When prayer feels "empty"...

First, let me state that I believe to the very cells of my toenails in prayer. Throughout my 33 years of ministry, I've made it the fulcrum of the worship services I have led, and have supported and "enhanced" the prayer ministries of each of the churches I have served. But there are times when prayer just seems empty--like there must be SOMETHING else I can do? Have you ever felt that way? Or have you said, "I know I can pray for [her or him], BUT..." Of course, many of us felt that way when 17 people were murdered at Parkland, and "thoughts and prayers" was the best we heard from our national leaders. But let's not go there, and stay focused on our individual challenges with "You are in my prayers."

In the past couple of weeks, several people dear to me received challenging medical news or were in tragic accidents. Immediately these people entered into our church "prayer queue," and into my personal prayers as well. And as much as I've always taught that "how" to pray is not a thing, and that God hears our prayers, no matter how childlike, crude, or chaotic, I still find myself wanting to say the "perfect" prayer for these friends, meaning that it is so well structured and then prayed expertly that God will just simply have to perform miraculous healings, and right now. I taught my congregations that God is not the genie that comes from a well-rubbed lamp in time to grant our current wish, but that is exactly how I feel when praying for dear ones who are severely hurting in body and soul. I just want to rub that lamp, and get my wish. If there is anything good in this experience, it is that I now have empathy with what many of my parishioners have gone through when someone close to them is in need. I hope that God gets a kick out of the irony of this, but I'm certainly not being entertained by it. Usually, though, I get a grip, remember my own sermons, and try to visualize God hearing my prayer and acting on it in the great scheme of things.

It doesn't help that I tend to be a "fixer." Troubleshooting is apparently a genetic thing for me. When I am denied the opportunity to diagnosis and repair, I feel like the job is not done. While this might be good when it comes to fixing a faucet or doing home improvement, it's something that must be disciplined and suppressed when offering pastoral care for the sick or those with anxiety issues. Counseling is also a "no fly zone" for problem solving, and since I do quite a bit of counseling, my "fixer" self has to be reigned in pretty severely. Good counselors are good listeners, and adept at helping persons experience self-discovery, ownership of their feelings, and being gently nudged to participate in forming a care plan. And that's the problem with prayer: it is not an easy playing field for troubleshooters who want to analyze, diagnose, and prescribe a "fix," praying only to send God out for parts. No, to be true to prayer, it means turning the friend or the loved one and their need over to God, and then attuning oneself to any feedback God may have as to how we may be helpful in providing comfort. "But God, I want to do more!"

I think I'm a pretty effective "prayer," even with my penchant for grabbing stuff back to try to fix myself. And that is the second lesson in all of this: God may have a job for me to do for the individual in question, but I should not be the one writing the job description without the guidance of the Spirit. If being prompted to "let go and let God," as they say, I'm not going to "fix" the empty feeling that may initially result by just doing something. The danger in intruding into the situation without guidance and "cues" from the person in need is that I may just be complicating what is already a stressing situation for them, which is the last thing a compassionate person wants to have happen. My "empty" feeling is my problem. The truth is that prayer is anything but empty.

Now, there may be concrete factors that can cause prayer to seem empty, such as when there are things I can do about a troubling situation, and I choose to simply "hide" behind "thoughts and prayers." If I know someone is hungry and in physical need, I should feed them, or arrange for that need to be met, and then pray for them as part of this remedy. If it concerns a justice issue like racism or gun violence, prayer alone is not the solution. I know steps I can take to address these, whether it is writing letters to representatives, engaging in public debate, or helping bring people together to have strategic conversations about what we can address as a community. Prayer can be an essential ingredient in this potion, but "thoughts and prayers" should never be used to sweep vital issues of justice under the rug. There are times to put "feet to our prayers," indeed, but when dealing with deep, personal matters of friends or family, delving in cautiously and respecting the integrity, privacy, and vulnerability of the individual is paramount, and that point, praying for them becomes job one.

As a pastor, I understand the empty feelings of others when they hear of a loved one suffering and say, most sincerely, "What can we do?" As mentioned, there may be supportive, caring "human" things we can do for a hurting friend, but prayer is always huge here, and even if it feels inadequate or empty at the moment, keep praying! Never downplay God's role in healing at this level just because a genie doesn't appear.

And remember, empty is not always a bad thing. Jesus "emptied himself" of all of the privileges of being God to come among us, as it says in Philippians 2. The Apostle Paul talks of "pouring himself out" in service. Sometimes the echo of the "emptiness" allows us to hear the still, small voice of God better than when we are full of ourselves. And no matter how competent a troubleshooter we may be, none of us trumps the Creator of the Universe in fixing stuff, whether it is a broken body or a broken spirit. Blessings, All!