Our New Departure (Brooks)/Chapter 12
It was remarked in our second chapter that we are not a praying people, in the sense in which this phrase is commonly employed; that is, that the custom of family, social, or stated private prayer, does not, to any considerable extent, prevail among us, for the reason that there is no prevailing sense of duty in these directions. I should be heartily glad if the facts were otherwise; but no one familiar with our history will venture to say that the statement is not true. Many causes have contributed to make it true, most of which have been sufficiently set forth in preceding pages, especially in our Survey of the Field, and in the opening of the chapter on Experimental Religion. Prayer is one of the conditions and helps of experimental religion. It naturally shared, therefore, in the cheapening and neglect of this whole side of the Christian life consequent upon the disgust of our fathers at the pietistic cant and formalism of their time, and their inevitable reaction from them. Nor should it fail to be noted in this connection that, so constantly appealing to reason as for so many years we were, in our battle against the creeds, the habit into which we thus fell of rationalizing and philosophizing about everything led to a much too exclusively intellectual interpretation of religion, and particularly to speculations as to how prayer can be of use, not at all conducive to a prayerful frame of soul.
The result was precisely what might have been expected. With a view of God and an interpretation of Christianity which should have so stirred our hearts as to make us the most devout and prayerful of all Christians, we became, not undevout in the sense of indifference to religion, as religion was understood, but of all Christians probably, among those least given to any signs of religious emotion, and least addicted to the habit of prayer. Since I entered the ministry, it was not usual to find family prayer even in the homes of our ministers, while a family altar in a Universalist layman's home was a thing almost unheard of. The home in which I was reared—reared most tenderly and carefully—was a fair type of the best Universalist homes in this respect, my mother being a church-member, of devout mind and heart, and my father, though not a church-member, a most upright and scrupulously conscientious man, whom, to the last, nothing but serious illness could keep from his place at church, so long as he could get there. The children were trained to revere and read the Bible, to honor the Sabbath, to love and practise goodness, and to 'go to meeting' with punctilious regularity. But—saving that we children, in our earliest days, were taught to 'say our prayers' every night on going to our pillows—the voice of prayer was never heard in our home, except, when the minister was with us to 'say grace' at table. And this, so far as my knowledge extended, was the universal rule among us as a people. Things have changed for the better with us, in this as in many other particulars, during these later years. We have grown much in devoutness of spirit, and in those habits of prayerfulness in which such a spirit most naturally expresses itself. We are yet, however, very far from having outgrown these early traditions and reactionary ideas—so that, were our census taken to-day, family altars would still be found much too rare, and more ministers' homes even would probably be reported as without a daily religious service than we should wish to see frankly stated to the world.
Without going into further detail to show why, then, I am confident no serious-minded person will dispute the assertion that, among our most pressing needs, is the need of a New Departure in respect to Prayer—i. e. it being conceded that prayer is ever of any real use. This, of course, is the previous question; but it is not a question with those who will read what is here written, or for whom it is specially intended. With them, the propriety of prayer—at least to some extent—is not open to debate. They would not see it dispensed with in our Sabbath services, at the marriage altar, in the chamber of the sick, or at the burial of the dead. They not only recognize, but, if need be, would insist upon, its fitness on these and various special occasions. The basis on which this chapter proceeds is thus fully conceded. For if we should pray at all, it can only be because there is, for some reason, use and power in prayer. What mummery all praying is if so much as this be not true! And if there be use or power in praying at all, then the more we have of prayer of the right sort, under suitable circumstances, the larger the measure of use it will serve,—the greater the degree of power it will impart. Public prayer being well, then why not private prayer? If prayer in the church, why not in the home? if prayer in the pulpit, why not in the closet? if prayer on special occasions, why not as the habit of life? By so much as it is ever of service anywhere, in any way, they clearly are losers who neglect it. And if we have not heretofore sufficiently considered these things,—as it is certain we have not, and therefore have neglected to avail ourselves as we might have done of this means of spiritual culture and spiritual power, what can be plainer than that we should hereafter, in a New Departure, more largely and wisely employ it?
