Yesterday, I did something I never thought I would do: I prayed, in front of God and everybody, with a friend—I’ll call her Judy—in the semi-crowded Black Dog Café.
This is just not the sort of thing I do. It came about like this.
I’ve been friends with Judy for a long, long time, but recently—over the last three months or so—our relationship has taken on a decidedly spiritual dimension. We have started to, on occasion, meet up for the express purpose of talking about God, God’s love, our spirituality, and our personal faith journeys. This is the sort of conversation I have been hungering for, and I have received it as Moses’ people must have received manna in the desert. Despite having known her for many years, even having prayed with her in the past, I was unaware—but not surprised to learn—of the true depth of her spirituality, a depth which even now I doubt I can fully appreciate.
Our meeting yesterday was not meant to consist of the kind of spiritual discussion we’ve been having. Instead, it was, in her words, to “have a negotiation session on how we do this friendship.” I’ll admit, as I told her, that it sounded slightly ominous. Demon-ridden as I am with Anxiety, I couldn’t quite let go of my reptile brain’s fear that this was the kiss-off, even though my law school-brilliant brain knew it was not. And of course it was no such thing. She explained some things; I explained some things. I think that when we were done we each understood the other better, and I think that in the talk our relationship was enriched. I know that I had a better idea of where this spirituality thing was going; I think she did, too.
You probably haven't, but if you have read some of my earlier blog entries, you know that I have been longing for someone to be, for lack of a better phrase, my “prayer partner.” I believe in the power of prayer, and I believe that when two people pray together there is a synergy at work, a multiplier effect. The Good Book has Jesus saying, “Wherever two or more of you are gathered in my name, there is love.” Since God is love, when two people pray together, God is there. God is there all the time, of course, but when you’re holding somebody’s hand in prayer, you feel God’s presence coursing through your blood in a way that is otherwise inaccessible, for me, at least.
But praying with another person is an intimate thing; I am a shy person (really!), and I have never been comfortable asking someone close to pray with me, to feed my hunger. I can pray with strangers—I was required to do that as a student minister at Eden Theological Seminary. I can pray with groups; I have even led groups in prayer and offered pastoral-type prayers at worship. I’ve been able to pray with a couple of former pastors. But friends? It’s hard to ask a friend to take that friendship to another level. It’s risky. Precisely because it involves such intimacy, it involves a placing in them degree of trust that I’ve only ever achieved with a few people, who I can count on one hand. More, it involves asking them to place the same sort of trust in me.
So it was with abundant hesitation and, frankly, fear of rejection, that I finally broached the subject in an email. I simply asked her if, in our next conversation, we could spend some time in prayer together. You can’t imagine how relieved when she replied in the affirmative—she didn’t just say “yes,” but she was enthusiastic. I have come to believe that all people of spirit have a longing in their heart for a fulfilling prayer life. I believe my request struck some sort of chord with her. I believe that maybe she had that longing in her heart and perhaps wasn’t even aware of it. I believe maybe she decided to go out on a limb and trust me, too.
Be that as it may, our conversation last night meandered, as conversations between friends will, and gradually worked its way around to prayer. This was the first time we had gotten together since that email exchange. I was still a little nervous about it. But then she said, “Yes, I’ll be your prayer partner.” Well, the next move was obvious. If we were going to be prayer partners, we couldn’t just keep talking about it—we had to actually do it. But where? When? The answers were (1) here and (2) now. But we were in this semi-crowded café, albeit in a back corner. Judy looked at me and said, "How do we do this?" Were we really going to pray together in front of all these people? Out loud? What would people think? Wouldn’t they think we were a couple of bible-thumping fundagelicals? Would they think we were crazy? At the very least, won't we look silly? Would some people be offended?
So we hesitated a bit. We looked around a little furtively, sort of like we were doing a deal for some loose joints—it was kind of comical. Then it was as if we came to the same conclusion at the same time: it doesn’t matter what they think. We simultaneously reached out and clasped hands. And suddenly, there we were engaging in private prayer in a public place. we prayed. We prayed aloud—quietly, but aloud—and we prayed silently. We prayed for each other, and we prayed for ourselves. And do you know what? As soon as I closed my eyes—I always close my eyes when I pray—I forgot all about those other people. I lost all self-consciousness; I wasn't worried about what anyone thought. The people had disappeared from sight and sound, leaving only Judy, me, and God. It doesn’t really matter what words we used; the really important communication took place in the silences between and around the words. God was present. I felt it. I think Judy did, too. It felt...right.
When we broke, I opened my eyes and looked around. No one was looking at us. No one gave any indication that things were other than completely normal. Our hesitation had been over nothing much.
Soon after our prayer ended, we left, each of us going our separate ways. We will pray together again, I think. That’s what prayer partners do. I don’t know when—when the time is right, I guess.
I am glad Judy and I prayed together. I felt warmed and comforted. I felt, for the first time in awhile that I am truly God’s child, that I am truly loved, as is Judy, and as are you, Dear Reader.
I expect that “Judy” will get around to reading this sometime. I truly hope that this helps her relive those moments. I hope they were as precious to her as they are to me. Judy, thank you. A better friend one could not ask for.
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