Lincoln's thanksgiving ...

Dear one,

Due to the persistence of Sarah Josepha Hale, on October 3, 1863 Abraham Lincoln invited his fellow-citizens “to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise”. During a seventeen-year span as the editor of the very influential Godeys’ Lady’s Book, Sarah Hale implored presidents Taylor, Fillmore, Pierce, Buchanan, and finally Lincoln to establish a national day of thanksgiving. Lincoln heard her plea: the war’s outcome was uncertain and the need for prayer and fasting was great—even though Lee had retreated from Gettysburg on July 4th, and Grant had taken Vicksburg that same day.

According to the US Census Bureau, when Lincoln took office in 1861, our population was c. 31.4 million. At that same time, the population of New York City was c. 814,000; Boston was c. 177,840; Chicago was c. 112,000; and San Francisco was c. 57,000. Upon his assassination and at the war’s end, of that national population, nearly 2% had died in camp or on field of battle: 618,222 dead.[1] (Given today’s US population, that death toll would be 6-7million.) Or framed differently, on average nearly one family in ten knew the loss of a family member.

Given the rising death tolls on both sides of the Mason-Dixon line, Lincoln called for a day of prayer, in order that his “fellow-citizens” might “with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to [the Father’s] tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it … to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquility and Union.” [2]

From my narrow little window “upon main street,” it seems clear: we live in a horribly and painfully divided land. Without question. Admittedly, our “cultural wars” have not reached the pitch and/or depths of our American Civil War; and yet fear, pain, and grief seem resident in most every neighborhood, village, town, city, and metropolis. This noted, I wonder: What would happen if 10% of us (30-35million Americans) would heed Lincoln’s call to set aside of day of prayer and fasting for our “national perverseness”? Likewise, what would happen if daily you and I gave thanks?

I also wonder: Will we heed Jesus’ humble invitation: “Ask and it will be given to you”?

Anticipating thanksgiving,
Stan

[1] In recent years historians have estimated the death toll to exceed 750,000. In WW2 291,557 US soldiers died in combat.

[2]Abraham Lincoln, Speeches and Writings, 1859-1865, The Library of America (New York: Literary Classics of the United States, 1989), p.520.

Weary of praying ...

At moments I have found my heart and mind returning to Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s poem: Who Am I?Upon these occasions, as I consider my actions or relational patterns, in rough paraphrase I reiterate his sentiment:

            “[Is] something within me still like a beaten army

fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?”[1]

With Bonhoeffer I have wondered: Why am I down, O’ my soul, when a quick rehearsal can enumerate the many blessing that are mine?  Of course, the differences between my circumstances and those of Bonhoeffer are great, like a yawning chasm: he had been imprisoned by the Gestapo, charged as a traitorous conspirator; whereas I might simply be frustrated, because my computer is misbehaving.

On other occasions, I have echoed his lament:

            “[Am] I only what I know of myself …

            weary and empty at praying, at thinking …?”[2]

And yet, here too I have recognized the great existential distance between us: alone in his cell, facing death, a German winter seeping through the crevices of his confinement; whereas I might sense that my moments of prayer are hurried, less than fulfilling, my heart and mind distracted, but certainly not the dehumanizing grind of prison fare.

For causes not Bonhoeffer’s, I nonetheless have observed that my sense of defeat and empty at praying are interconnected; and because of this connection, I have given thought to Jesus’ prayer life.  As I have done so, I have been reminded that in Mark’s Gospel only three times do we read that Jesus prayed: Mark 1:35, 6:46, and 14:32.  Each of these three alludes to His wrestling with His identity and/or specifically the Cross before Him; otherwise, we do not see or hear Him pray.

Does that mean that Jesus was fundamentally an activist, a loving and caring activist, but nonetheless an activist – too busy to pray?  I think not (and here I’m not seeking to erect a “straw-man”); rather, when I feel defeated and weary at praying, I need to remember that “prayer” is not an activity or a ritual.  No, I need to remember that prayer is relational, that it is an ongoing conversation with the Person, to whom I can confess: “I feel defeated; I feel empty and weary.  Lord, just who am I?”  But of course, if such I confide, I need to listen for a reply; for if prayer is anything, it is a two-way conversation.

Faithfully,

            Stan

[1] Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Letters and Papers from Prison (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1968), p. 189.

[2] Ibid.

Prayer

Yesterday, and still today, I find my heart and mind turning to Eugene Peterson’s observation regarding prayer:

            “We get more interested in ourselves than in God …  We get bewildered by the huge         discrepancies between our feelings and our intentions; we get unsettled by moralistic      accusations that call into question our worthiness to even engage in prayer”.[1]

Upon reading and rereading these words, I sigh: “Amen.”  I do not know whether you recognize in Peterson’s words your own experience, but I recognize my experience.  Too often I realize that my prayer life is far too narrow; too often I pray regarding those issues, those relationships central to my life – with me at the center.  This centering then opens the door, ever so slightly, to a rehearsal of those grievances I seem to clutch, or those failures, which render me immobilized.  Thus this form of prayer becomes an exercise in reawakening anxieties, or of raking the coals of anger; but I doubt that this form of prayer is the experience our Lord advocated.  In fact, it’s probably not prayer at all, even though it might culminate in these words: “Lord, help me with my fear and anger …”

Now I do not doubt that He will help me with these emotional responses to scenes now past – and I’m fully aware of the irony of my critiquing my own prayers and once again centering upon me – but surely He would rather I focus upon those devastated by Hurricanes Harvey and Irma; surely drought in Africa or sex-trafficking in Southeast Asia or the impoverishment of North Koreans, in order to fuel Kim Yong-un’s ambitions, are more central to our Lord’s concern, than my internal wrangling.  Surely.

In Matthew 6:8 Jesus first encouraged His disciples to recognize: “[Your] Father knows what you need before you ask Him”, and therefore, I might add, He knows your/ my emotional state and those past moments of pain and/or failure.  He knows, because He was present – and with such a recognition on my/ our part, it is then apropos to begin in prayer:  “Our Father in Heaven, let your Name be holy; let your Kingdom come; let your will be as in Heaven also upon the earth.” (My translation.)

If you are as I am, may we center upon the majesty of His character, the ultimate establishment of His Kingdom, and the goodness of His will.

Faithfully,

            Stan

[1] Foreword to P.T. Forsyth, The Soul of Prayer (Vancouver, B.C.: A Regent College Reprint, 1995), pp.3-5.