It must be confessed that the question, How is Prayer of use? is the perplexing one in respect to this subject. Because of the embarrassment this occasions them, some who try more or less to believe in prayer—speaking now without reference to church lines or names—do not believe nearly as strongly as they desire; while many others who would be glad to believe do not believe in it at all. The question, it is true, is one often asked in a trifling or sneering way by those without any sincerity or earnestness of thought concerning the subject, and who have no purpose except to throw contempt or ridicule upon it. So asked, the question deserves no reply. But others ask it with sincere concern; and it is a question that can scarcely fail to urge itself at some time upon every reflecting mind, however devout. God, the reasoning is, is unchangeable; the laws of nature are established; and neither He, in His feelings or plans, nor nature in its course, is to be affected or changed by any pleadings or wishes of ours. How, then, can prayer find any actual hearing, or avail to bring us anything different from what we should have or experience without it? The question is one the complete answer of which involves elements necessarily beyond our comprehension. It belongs, moreover, to the metaphysical rather than to the practical side of the subject, and so does not fall properly within the particular design of these pages. And yet, considering the peculiar nature and importance of the point, I cannot forbear a few words of suggestion concerning it.
There is a view of the subject which seeks to avoid the difficulty this question, How? presents, by affecting to affirm the use of prayer, and at the same time alleging that it avails nothing with God,—only does us good on the same principle that religious meditation serves to strengthen, soothe and uplift us. This theory has found some advocates among us. But it seems to me—and I think I may say, to nearly all of us—a theory most unsatisfactory, and every way open to objection. No really devout mind can fail instinctively to shrink from it, and protest against it. Not only does it deny the Psalmist's statement that God heareth prayer,—i. e. hears in some sympathizing and responsive sense,—and equally deny Christ's repeated assurances to the same effect, but it makes prayer a travesty of devotion as actually as though there were no God. The essence of prayer, as prayer, is earnest and sincere asking, in the expectation of somehow receiving. But, on this theory, any such asking is impossible. This theory being true, one might as well kneel before a post or a brick wall, and talk to it, expecting it to bestow something,—might as well address himself to the name of God, believing there is no such Being,—as to call on God, expecting to receive anything from Him; Christ's precious words of promise, "Ask, and ye shall receive; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you," convey an implication that imposes a lie upon us; and every time God is addressed in the attitude and words of prayer, as if He heard and answered, a hollow pretence is acted that, were it not so impious, would justify a smile because it is so ludicrous. It is as if a child, wishing for some gift, should solemnly kneel and call on its mother to give, knowing that she is a thousand miles away, and can neither hear nor respond! Or, still more like perhaps, it is as if one, desiring to scale a mountain, should stand in a basket, trying to lift himself by going through the motions of pulling at a rope which he knows does not exist, but which he plays is dangling from the sky and fastened to the basket, all the while invoking the aid of some deaf or helpless friend! One at all realizing what such a view implies would find any heart or earnestness in prayer impossible, or if, going through its form in a momentary glow of devotional feeling, he should be suddenly struck with a becoming sense of what he was doing, would inevitably collapse in laughter, or sink to the ground, unspeakably shocked at the mockery in which he was engaged. "He that cometh to God," it is written, "must believe that He is, and that He is a rewarder of them that diligently seek Him;" and there is, and can be, no prayer except as, in accordance with this, the soul calling on God feels that His ear is open to it, and that, in some way, its aspirations and requests will have response from Him.
