Prayer … Hope

I pray often, and today I have spent some serious time in prayer.

Oddly enough, as a priest, I shy away at times from inviting people to pray. Indeed, on our second day on pilgrimage, it was requested that we take time to pray/sing together at some of the sites.

Before leaving San Diego, I made a commitment to a few folks to place their prayers (written petitions) into the Wailing Wall. Today, as I fulfilled that promise, I was surprised by my own fervent prayer. Here is what happened.

I woke up early, at 4:15 a.m. I was in the hotel gym by 4:45 a.m., where I ran for 40 minutes. When I run, during the first mile, my mind is usually processing everything in my life. In the second mile, I am praying … my heart offers petition after petition, for everyone I recall from the prayer lists, for members of my family, for our ministry together at St. Bart’s. By the third mile, I am listening … a few more petitions surface, and usually I can hear God. I learned this style of prayer when I met our former Presiding Bishop, Assisting Bishop Katharine, over a decade ago. She told a group of us that she prays when she runs.

Today our first stop was at the Wailing Wall. It was very quiet and looked empty. The Jewish men and rabbis could be seen and heard in the small rooms to the left of the wall. Only a few men and women were at the wall itself.

I approached and placed my hands on the stone at eye level, lowered my head onto my hands, and prayed. It was such a powerful experience, so unique, that at first I thought something was wrong. It was as if I had skipped the first three miles of my run. Because I was still, I entered deep into prayer. I felt like everything in my heart and mind was lifted from me, with gentleness and certainty.

I lost track of time before I eventually stopped. I took the small wrapped paper out of my pocket and tucked it into a crack high up above, where not many people could reach. Prayers delivered. I was ready to leave—but instead, I laid my hands back on the wall and my head on my hands … and was instantly back in deep prayer.

When I had finished, I slowly backed away, feeling unsettled. Afterward, I spoke to someone else who shared that he had a similar experience. My experience was validated.

Later in the morning, I chanted Psalm 88 in the pit/jail that held Jesus before his crucifixion. Chanting psalms is a form of prayer that I love. Here are some of the verses:

When, at night, I cry out in your presence,
let my prayer come before you;
incline your ear to my cry. …

You have put me in the depths of the Pit …

But I, O Lord, cry out to you;
in the morning my prayer comes before you.

We know Jesus recited the Hebrew Bible regularly, drawing upon the prophetic words made true in his presence. Could it be that David’s prayer was Jesus’s prayer, as it was my/our prayer today?

That afternoon, at the Episcopal school in Ramallah, I spoke to the head of the school, a man who as a boy attended St. George’s School in Jerusalem, when Bishop Samir and Najat Kafity were there. I asked him, what is his prayer? Where does he find hope as he works with over 800 children, half Christian, and half Muslim?

He mentioned that there is always hope, despite the overwhelming challenges confronting him and the Palestinians and children/youth he works with. Like many a teacher, he rests his hope on the generation to come, that governments would get “back to basics”—providing food, water, housing, education, and work (not stripping it all away) for everyone. And giving people, all people, the freedom of movement.

As I prepare to take my respite tonight, before our Sabbath day tomorrow, I am deeply moved by the power of God, past, present, and future—the power to engage each of us, to invite humanity into a fuller understanding of the kingdom of God, made real and tangible in our lives here on earth. For no other reason than the truth, that God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, to live among us and die for all people—especially for those who pray for mercy and for those who have no hope.

This is where prayer and hope meet each other.