gex gex, I have prayed in just that sort of conversational prayer with God. I’m probably about to cast my sanity into serious doubt, but I do talk with God in the form of prayers in a wide variety of forms. Sometimes it’s formally, reciting the prayers in the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer along with everyone else in the congregation. Sometimes it’s equally formal, on my knees in my home, complete with full, formal Thees, Thous, and Thys. Sometimes it’s informally, in the car, saying, “God, I’m tired or the roads are icy. Could you please see me (and everybody else) safely home?” I’ve even prayed myself to sleep.
What’s worse, I do get answers. Several years ago, I got into work and found out they were having yet another round of layoffs. I was told my boss wanted to see me. Since I had a pretty good idea what was coming, I remember praying, “God, I’m scared.” I was quite definitely aware of a feeling of reassurance, a sort of, “It’ll be all right.” Well, sure enough, I was laid off, but that lay off led to me getting exactly the job I wanted. No, I don’t know why He hasn’t done that this time around. This Wednesday, as part of on-going treatment for clinical depression, I was aware that I might have a crisis of faith as a result of a therapy session scheduled for that day. I would be reopening some very old wounds and dealing with a lot of anger I carry which was directed toward Christians. It was a grueling session, as expected, but my faith wasn’t damaged. That evening, I prayed, pouring my heart out to God and feeling the warmth and peace of my faith. At the risk of sounding completely disconnected from reality, I swear I felt a flood of affection and sort of ruffling of my hair, kind of like the way a father might ruffle the hair of a loved, but troublesome child. I could also trot out the story of how I was called on to answer my own prayer, but some of you may be sick of it by now.
OK, I’m crazy. Like I said, I have clinical depression, I come from a rather abusive background, and, as the saying goes, I don’t have issues – I have subscriptions! Objectively, prayer helps me calm and focus my mind in situations like driving, or acknowledge and release stress, like when I’ve prayed myself to sleep. I know not all prayers are answered; if they were, Polycarp and I would both have jobs, and a good friend of mine wouldn’t be facing a long slow recovery from a stroke. We might even have world peace. I don’t know why they aren’t, either, and I wish I did. If I ever find out and it comes with cites, I will certainly report it here!
Objectively, prayer does work for me, both on a material and spiritual level. If it’s a crutch, I’m willing to acknowledge that possibility, but I’ll also point out that I’ve got a couple of metaphorical broken legs, which makes walking awkward sometime. I may also place too much emphasis on coincidence, but on the other hand, I sometimes wonder if some people want their sign to be written in glowing six-foot high neon, with nary an electrical outlet in sight. Logic, for me, is wonderful for engineering and programming computers, but when it comes to faith, logic goes out the window, and yes, this does annoy the part of me which was raised on engineering and logic. As I’ve prayed on more than one occaision when my life and faith have taken one of their more unorthodox turns, “OK, God, but You explain this to my priest!” (Conversational enough for you, gex gex?;))
Then again, these are but the ravings of a mad woman, “full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” Or everything.
CJ