Thursday, November 15, 2012

What We Mean When We Say We'll Pray



by Ben Howard

Confession: I cringe every time I tell someone that I’ll pray for them. Even more, I cringe every time someone puts a status on Facebook asking for prayers. Don’t get me wrong, I do pray for them and I think prayer is a very good and useful thing even though I can’t tell you how it works. This doesn’t have anything to do with prayer. It has to do with how we interact with our fellow human beings.

Whenever I use that phrase, that “I’m praying for you” phrase, it’s not really what I want to say. What I want to say is, “I care about you and want things to work out for you.” But that feels too intimate and expressing true intimacy and depth of emotion in a friendship can be rather terrifying. So, instead of expressing that intimacy we use our relationship to God as a buffer. Instead of saying that we care about them and love them and share in their concerns, we end up saying that we care about them enough to call in a favor with a third party.

No big deal. I know a guy. He has some connections with the cosmos. I’ll put in a good word for ya.

When my friends are in need, when I want desperately to care for them, I never know what to say. I want to hug them. Touch is so much more profound than words, but I end up sending a quick, somewhat flippant text that says, “I’m praying for you.”

Does that help? Does it mean anything?

I know it does, because I appreciate it when people tell me that when things aren’t going so well. It means that you aren’t forgotten, and it means that even though you feel alone, you aren’t, but something about it feels off.

I don’t know why I’m thinking about this today. I probably saw some Facebook status with 25 comments that all said, “Lifting you up” and “Praying hard” and it probably made me gag a little bit.

I know they mean well. I know I would say the same thing in the same situation. You can’t do anything, but you want them to feel loved, so you just spout off with some spiritualistic cliché that makes them aware that you exist and makes you feel…what? Accomplished? No, it probably makes you wish you could do more.

I’m not proposing anything. I don’t know what to change. I don’t know if anything needs to change. I think I just want us to be more honest. I want us to acknowledge that we feel uncomfortable in these circumstances.

Maybe it’s not so bad to feel uncomfortable sometimes. Maybe that’s what pain in community is supposed to be. Maybe we’re supposed to share the uncomfortable moments with each other. Maybe the only way to deal with the pain is to work through the pain instead of deadening the suffering with the anodynes of clichéd religion. Maybe real religion is painful and maybe real love and intimacy is necessary. Maybe the best response to pain is an intimate and aching, “I love you.”

Maybe.

Peace,
Ben

You can follow Ben on Twitter @BenHoward87 or email him at benjamin.howard87 [at] gmail.com.

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1 comment:

  1. Ben, I don't comment much, and I haven't been reading this blog much lately because my own life has been rather upside down. Newborn babies will do that to a girl. ; ) But I want you to know that most of what you write resonates with me...and this post almost more than anything yet. You've said what I've been trying to put into words for years but haven't been able to.

    I think you really hit the nail on its sore, proverbial little head with the statements, "Maybe the only way to deal with the pain is to work through the pain instead of deadening the suffering with the anodynes of clichéd religion. Maybe real religion is painful and maybe real love and intimacy is necessary." Love and intimacy can't happen unless it's painful and messey. Real community can't happen unless it's painful and messy. "I'm praying for you" isn't going to stop feeling trite until we are willing to plunge into the pain and the mess.

    Down with arm's-length efficiency. ; )

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