What, then, are we to say to this question, How? In effect, as the subject presents itself to my thought, something like this: that neither God's unchangeability, nor the established course of nature, renders it either impossible, unreasonable, or improbable that blessings are given in answer to prayer which are not to be had without it. There are blessings which come to us without any use of means on our part; but there are others—among them, most of those that are of special importance—which we can have only through our own action. This is undeniably a part of the plan on which the world is governed, as is seen in the relation of sowing to reaping in the natural world, and in the equally apparent relation of effects to causes everywhere. Does our sowing of seed, or our active efforts towards any desirable end, involve or imply any change of God's plans or feelings, or any interruption of the order of nature, as a condition of the result we seek? Why, then, is any such change or interruption necessarily implied in the supposition of answers to prayer? Rather, considering who and what God is in His relations to us, if there really be a God, is not every presumption in favor of the supposition that in this grand system of means, on our use of which life's best things depend, prayer is one? Spiritual blessings are the most legitimate objects of prayer; and it seems to me easy to see the connection between them and prayer as the means of obtaining them. And, though it may not be so easy to detect the precise connection between our petitions and what we pray for when we supplicate for the sick, the sinful, or the absent, or ask for health, or pray to be shielded from danger, or to be prospered in our undertakings, it is not difficult to conceive that God may have so arranged the possible relations and dependence of events as to be able to respond to such prayers when earnestly and believingly offered, without any change of feeling, or any violence to nature, or His own wise ways.
This subject, unfortunately, is one concerning which thought is quite too much merely superficial and mechanical, in its conception of God and His methods. It is important that we should duly keep in mind the fact of man's freedom; but it is even more important that we should take care not to overlook or compromise the grander fact of God's freedom. Because this fact fails to be properly taken into account, there is, in the habits of thinking quite too widely prevalent touching this whole matter of God's connection with us, not a little virtual Atheism. We hear a great deal about the laws of nature, and the established chain of causation, and the inviolable order of things; and there are those who never weary in insisting that it is not at all probable that this machine-like fixity and succession of events ever has been, or ever will be, intermitted in answer to anybody's prayers. We have heard of the proposed 'test of prayer.' We have become familiar with the loud and confident loquacity of what calls itself 'Science,' about the superstition and folly of those who still cherish any faith in prayer, or its possible efficacy. And let it be confessed that, amidst much that offends and shocks, some things are said by those who indulge in these diversions which are worth considering. But, whatever the terms employed,—whatever the point from which the debate or denunciation proceeds, what have we, when we get at the bottom of all these discussions and tirades, but this as their final substance and real meaning—that God, if there be a God, is, practically, the slave of His own appointments, or of co-ordinate 'natural laws,' because they everywhere master, restrain, or hedge Him in? If the despotically naturalistic, or 'scientific' view of the universe so pretentiously urged recognizes God at all as an actual element in human life, it is only remotely and indirectly. In effect, He is utterly excluded. No place is left for His vital presence, for the exercise of His instant and solicitous care, or for the play of His immediate mercy in our concerns. And what is this but a modified Atheism? Atheism only tells us that there is no God; and why might we not just as well go to this extent, so far as all our present or personal interests are involved, as to believe that if there be a God, He is nothing, immediately, to us, and has, directly, no hand in our affairs?
I will not here assume to speak for others; but for myself, I am free to say, my intellect and my affections alike revolt from such an approach to Atheism, in such an expulsion of God from our daily life and interests. I believe in Law, and see abundant occasion to thank God that what we call His laws are so uniform and reliable in their operations. But I believe in no Law paramount to Almighty God. Either He is above all Law, except the law of honor and right, or He is not God. I do not believe in a God whose hands are hampered, whose volitions are hindered, whose living presence is caged behind any Law, or any set of Laws, existing by His ordinance, or otherwise. The God to whom my reason conducts me, that my heart yearns for, and that Nature and Providence and the Bible, as I interpret them, give me, is—not a cold and distant Sovereign, who deals with me at second-hand, through the unsympathizing mechanism which He has set to running and then retired, but a Father, numbering the very hairs of my head; without whose notice not even a sparrow falls, and who, near me always, is constantly and tenderly immanent in my life and in all lives for good.
