“Of Prayer and Blessing”
Luke 2:1-20
Allen Huff
Jonesborough Presbyterian Church
Christmas Eve 2017
When I make
pastoral visits, I usually stay for a good while. And that time tends to go
pretty fast, what with all the preliminary banter, then easing into the reason
for the visit, then the slow process of resurfacing into the shallows to be
sure that the person has said all that he, or she, or they want to say. And
when our sentences grow shorter, the silences grow longer, and our bodies begin
to show signs of restlessness, I usually scoot forward in my chair and say, “May
I pray with you?” Then we lean into the silence. And I begin to cover that
silence with words – words that I hope will let the person know that they’ve been
heard, that they’re loved, that they matter, words which, and this is my
greater hope, serve as a kind of manger for the presence of God.
I appreciate
the calling, the opportunity, and your trust to be the one who, for a season,
prays with you and for you. More and more, however, I’m coming to understand
those last few moments of a visit, those seconds spent in head-bowed,
shut-eyed, preacher-prayer as a kind of ritualized “Amen” to the real
prayer – the prayer of the visit itself. The prayer of the conversation. The
prayers of questions asked and answered, or not. The prayers of laughter and
tears. And most importantly, perhaps, the prayers of the lingering silences
that become less and less awkward the more we allow ourselves just to sit patiently
in each other’s presence.
I consider the
visit the real prayer because it’s through relationship, it’s through caring for
and trusting each other, it’s through giving and receiving life-altering
forgiveness that we enter God’s presence and experience the Kingdom of Heaven.
When I presume
to speak to God on someone else’s behalf, I make no promises that my prayer
will “work.” I don’t consider prayer to be some kind of magic act. I’m not coaxing
a genie out of some ancient lamp and expecting the universe to bend to my will,
or even to my deepest, most passionate and compassionate desires for someone’s
well-being. I consider prayer an encounter of spiritual intimacy where we stand
together, surrounded by God, confident that, come what may, we are in the
presence of One who loves us and desires wholeness for each of us and for all
of creation. To feel that kind of love, and to seek to give it to and receive
it from each other, that’s prayer, and that, I think, is the true nature of blessedness.
I often find
myself pondering the whole idea of blessing. And it seems to me that blessing
one another lies at the very heart of the spiritual tradition we call
Christianity. In many ways, we have traded the spiritual discipline of blessing
for the numbing rigors of regurgitating doctrines correctly, of trying
to do church right. We’ve opted for the mechanics of conversion over the
new life of transformation. Such things distract us from the gritty demands of
discipleship, and of following Jesus into the mystery of faith.
This is why the
Nativity of Jesus is so important. Christmas celebrates God’s pastoral visit to
us. It’s all about the relationship, the heart-to-heart-ness of the Incarnation
of God.
Jesus is God’s embodied prayer for
us. The Christ reveals God’s own heart beating with vulnerability, poverty of
spirit, and overwhelming wonder.
When I read the
story of Jesus being born to a Hebrew couple in humble surroundings, in a
particularly dangerous time and place, this is what I hear:
‘Here I am,’
says God. ‘I entrust you, Humankind, with my own incarnate self. I give
my self to you because I have faith in your capacity to love me, to nurture me,
and to allow me to grow and develop.
‘I want you,
indeed, I choose you to bless me,’ says God. ‘I want to feel your arms around me. I want you
to keep me warm, to feed me, to comfort me. I want you to look into my eyes. I
want you to treasure me like I treasure you.
‘For a time, I
am going to be your child. And like any child, I will challenge you. I will
disrupt any selfish ease to which you feel entitled.
‘As I grow, you
will, too. And I trust that together you and I will live and work side-by-side.
We will celebrate and grieve heart-to-heart. I trust that our relationship will
deepen and broaden, and that we will bless one another.’
Christmas
reveals this trusting, loving, incarnate heart to us. And therein lies the
swaddled, homeless, and holy truth of our existence: By revealing the heart of
God to us, Christmas reveals the very image of God within us. It reveals the
life to which we are being redeemed.
Christmas is a season and a
celebration. It’s also a way of being. Christmas is living in the relentless
blessing of grateful, joyful, hopeful, vulnerable relationship. Because we
enter and maintain the blessing of that relationship through prayer, prayer is
for us what water is to fish. It is our native environment. Prayer is how we
breathe. It’s how we live. It’s so much more that trying to influence or to bargain
with God.
So that you may
experience the fullness of prayer and of blessing, I pray that a renewed desire
might be born in you this Christmas. May you discover and rediscover the
richness and wholeness of living a life of intentional relationship with
others. And may you find yourself as eager to bless them as you are to be
blessed by them.
May all of you
enjoy a merry and most blessed Christmas.
No comments:
Post a Comment