Prayer

Prayer

Even for a Christian the mention of prayer can be a scary idea. You would think that after all those years of being raised in a God fearing environment that prayer would come naturally. What is it about prayer that makes some of us at a loss for words?

I grew up in a church going family. As a child I remember having family devotions around the dining room table praying. We were taught to say prayers before going to bed. Putting on our Sunday best and going to church to listen to others praying was a weekly ritual.

My seminary training immersed me in formal, written prayer. The prayer life of the institutional church did not encourage me to be spontaneous in prayer. By reciting the words of the prayer book, I was left with the impression that I was in direct communication with God. It didn't take long for those prayers to become rote and sterile.

When asked to pray without a prayer book, I found myself tongue-tied. How was it possible to take all this learned prayer and translate it into my words? Not only was I self-conscious but also embarrassed that as a preacher I needed a prayer book to pray. Finally, when it was explained that prayer is simply talking to God, I discovered that I had a lot to say to Him.

I still remember some of the prayer book prayers. When I have nothing to say to the Lord, I can at least recite my memory prayers. I continue to be in awe of those who can pray eloquently in public from their heart. My most frequent spontaneous prayer continues to be “Lord, I need help!”

There is an old African spiritual that capsulizes my understanding of prayer. “Not my brother, not my sister…not the preacher, not the sinner…not my father, not my mother…but it's me, it's me, it's me O Lord standing in the need of prayer.”

Shoe Salesman

Shoe Salesman

Overlooking the Mississippi River, the grey concrete structure of the Archdiocesan office stood in architectural contrast to the stately 19^th century mansions on Summit Avenue. Designed as a functional office space for church administration, it earned the title as a place that was built on a hill but run on a bluff.

On a bleak March morning, I found myself in that building standing in front of the Archbishop explaining why I wanted to take a leave of absence from my priestly duties. Dressed in my best black suit and Roman collar, I explained to his Excellency that I was in a dire emotional state and unable to carry on with my pastoral responsibilities.

The coldness of the concrete building mirrored the Archbishop’s attitude. Having listened to my request, he proceeded to lecture me not only on my obligations as a priest but that I was lax in my prayer life as well. I was warned that unless I immediately returned to work I would be a disgrace to the Church.

Being somewhat naïve, I was hoping for some empathy. The meeting ended with these words from the Archbishop: “If you leave the priesthood, you will end up just being a shoe salesman.” Those words, a curse, struck my heart. As I came away from that meeting, it became clear that my life would be forever changed.

The irony of this story is that many years later I did become a shoe salesman. While pastoring a church in Havre, Montana, I worked part time at Cavaliers Men's store. During those nine years of employment I sold a lot of shoes. I can attest that shoe salesmanship is an honorable profession.

I am reminded of these words from the Book of Proverbs: “An undeserved curse has no effect. Its intended victim will be no more harmed by it than by a sparrow or swallow flitting through the sky.”

I have learned to be careful of the words I speak!

Standing At The Door

Standing At The Door

Standing at the door of the church on Sunday morning has been my sentry post since I started pastoring over forty-five years ago. No one told me that was what you were supposed to do. I just felt that it was important to be where people were as they crossed the threshold into worship. Many a Sunday morning I stood in inclement weather to shake hands welcoming the saints.

Sometimes it felt like I was running for political office. Shaking hands, giving hugs and kissing babies weren’t the kind of thing they taught you in seminary. Come to think of it there are a lot of pastoral skills I had to learn on the job. Most people want to interact with their pastor face to face not just as a distant figure in the pulpit.

I have met a lot of characters over the years standing at the door. Every once in a while a person would ignore my outreached hand, slipping silently through the door as if I wasn't even there. No problem. I respect their space even if I don't like their attitude. One Sunday, a man who had never come to the church before appeared in the doorway carrying a thirty-two inch TV dragging the electrical cord behind him. I was tempted to say, “You can leave the TV evangelists at home.”

My most dangerous Sunday morning greeting came in an unexpected way. Taking my usual place just outside the main door, an elderly lady wearing white tennis shoes struggled up the steps with her cane. I was disarmed by her smile until she opened her mouth. She looks me right in the eye, raised her cane and started swinging at me yelling, “I am so mad that God has come to take back his church.” She then walked into church.  My reflexes were pretty good and so avoided getting mauled.

I have learned a lot about human behavior standing at the church door. Some people are just thankful to be alive and look forward to the fellowship, the hymns and a challenging sermon. Others come out of habit or compulsion; you can sense it in the body language. Some even smile and ask how I am doing. The Bible says, “A cheerful heart brings a smile to your face; a sad heart makes it hard to get through the day.”

A word to the wise: stay clear of little old ladies in white tennis shoes wielding a cane!

Lumen Christi

Lumen Christi

My first assignment as a priest was at the Cathedral in St. Paul. I had served there the previous summer as a deacon. The building itself was a huge concrete structure built on the design of St. Peter’s in Rome. Sitting on a bluff overlooking the Mississippi River, it dominated the city skyline.

The cathedral was an inner city church and the religious center of the Catholic Archdiocese. As an assistant pastor, I was involved in all the liturgical ceremonies of the Church. Along with three other assistants, we were chaplains for fourteen nursing homes and three hospitals in the area. The pastoral demands of baptizing, marrying and burying were great training for me.

My reason for sharing ancient history is that I woke up this morning with this phrase running through my head: Lumen Christi. What brought this to mind I don't know? Lying there, pondering those words, I thought of my years at the Cathedral.

On the Saturday night before Easter Sunday the Cathedral held an Easter Vigil. That service began in complete darkness and silence. Then with the strike of a match a five-foot candle was lit. It was my job to carry the lit candle, held high processing down the center isle stopping three time and singing (shouting) “Lumen Christi.”

At this stage of life memories of the past are coming with increased frequency. Some are scary wondering did that really happen and how did I survive. Others are a reminder of the continual faithfulness of God at critical junctures. Although those days at the Cathedral were an intense indoctrination into pastoral ministry, they forged the character of a pastor in me.

Jesus says, “I am the Light of the world; he who follows Me will not walk in darkness, but will have the Light of Life.” And in Proverbs, “Your Word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.”

Amen!