no one can ever pray aright until he removes self from the centre of his life and puts God there. In this life we have to choose whether to make our main object our own desires or the will of God. And, if we choose our own desires, we have thereby separated ourselves from our fellow-men and from God.[1]

   

     “He died for all, that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for him who died for them and was raised again” (2 Corinthians 5:15). Are you living your life so others may live?

     “Lord, your will be done!”

Prayer

“Lord Jesus, grant me the passion to go where you tell me because you know what is best for me. I praise you, Lord Jesus, for coming in the flesh so I might see and understand you more clearly. Help me to fall at your feet and worship you who I see throughout Scripture. And Holy Spirit, help me to perceive when the Great Deceiver is in my midst. I never want to doubt the reality of who my resurrected Lord is – and fail to properly worship you. What a joy to know that you, Lord Jesus, constantly pursue me because of your great love. I do believe that you have all authority in heaven and on earth. So ‘I bow my knee before your throne, I know this life is not my own.’ Grant me the eyes to see where you want me to go to make disciples, the wisdom to know when to baptize them, the ability to teach them your commands, and the heart to believe that truly you are with me always. You alone can empower me to love you with all of my heart, all of my soul, all of my mind, and all of my strength…and to love my neighbor as myself. May your will be done on earth as it is in heaven!” Ω       

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[1] Barclay, William; The Letters of James and Peter. Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 2000, c1976 (The Daily Bible Study Series, Rev. Ed), S. 102.