Men and Public Prayer

No question directed to a man is so apt to cause tremors, nausea, or the sudden recollection of a previous engagement than, “would you mind saying the prayer?” I am not talking about a simple blessing said at the dinner table, when everyone is so hungry that no one is listening, except your Heavenly Father. And He knows how inarticulate you can be in prayer. No, I am talking about praying in church.

In fundamentalist churches, praying is like working on a high wire without a net. There is no warning, no reading from a prepared text, no chance to contract a twenty-four hour bug.  One minute you are daydreaming about stopping at McDonald’s after church, and as quickly as Enoch was no more, you are called on to say the dismissal prayer.  No opportunity to rehearse, no second take.  It is just you talking to your Maker while the congregation eavesdrops. You know in your heart that you are not praying to impress your fellow man.  Unfortunately, your heart is in your throat and cannot be contacted for comment.

When called upon to pray, there are several approaches used by the brethren. (I am not referring to the Supreme Court; they seem to have real issues with prayer. Rather, I am talking about fellow male believers). The first is the mumble, where the guy stands just far enough away from the microphone and speaks so softly that the congregation can only hear every third or fourth word:

“Our . . .  we  . . . and humbly . . . for  . . .  and . . . provided. . .”

So what you have is a semi-silent prayer where you bow your head and keep one eye open so that you know when the mumbler concludes. Otherwise you run the risk of being the only one still standing with your eyes closed when he’s done. People then think you are saying your own prayer – trying to be holy and not wanting them to hear. Church goers don’t like immodest displays of holiness or praying for forgiveness of sins without being clued into what those sins might be.

The next approach is not really an approach as much as it is a hasty retreat. This is the guy who has the deer in the headlights look when he stands up to pray. The prayer covers praise, thankfulness, protection of those in service to our country, the sick and shut in and nonbelievers’ souls - - in one giant breath. Should he stumble, you just know he will fall back on “Now I lay me down to sleep. . . ” Once he is done, his knees nearly buckling, he slumps back into his seat and releases a loud sigh.  His face has a look of relief like the children of Israel must have had when they finally entered the land of milk and honey.

Then there is the unscripted-but-canned prayer. This is usually prayed by one of the older members of the church family, who, when called upon to pray, prays the same prayer each time. It makes no difference if it is Christmas, Easter or if the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse were visiting from out of town – the prayer never changes. He gives thanks for our salvation, for the preacher’s message and for our lives being spared for another week. It usually ends with a trademark catch phrase, such as, “Finally, guide, guard and direct us.”  These prayers are short and to the point because the brother praying needs to take medication, or his wife, who he calls “Mother,” has a roast in the oven.

The most onerous is the pontificator.  It seems like he is always called upon to pray after a particularly long and dry sermon from the book of Ezra, when you did not have time to eat breakfast, and you have to meet someone for lunch after church. The prayer begins by thanking the Almighty for all that He has provided, from salvation to air conditioning.  The pontificator goes on to identify our daily sins, with certain members of the congregation fearful that he might start mentioning names and dates.

From there, he reiterates the high points of the preacher’s sermon, which in the case of sermons from Ezra, only serves to underscore just how long and dry it was. With momentum now building, he then launches into the sick and shut-ins by name and by affliction. Having plowed through gall bladders and hemorrhoids – as those standing with their heads bowed reach exhaustion – the pontificator makes a passionate plea for the unsaved to come forward before it is too late.  Since most people's legs and feet have gone to sleep by now, it is already too late.

Then to everyone’s relief, he builds up to asking a blessing on all for the upcoming work week, which many think might actually begin before he concludes.  Finally, he says “Amen” with those in the congregation who are still awake echoing an enthusiastic glad-it-is-over-at-last, “Amen,” and waiting for their eyes to adjust to the light.

The matter of prayer came up recently with my buddy Eddie as we ate at the counter of Dino’s Diner and Live Bait Shop. Eddie is deeply spiritual in very subtle ways. He frequently wears his Promise Keepers t-shirt that his wife found at a yard sale. He has the chrome Jesus fish on the back of his car, which he bought used with the fish already on it. He is one of the C&E folks at our church – who attend only on Christmas and Easter.

“So Eddie, what do you think about prayer?” I asked.

“I think it is a matter of spiritual maturity.  In fact I pray every day,” Eddie replied.

Somewhat taken aback by this revelation from a man who thinks the road to Damascus was significant because it was a Hope and Crosby movie, I then asked, “What do you pray for?”

“I pray that I don’t ever get asked to pray in public.”  

J. Rick Brown is a recovering lawyer who has gotten some of his biggest laughs from judges and juries. A product of a mixed marriage – his father was a Methodist and his mother a Baptist – Brown lives in Cary, NC, where he assists his wife teaching first-grade Sunday school. (She teaches and he is the bouncer.) They have three children over the age of 21 – though he avoids the oxymoron “adult children” – and four grandchildren at last count.