A friend of mine recently caught me off guard when they asked me about my prayer habits. In the middle of a casual conversation I was suddenly bestowed with the question, very gently put, "Where do you pray?"
The question seemed a little odd to me at first. I wasn't sure where they were going with this, and the location of my prayer seemed to me a less significant factor than the attitude or content of my prayers. Caught off guard and somewhat puzzled, I mulled over these things for a second, trying to gather some sense of direction. My friend, sitting on the couch next to me, waited patiently for my answer, while thoughtfully looking around my room. It seemed to me as though they were trying to imagine exactly where it was I said my prayers each day.
Unable to ascertain the direction they were headed with this question, I went with a basic, but honest answer. This particular friend is very intentional, and I knew there was some deeper purpose behind their initial question. My friend wanted to take me somewhere. Eventually they would make that destination clear to me.
"Right there," I said, indicating the spot on the couch where they were sitting.
"Right here? Sitting on the couch?" For a moment I saw what looked like surprise, but it was gone again so quickly that I wondered if I had really seen it at all. As of yet, my friend wasn't betraying anything.
Unsure of their reaction, I cautiously confirmed. "Yep, right there."
They paused for a moment, assimilating this information into their plan of action before proceeding with their purpose. As usual, I was captivated, wondering where this conversation would lead. "Well... when do you pray?"
That was easy. But still ignorant of the direction, I offered another simple answer. "In the morning when I do my quiet time."
"Oh...(?)" I couldn't tell if it was a question, or a statement, but they paused a moment, as though carefully considering this information in light of some bigger picture. My friend continued looking around the room. Whatever their point, they were intent on avoiding premature disclosure. Asking their next question, they glanced my way. "How long do you pray?" We made eye contact for a split second and though I searched their face, I couldn't see anything other than the fact that there was, indeed, something deeper going on.
"I don't know, 10? 15 minutes? It depends on the day, what's going on, and what I read that morning in my quiet time." I tried to keep my answers uninvolved and unemotional. The fact that I still didn't know what my friend was getting at made me a little uncomfortable, and I was anxious for them to make their point.
"What do you pray about?" They asked this question with, what I sensed, a somewhat hesitant tone.
"Whatever is on my heart that morning, stuff that will be happening later that day, what I read in my quiet time, people I know, circumstances... stuff like that. Sometimes I write my prayers in my journal."
"When do you confess sin?" There was no hesitation in the asking this time, and though I wasn't sure if this was the point they were making, I got the impression that their question was just as much a statement as it was an inquiry.
For a moment I was dumbfounded. Confession of sin is not something that I necessarily planned into my prayer life, and I was a little ashamed to admit that. Inside, I scrambled to come up with a good answer. Floundering, I confessed my lack of confession. "I don't really set aside time each day to confess sin."
"Well then, when do you confess it?" Their tone was soft, non-accusational.
"Sometimes, when I get convicted about something, or right after I've done something I knew was wrong."
My friend, still not looking at me, quietly said, "I pray by my bed." The implication, though not directly stated, was that every morning they knelt beside their bed in prayer, and that these daily prayers included the confession of sin.
Gazing at my friend, I imagined it. They knelt as a physical symbol and conscious reminder of their humility before the God of the universe. They knelt, and on their knees they were aware of their smallness, their dependence on the mercy of God to even approach the throne. They knelt, daily recognizing their own sinfulness and their need for a Savior. They knelt, out of reverence, in the presence of the One who had the power to condemn them. The knelt, and in this position, an outward sign of their inward humility, they confessed their sins. Gazing at my friend, I imagined it.
When my friend first asked the question, "Where do you pray?" I failed to see the significance. Now, after considering the prayer habit of this friend, I realize that I have much to learn about prayer. Sometimes where you pray is just as important as how you pray. In fact, sometimes where you pray is simply a reflection of how you pray. In Luke 18 Christ tells a parable about a Pharisee and a tax collector. The pharisee prayed in public to be seen by men, reflecting the true motive and attitude of his prayer. The tax collector withdrew, and beat his breast in humility. A similar principle is found in Matthew 6:1-6.
I need much more of that humility in my prayer life, and have started to begin my days kneeling in prayer. On my knees, I have found that it is almost impossible not to be aware of my own smallness before God. Somehow the simple act of kneeling draws attention to that fact, and demands humility. Surprisingly, I have come to treasure that somewhat physically uncomfortable time on my knees. Though every day I may sigh at the thought of getting down there and having to get back up again, I have yet to regret it once I do.Labels: prayer, reflections