Laws, do you say? What, finally, are these 'laws of nature' of which we hear so much, and of which we should never fail to make due account,—forces and processes independent of God, or the methods in which He works? "rigid statutes, or flexible expressions of the Infinite Will"? As it has been well asked, "What informs and controls them? Is it the mechanical obedience of springs and wheels and repulsive and attractive forces? or is it the instant and universal presence of Divine Intelligence, Love, and Power?" If the latter, then there is no such thing as a mechanical, general Providence, with a Deity withdrawn from Life, content to look on with folded hands and see the great clock-work go on as He has arranged and wound it up. All Providence is special, and God's relations to the world and to us are direct and immediate. He is "instant as well as constant" everywhere. The universe is vital with His presence. Planets move and systems revolve in the grasp of His hand, and the events of history and the experiences of life transpire in the sight of His eye, to be overruled and used as He sees best. Laws, in the sense of fixed methods, there are; order there is; but it is 'law and order' that, instead of excluding Him, only shows us what He is doing—where and how His all-pervading and marvelous energy ordinarily expends itself, admitting any other manifestation of His will and work whenever, for any reason, it may seem to Him good.
These observations are made with no idea of offering them as a thorough discussion of the question they touch, but simply by way of suggestion—to hint that a philosophical, and even 'scientific,' explanation may be given of the use of prayer, implying no change in God, or violent interruption of the course of nature. For if there be any force in these considerations—and how can there be a free, self-acting, immanent God unless there is force in them?—God, they show us, if He sees reason to do so, can "give direct answer to our prayer—that answer being, not a violation of, or a departure from, the laws of nature,—only one of the legitimate results and manifestations of these laws."
After all, however, our faith in prayer must rest, finally, on other than any grounds of mere reasoning, or it will not be very strong. Philosophize as we may, there are still questions concerning it—as concerning numerous other facts, not only in religion, but in science and the phenomena of nature—easy to ask, but impossible of human answer. These other facts, however, are none the less accepted, though we cannot answer all possible questions concerning them. Who the less believes in God because, in so many respects, a curious and speculative reason searches in vain to find Him out? Or who the less concedes the reality of the rainbow, or the gorgeous scintillations of the aurora borealis, because every link in the chain of their causation cannot be mathematically described? It is, therefore, nothing to the discredit of prayer though we have to grant, as we must after all our theorizing about it, that its innermost philosophy belongs to the domain of infinite and not of finite thought, and that our confidence in its efficacy must rest, at last, on something firmer than any mere argument concerning it, and deeper than any ability of ours to explain it. In granting this, we simply say that prayer belongs in the same category as all these other facts, and that faith in it is not so much a matter of reason, or of science, as it is of intuition, experience and actual demonstration.
While, then, it is well for us to give some consideration to the question, How is prayer of use? it is not the part of wisdom for us to perplex ourselves, or to allow ourselves to be perplexed, with inquisitive speculations about it. It is enough that prayer is of use, and that by an innate impulse, like that which impels the child to cling to the protection of its mother, we are moved, particularly in every season of deepest need and of highest moral consciousness, to avail ourselves of it. Here is the impregnable basis for faith in prayer. Prayer, in some form, is an instinct of our nature. Every religious sentiment prompts it. Everything in the shape of religious instruction enjoins it. The Bible, especially, is full of injunctions, urging it as a duty, as well as of declarations and promises, assuring us of its power. Unless, then, our nature is mocking us by suggesting what is only a farce, and unless the Bible is dealing falsely with us, and all the noblest lives it records and that are elsewhere recorded are fitted only to deceive us, prayer is not simply an instinct, but a duty, a privilege and a means to important ends not otherwise to be attained.
