by Kim Palmer
Delivered at Northwest Unitarian Universalist Congregation
on October 26, 2014
Good morning. I’d like to take you on a journey… a narrative journey of how I, as an atheist, learned to appreciate prayer as a spiritual practice. This journey will take us from my childhood, when I had no use for prayer, through my introduction to Unitarian Universalism when I grudgingly began accepting prayer and other expressions of reverence, to my journey through seminary where I learned both to pray and to appreciate other people’s prayers, and finally through the present day where, despite not having a God to whom to pray, I have incorporated my own style of prayer into my spiritual life.
I hope my journey will help you all expand your understanding of prayer, affirm those of you with a prayer practice, and give those of you not oriented toward prayer a new way to think of it within a spiritual life.
When I was about 12, my mother took a trip out of state, and my father and I were left to fend for ourselves. Her trip was over Thanksgiving and a neighbor had been kind enough to invite us over for a traditional Thanksgiving dinner. We arrived and made small talk, and then all sat down at an enormous table groaning under the meal. When everyone was seated, the head of the family turned to me and said, “Kim, would you like to lead us in the blessing?”
I’m not sure what showed on my face, but I’m guessing that it was something akin to panic. I felt horribly put on the spot. We didn’t pray at our house. I’d never said a prayer, and I certainly hadn’t prayed publicly in front of a table full of strangers. Turning bright red and stammering, I declined. The youngest child in that family was then asked, and – probably taking a cue from me – also declined. In exasperation, the father said the blessing.
I remember that I felt embarrassed all night and just wanted to get out of there. The evening finally ended, and I put the memory behind me. More or less.
Although I had attended a Methodist church until I was about 8, I had always been somewhat skeptical of the teachings. It was around the onset of adolescence that my ruminations about religion began to crystalize into atheism. Pushy religious people offended me, and overt expressions of Christianity offended me. I didn’t like people preaching on the street or handing out religious tracts. I didn’t like seeing people pray in public, and I got downright angry when anyone said they would pray for me. Truth be told, I was a bit bristley. You know, for like three decades.
Okay, so fast forward to 2004, when after 35 years of being completely unchurched, I stumbled my way into a Unitarian Universalist congregation.
I felt welcomed there, and was delighted to find that I wasn’t the only one who didn’t believe in God. I liked the rituals of the chalice lighting and joys and sorrows, I liked the hymns, and I liked the sermons. The only thing I didn’t like was the “language of reverence.” Spirit of Life, God of our understanding, our UU faith, Sunday worship. Still, as I gained more exposure, these terms began to take on a wider meaning for me, and felt broad enough to include even my non-theistic outlook. Although I didn’t engage in any type of prayer practice for myself, I did start saying a UU meal blessing when my Christian friends came over for dinner. My discomfort around both the term and the action of prayer began to ease, but it was by no means a part of my spiritual life.
Then, about four-and-a-half years ago, I entered seminary. My first class, on my first day, was on the Old Testament. Imagine my surprise when the first thing the professor did was open class with a prayer. “Hey!” I thought. “Isn’t praying in school against the law?” Then it occurred to me. “I’m in a private school, and it’s a school of theology. They probably pray all the time.”
I couldn’t have been more right. I went through three years of seminary. ALL the classes started with a prayer or devotional reading. In larger classes the professor offered the prayer. In smaller classes it was common to have the students rotate through providing a prayer or devotion.
The first thing that came out of this practice for me was a sense of panic about my upcoming turn to offer the devotion. Remember my 12-year-old deer-in-headlights Thanksgiving experience? It felt like that. It didn’t take long to see that the prayers and devotions offered by the other students varied widely. Some people recited prayers by famous historical theologians. Some students read scripture or sang hymns. One read the class a short children’s book about the biblical story of the disciples fishing in the Sea of Galilee. But they were all solidly Christian, and I didn’t feel like they gave me any guidance about the kind of prayer or devotion *I* could provide. My nerves continued to jangle.
My turn came as we were heading into mid-term exams. Everyone was worn out and sleep deprived. I brought in a chalice and lit it – unknowingly breaking the school fire policy prohibiting open flame – and presented this reading by Kathleen McTigue from our UU Hymnal.[ref]The Unitarian Universalist Association of Congregations, Singing the Living Tradition Boston: Unitarian Universalist Association, 1993), Reading 435.[/ref]
We come together this morning
To remind one another
To rest for a moment on the
Forming edges of our lives,
To resist the headlong tumble into the next moment,
Until we claim for ourselves
Awareness and gratitude,
Taking the time to look into
One another’s faces
And see there communion:
The reflection of our own eyes.
