A Lesson from the Hy-Vee Deli

I've always dreaded the question, "So how can we pray for you?"

I don't have a good reason for this. It's not a bad question, and I don't fault those who ask it. Honestly, I wish I were more like them. That does not change the fact, however, that when I hear this I activate the invisible sequence of firing up personal privacy fences coupled with repeating "Danger! Danger!" alarms screeching in my soul, protecting my space from intruders. Perhaps it's a pride thing. Or a lack of faith thing. No, I'm not sure at all why I'm not all that excited to offer my prayer requests to a group of people, even those in the church who are called to pray with and for me. But I've cringe a little whenever my turn has come, when expectant eyes are on me, smilingly asking for me to bare my demons.

That gradually changed in the past year when I met with a handful of guys once a week for discussions in the biblical exposition course we were taking. At the end of those meetings, one individual was chosen as the subject of the concluding prayer. One by one and all together, we prayed for that individual around a table in the deserted Hy-Vee deli late on Wednesday nights.

The first time my turn came up, I privately bristled, loath to share, to reveal, to admit need, to discuss my hidden journeys. But I'm no liar. I hate fake, and my desire to keep it real with people I was going to have to learn to trust for the next several months trumped my discomfort. So I went ahead and spoke, offering up what most did not know, what perhaps I even kept from myself: my fears, my weaknesses, my pride, and all that I knew I could not do on my own. It was an important step. I soon realized the power of prayer.

I don't say that because anything really went the way I wanted it to. In many ways 2014 was an exercise in learning that "Thy will be done" rather than "My will be done" is a not so subtle contrast in faith. No, I did not get the outcome my limited mind had hoped for in nearly every aspect of my life that I sought prayer from my classmates. The power of prayer did not reside in getting what I wanted. Rather, I found individuals willing to share in my struggle.

Towards the end of Paul's letter to the Romans, he writes to them, "I urge you, brothers and sisters. . . to join me in my struggle by praying to God for me" (15:30). Reading that passage this week was like reading it for the first time. Join me in my struggle, says Paul. In those words I saw a significant act of friendship.

Last month I wrote that eighty percent of friendship is just showing up. Praying for each other may just be much of the other twenty. To make someone else's struggle our own in the midst of our own seeking and struggling, to pause long enough to remember and care for them, and to carry around the knowledge that somewhere somebody is doing the same for you, certainly makes each struggle a very different struggle. I find myself asking, then, am I in a position to do this for my friends? Just as importantly, do I put myself in the position to allow them to do this for me? Am I willing to let others join me in my struggle? To join in theirs? Are you?

You can't do this for everyone. Nor should you. This is not a call for you and I to post every prayer request to Facebook or Twitter, or to pray for every individual you meet on the street. No, this is reserved for deep friendship, and act that states specifically and purposefully, "I am with you, and I want you to be with me. I will know your struggles, and you will know mine, and we will find joy in struggling together."

"Thy will be done," will still ultimately be our prayer. But perhaps much of His will for us is the rewards to be found in the act of joining with our friends.