"Dear Lord" - O Forget It!

I don’t know many people for whom prayer comes easy.

A few weeks back during the Lenten season I read again the story of Jesus’ disciples nodding off in the garden of Gethsemane. Jesus said to them some familiar words – words known by even marginally religious people – “the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.” Those words are used with reference to diets and other habits or urges for which we wish to deflect responsibility. But Jesus spoke the words into a context of prayer. Jesus had asked them to pray, to keep watch, and they couldn’t do it.

I remember one of the churches my dad served as pastor when I was a kid. They had an annual practice called “youth week.” This is where the youth of the church assumed the positions of the staff for a week. Practically speaking, this meant they helped with certain roles in a Sunday worship service. I remember one such service in which a young woman (she seemed like a woman to me at the time) was asked to say the offertory prayer in the worship service. She came to the pulpit and began. “Dear Lord” - and then she froze. There was the longest awkward silence. This was no reverent pause. This was a full-scale meltdown. Finally she blurted out “O Forget it!” and she walked off the platform.

Somehow my dad salvaged the moment and the service went on. The botched prayer left me trying to stifle my laughter. I’m far more sympathetic now. I don’t laugh at that anymore because I’ve done the same thing - never from the pulpit or in the context of worship, but far too often in my own weak efforts to pray. I’ve felt that way about prayer. I try to pray. I get things going – and then just lock up. O Forget it!

That’s why I’m thankful for the story of what happened in Gethsemane. I'm thankful that we’re told that Jesus’ closest followers struggled to pray, struggled with their willing spirits and weak flesh. I’m thankful that when they should have been praying they felt more like sleeping and that sleep won the contest, at least momentarily. I’m thankful that Jesus was direct enough to rebuke them, but that he didn’t do it with accusation. Rather he asked them a question, and the question comes fresh to followers of Christ again and again. Couldn’t you keep watch for one hour? And I’m thankful for Luke 11:1. Here the disciples ask “Lord, teach us to pray.”

Of course, in response to this request, Jesus gave his disciples a prayer which has come to be known to us as “the Lord’s Prayer.” The content of those words has been the subject of thorough study and reflection. What I observe with gratitude is the simple fact that Jesus responded to their request at all. His model prayer is an implicit acknowledgement that prayer can be taught, that the use of a form is a good thing. An outline isn’t cheating.

So much of my understanding of prayer has been shaped by the extemporaneous expression of “the heart.” This usually means an outpouring of emotion, prayer laced with intense feeling. When I’m trying too hard to pray that way I lock up.

But Jesus gave us a prayer. I think he meant for us to use it. His words are help in those moments when my spirit is willing but my flesh is weak.

Yes Lord, teach us to pray . . . and keep on teaching us.