On this basis we are to stand, "continuing instant in prayer," whatever the questions we can ask but cannot answer concerning it, assured that "the effectual, fervent prayer . . . availeth much." Much good is lost to us because of a too curious disposition to inquire and speculate about the rationale of things—as if one should stand before a rosebush, and decline to pluck a flower, or to enjoy the fragrance, until he can tell exactly how the flower grows, and how its perfume comes. It is so with many persons, particularly in this matter of prayer. As some one has well said, "Philosophy asks a reason for the efficacy of prayer, and, waiting for an answer, never prays at all. Religion, wiser, hears that God will be inquired of by us, thankfully bends the knee, and bears away the blessing." There are not lacking numerous facts which serve to show that prayer may avail, even in respect to the restoration of health, the relief of hunger, the conversion of the wayward, and the whole class of blessings to which these belong. John Murray's Life furnishes several incidents that point strongly in this direction; and a multitude of examples of the same nature, and of great interest, might be gathered from the fields of history and biography. Nor, though some choose to sneer at it as a piece of charlatanry, is the case of George Müller, and the work he has done, without very serious claims on our consideration in this connection. Not to affirm anything positively in respect to this side of the subject, however,—for the reason, I am frank to confess, that it is not altogether clear to my own mind precisely how much is to be affirmed,—it is enough now to say that, as regards all our moral and spiritual interests,—as regards religious strength and growth and peace, and all that most concerns us as souls,—prayer is not only an irrepressible instinct in every hour of exposure, suffering, or grateful emotion, but has effectually demonstrated its use in the results that have followed it ever since man first poured his petitions into the ear of God.
Let it be admitted that there are those who pray who seem to be in no way benefited by their prayers. But saying the words of prayer is not praying. There are hypocrites in prayer, as in every other good thing. There are those, too, who pray only prayers of custom, necessity, or form—not hypocritical prayers, but perfunctory prayers, in which there is no earnestness, no vitality, no soul,—mere drudgery in the way of spiritual exercise. We cannot tell, indeed, how much worse those would be who thus pray without becoming any better, if they did not pray after this poor fashion; but it is the one sufficient answer to all such seeming instances of the inutility of prayer, that it is the prayer, not of the hypocrite, or of the formalist, but of the devout and earnest soul, to which the promise is given, and the effect of which we must observe if we would test the use of prayer.
And, thus judged, what is the verdict concerning the efficacy of prayer? Who have been the world's noblest workers,—the world's most triumphant sufferers,—the world's grandest heroes,—the world's most robust and impressive examples of virtue? Who but those who have been made so by the helpful and uplifting power of prayer? And, through the ages, among all those who have prayed as a child throws itself upon the bosom of its mother, clasping God's hand, and reposing their heads on His breast in love and trust and holy communion, desiring His grace and blessing, where can one be found of whom it can be said, Here is a man or woman who derived no good from prayer? What would Abraham, or Moses, or Samuel, or David, or Isaiah have been without prayer? What would John, or Paul, or Peter have been without prayer? Without prayer, where would have been the character and achievements which we now venerate in any of the sainted souls who shine as suns and stars in the moral firmament of history? Nay, without prayer, how could he who stands before us in the life so beautiful and yet so sublime, towering so far above all merely human excellence, have been the Christ he was? It is to such examples that those should look who cite the fact that hypocrites and formalists pray, and seemingly pray in vain, to prove that it does no good to pray. These are God's demonstrations that there is good in earnest, real prayer; God's witnesses that whoever asks receives; the providential confirmations of His fidelity to His promise, that no soul sincerely seeking good from Him shall be turned away empty.
To these and similar examples, then, all who have any moral earnestness, desiring to grow better themselves, and to see the Church of Christ, of any and of all names, becoming mightier for its conflict with evil, should put themselves to school. Reasoning and speculating, the theory of the subject may not be as transparent to us, in its depths, as we would be glad to see it; but these examples make the facts undeniable and clear. Better than the most subtile philosophy, more convincing than the ablest argument, they are the practical proofs that it is not useless to pray. Prayer, they certify us, is the medium through which God comes nearest to us, pouring most of himself into our being. As the hymn well says,—
Or, as another hymn says,—
Prayer is the nutriment of faith; the inspiration to endeavor; the means of consolation in sorrow; the ladder of Jacob, on which we climb into higher light, into a riper character, into a sweeter peace. In proportion as prayer is neglected, religious interest decays; all the elements of Christian experience wither; its best resources fail. Worldliness supplants thoughtfulness and devotion. The richest graces of the Christian life languish. The lethargy of indifference steals over the soul. Spiritual death ensues, and there is necessarily an utter lack of spiritual power. On the other hand, in proportion as we pray, every moral purpose is strengthened. God's presence is felt. Christ's preciousness is understood. Immortality becomes more real. Every spiritual resource is augmented. Our faults and sins are mourned with more poignant feeling, and conquered in a completer victory. More and more, we are made vital with the life of God, and, in harmony with Him, attain on earth something of heaven.
