“Your pastoral prayers are beautiful.”
The compliment took me completely off guard—partially because I don’t consider prayer one of my strengths, but mostly because I often take corporate prayer for granted. When I’m the one sitting in the pew as laity, I tend to appreciate the time and space set aside for prayer more than the actual words offered by the pastor. Instead of listening to the pray-er, I force myself to pray. Similarly, when I’m the one praying aloud, I feverishly try to ignore the listening eyes focused in my direction. I know that pride is a weakness, and fiercely wary of rattling pretty words instead of genuinely sharing my heart. “When you pray, do not be like the hypocrites who love the attention,” says a paraphrased Jesus in Matthew 6:5-8. “Oh, and stick to the point. Filibusters get old really quick.”
I usually pretend I’m alone when I pray, but when people constantly point out that they’re listening, I can’t pretend—and I’m not certain that I should. If nothing else, shouldn’t prayer be honest? There’s a fine line between directing people’s attention and seeking it, but if written liturgy can effectively guide the voice of the people, why can’t prayer do the same? Affirmation from my congregation this summer gently led me to reflect on the purpose of prayer within corporate worship and the pastor’s role as one who prays.
I realized, first of all, that there is a significant difference between the prayers I offer up while driving alone and the prayers which occur in the sanctuary on a Sunday morning. In both instances, my voice and my words articulate the message, but prayers for the church and prayers on behalf of the congregation are very different. Individual prayers cover the church and should move between personal and community needs, but a pastoral prayer should claim them all. My personal voice is single, but my pastoral voice in worship is legion (in the non-demonic sense).
One resource that helped frame the question of prayer in worship was Valerie Bridgeman Davis’ article “21 Questions, Revisited.” Regarding liturgy and worship planning, Davis lists 21 questions for consideration—all pushing for intentional, theologically and biblically grounded, vibrant, and reflective communal worship. A few of them speak directly to prayer even though her actual word is ‘worship':
· Is this worship contextually relevant? Does worship reflect the culture(s), lands, and peoples gathered for worship?
· Is the worship participatory? Or, are there simply “talking heads” upfront that we may “tune out”?
· Does worship pull people from the outer edges into the center?
· Are litanies and prayers easy to enter, with refrains and rhythms that hold the central message in place?
· Does this worship return us to the great celebration around the throne of God when the reign of God is fully and completely realized and we out of every tongue, language, tribe, nation, gender, and age, lift our voices in awesome wonder of God who is majestic, powerful, holy, generous, friend, glorious, wonderful, and worthy of all this worship? Within the 60 min constraints of a typical worship service, anyone would have a difficult time incorporating all of Davis’ charges, but the daunting task highlights the notion that every moment in worship demands purpose. Every section, every word, every prayer in worship should grab people’s attention, push it out towards others, pull outsiders in, and lift everyone, together, to God. Far from ignoring people, Davis’ questions point constantly back towards the reality of the community which cannot be ignored. Not only should Sunday morning prayer incorporate the people, it must! If prayers in worship do not directly connect the needs and realities of all people present, then the liturgical purpose of corporate worship is lost.
The challenge for authenticity then becomes a question of whether or not the pray-er knows those very needs. In The Wounded Healer, Henri Nouwen identifies the pastor as an “articulator of inner events” who can speak not only to God, but to the heart and truth of the people themselves:
“[Prayer] is the careful and sensitive articulation of what is happening in the community so that those who listen can say: ‘You say what I only suspected, you clearly express what I vaguely felt, you bring to the fore what I fearfully kept in the back of my mind. Yes, yes—you say who we are, you recognize our condition.’
...[praying] in this context means offering channels through which people can discover themselves, clarify their own experiences, and find niches in which the Word of God can take firm hold. In this context, liturgy is much more than ritual. It becomes celebration.” In addition to speaking on behalf of the whole community, Nouwen’s nuanced vision of prayer takes on a teaching component. Just as Romans 8:26-27 promises a spiritual understanding beyond our lack of words, Nouwen charges pastors to cut clarity from the void and boldly name the indefinite. Good prayers are needed in worship because they give words and shape the mindset of the congregation. Again, the communal voice takes on formative power. It’s one thing to pray for the poor. It’s quite another to say, “Lord, we are struggling. We are hurting for jobs and hungry for hope.”
As I have learned this congregation, met the people, and heard their stories, I have learned how to pray for them and what to pray for. I've learned that unless I care for and love and listen to my future congregations, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to authentically pray with them. Just as worship should frame the way we live, love should frame the way we pray (and vice versa). When a congregation is standing (or kneeling or dancing) before God, united, speaking and seeing through one multifaceted prayer, then the church can't help but be honest, authentic, hopeful, selfless, and completely focused on God--THAT is a beautiful prayer!!.