This house of laughter and silence,
Memory and hope,
Is hallowed by our time together.
Everyone liked it. Although it wasn’t exactly a prayer, it clearly fit the bill of reaching into people’s spirits and beginning the class with a life-affirming reflection.
I also found that, with just a bit of translation, I could enjoy and even relate to many of the Christian prayers I heard. One professor, Dr. Tom Long, began every class with an original prayer. As a Christian, he prayed to God in the name of Jesus, but I found that the content of his prayers was so in line with my own thinking that I could feel they were my prayers too – – I just considered his use of “God,” or “Christ” to be placeholders for concepts that made more sense in my world view: “Spirit of Life,” or just “the universe.”
Here is a prayer that Dr. Long offered at the start of one of our classes, one that I found moving.[ref] Thomas Long, class lecture devotional, P501: Introduction to Preaching, Candler School of Theology, Fall 2012.[/ref]
O God, in the heat of the day and in the desert places of our lives, do not let us faint or lose strength, but bring us to the cooling shade and the refreshing waters of your grace.
In the midst of the long struggle for the homeless to be housed, the hungry to be fed, the imprisoned to be visited, and the wrongs of the world to be set right, do not let us grow weary or to lose our zeal for your beloved community. Bring us to the cooling shade and the refreshing waters of your grace.
When our hearts become heavy and hope seems dim, do not let us lose sight of your Son who is with us always, even to the end of the age. Bring us to the cooling shade and the refreshing waters of your grace.
In a world that bombards us with words and images, demands and conflict, clutter and seductions, tune our ears to hear your constant word of promise to hold us close, to shape our lives with meaning and purpose, and to give us peace. Bring us to the cooling shade and the refreshing waters of your grace.
At the end of this day’s journey, and the end of this life’s journey, let us find our way to the cooling shade and the refreshing waters of your grace, and let us hear once again the voice of the One who has called us, saying, “Come to me all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” In the name of the Christ we pray, Amen.
As time went on, I became comfortable with hearing prayer and with offering devotions based on my own UU tradition and beliefs. But still I had never had to offer a Christian prayer.
Then came contextual education, where I was placed in a clinical setting to practice ministry as a hospital chaplain. I worked four hours per week at Emory University Hospital, visiting patients and providing spiritual care. I expected that if I were going to help people connect to their own source of comfort and strength, I would need to be prepared for requests for prayer.
I wrote out a few sample prayers. For the first several weeks, I practiced them as I walked across campus to the hospital. “Merciful and Loving God. We come before you, thankful for our lives. I ask that you hold [insert patient’s name here] in your loving care. Give her strength and comfort. Let her feel your presence, as you are with her on her journey. These things I ask in…” let’s see, whose name? I guess if it’s a Baptist or Methodist or something, I’ll say in Jesus’ name. If I’m not sure of the denomination, I’ll say “in your Holy name.” Yeah. That’s good. “Amen.”
My first few prayer requests went smoothly. I usually remembered to ask what someone wanted me to pray for. It wasn’t always the obvious. Sometimes they would want me to pray for health or healing, but sometimes it would be for something like patience through the ordeal. Or for their children, left in a relative’s care. Unfortunately, at least half the time I forgot to ask what name the patient went by, and I would often be so nervous I would forget the last name that was posted outside the door. So the prayer would go kind of like this.
“Merciful and Loving God.” Oh crap, I didn’t get the person’s name! “I ask that you hold … uh… this gentle soul… in your loving care.”
Mostly I felt like I was doing okay. I even prayed for a Minister and his wife. They said I had given the best prayer of any of the chaplains who had been in to visit. Oh. But then I hit a doozy. I’d only been at this for a couple of weeks, and still felt like I was getting my sea legs.
I popped into a patient’s room and identified myself as the chaplain. She wanted me to pray with her. She was sitting in her chair, beside the bed. I asked what she wanted me to pray for, and I got her name. So far, so good. I reached out to take her hands, and she gripped my hands with surprising strength and intensity. “Uh-oh…” sounded a little worry in the back of my brain. We bowed our heads. I began.
“Merciful and Loving God,” I said. “OHHHH, Lord Jesus!” she said, startling me. My wits scattered. I tried to gather them back. “We come before you, thankful for our lives,” I said. “THAAANK You, Jesus!” she said. My wits scattered again. I managed to lurch my way through this prayer, with her emphatic call and response style keeping me continually unnerved. She bucked and twitched in the chair. She gripped my hands even harder. Finally, I got to “Amen.” “AMEN,” she said, “OH, JESUS, AMEN!” I dropped her hands, like hot potatoes. “Um, God be with you,” I said, and I ran out the door. I had to lean against the wall in the corridor to calm down. It occurred to me that I should have checked in after the prayer, to see if she wanted me to stay and talk. But I’d been too freaked out. I hoped she couldn’t tell.
I learned a lot from that encounter. “Be prepared for anything,” I told myself. I actually saw this same patient the following week. Her condition had deteriorated and she had reverted to very childlike behavior and was driving the nurses on the floor to distraction.
I stopped in and reminded her that we had met and prayed together the previous week. She was lying in the bed this time, with frightened eyes. In a child’s voice, she told me she wanted to go home to heaven, but she was scared. I asked if she wanted me to pray with her. She did. I prayed for peace in her heart. I prayed for her to be able to release her worries up to God and to trust in God’s steadfast and abiding love. I prayed for her to be protected and safe. She kept her eyes open. I was leaning over her, holding her hands, looking right into her eyes. As I prayed, I watched the worry release from her face and body. “Amen,” I finished. She had fallen asleep under my touch.
Through that first year at the hospital, I gained a lot of experience. I prayed with Muslims and Buddhists… with all kinds of Christians… with people who are “spiritual but not religious.” At some point, I stopped needing a formula, and began praying on the fly. I have seen first-hand the power of prayer. How it can comfort someone. How it can help people release tension and fear. How it can give people strength to turn and face whatever comes. I often tell people I’ll pray for them, and then I do. I pray in the hospital chapel. I pray walking down the corridors.
When I’m with a patient, I pray to their God, as closely as I can to their tradition. When I’m by myself, I pray to the spirit of life, or the power of love, or to the Universe. While I’m praying, I often pray for my family and friends. For them to be safe, and happy, and healthy. When our dog Wheatley was dying, I prayed for her. I prayed for her to be free from pain, and comforted by my presence. I prayed for the wisdom to know how to care for her in her last days, and for when to euthanize her if that became necessary. I consistently pray for the people enmeshed in an emergency every time I hear a siren, and I pray for every human heart to be softened every time I hear about cruelty to animals.
I find prayer to be worthwhile. For me, it’s a way to be intentional about what I want, or the goodwill I feel toward those I care about.
Rev. Edward Searl, who served at the Unitarian Church of Hinsdale outside of Chicago, says, “At its very best this is what prayer does: it more than acknowledges a relationship between the Self and an Ultimate Power, prayer is actively reposing in that profound relationship. And those who practice prayer usually contend that it doesn’t matter if there is actually ‘God’ or some equivalent out there, that prayer is effective no matter what.”
Judith Meyer, a retired UU minister from Santa Monica says, “I don’t pray often. But when I do, it’s because I’m desperate. I want to tell you about this, because sometimes these prayers, desperate though they may have been, have changed my life. Not because they were answered in any obvious way. Not because the universe offered me any sign to confirm that I was going in the right direction. Not because of anything outside myself, actually—but because of something inside, something that allowed me to open up, or to change, or to move on in ways I desperately needed to do.”
She continues. “The best advice anyone ever gave me about prayer was this; just ask for what you want. Just ask: not because you will receive, but because there is hope and healing in naming what you want.”
As for me? I don’t think prayer needs to be directed at a deity. I don’t even think it needs to be called prayer. Perhaps one might call it directed meditation, or simply an intentional expression of caring. Regardless, it is something I have incorporated into my own spiritual practice.
Whether you pray or not, I hope my story has given you something to think about in relation to prayer as an authentic expression of one’s spirituality, regardless of whether they believe in God. I hope it gives you a new perspective on the possible place of prayer in your own spiritual life, or the inspiration and appreciation we might find from prayer in another tradition.
Whether formal or not, whether identified as prayer or not, may our hopes rise up and encourage us to be our best selves, building a better world.
May it be so.