True, we often ask for what we do not receive; and, as often as we do, those who disparage prayer eagerly exclaim, There, see how futile all your praying is! But not so. With every prayer we offer, if we pray aright, whatever the special thing for which we plead, we pray for a clearer knowledge of God, for a deeper sense of His loving presence, for a trust and reconciliation more entire, for grace and fortitude to bear whatever may be appointed us, saying always, "Thy will, not ours, be done." Grant, then, that the specific thing for which we plead is not bestowed,—that the calamity or misfortune we would be spared comes,—that the good we crave is denied: if through our prayer, and because of it, we attain a higher frame of soul, becoming calmer, more self-possessed, stronger to bear the cross, or to pass through the trial, does not our prayer prove effectual, and vindicate its worth, notwithstanding? Though one request is denied, another—and, if we have faith in God, we must believe, that which, under the circumstances, is best for us—is granted. Thus it was with Christ. His whole life was a prayer, and the record tells us, especially, how he prayed and even agonized in Gethsemane. His sensitive nature shrank from the terrible ordeal before him,—from the buffetings of the judgment-hall and the tortures of the cross. And so he prayed, "Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as Thou wilt." Over and over again, he prayed that prayer. But it was not granted. The cup from which he so recoiled did not pass from him. For our sake, he drained it to its dregs. But was his prayer, therefore, in vain? Who will say so? God's will was done; and as it was done, through that prayer there came to the tried and shrinking soul of the sufferer a sense of God, and a serene submission to His will, which enabled him to take up his cross and go trustfully to his death, making the mount of agony the throne of triumph.
And so prayer always proves effectual, when offered in the right spirit—if not in one way, then in another. Standing at the entrance of some path of trial, which we shrink from entering, we may ask to be saved from the necessity of walking there;—bending above the bed of some dear child or friend, we may plead that the life so precious may be continued;—amidst our honorable struggles for success, we may ask God to prosper us;—bowed with disease, racked with pain, suffering in poverty, we may pray for the relief we yearn for, and, as in Christ's case when he so besought that his cup might pass from him, our request may not be granted. But if, in that spirit of trust and submission which he exhibited, and which is of the very essence of all true prayer, our petitions have gone up to the Father, they shall bring us, though not the thing which was the burden of our request, yet such help and strength as will show that His ear is not closed, nor His hand withheld. Through that path of trial we shall be able to walk patient, resigned, serene. Above the cold form of the dear one we would have retained, we shall be aided to stand, and fold the cold hands across the breast as cold, and smooth the hair above the brow we have kissed, and take the last look at the face that has so often and so tenderly been pressed to ours, and through it all, though our eyes are full of tears and our heart is aching with the terrible sense of its loss, we shall see the light of heaven making the grave beautiful, and feel God's support, and rejoice in the grace that is sufficient for us. Amidst our disappointed plans and our wrecked hopes, we shall still look up, rejoicing that God is over all; and, though languishing in sick rooms, and turning uneasily in our pain, we shall find that, through the sweetness of our converse with Him, God's ministering angels are visiting us, and that courage and trust are given to endure what we would escape, but cannot.
And these, and such as these, are the effectual answers to prayer, which make it most a privilege and best attest its use. It is permitted us to go to God in the freedom of filial confidence, asking for what we will, if we but ask in submission to His wise and holy pleasure; but the blessings which enrich, enlarge, and fortify the soul, lifting us towards God and making us more perfectly His children—vigor of moral purpose; the sense of nearness and acceptance; the experience of Divine support; strength in weakness; comfort in the hour of affliction; light in darkness; victory over our hinderances and our sins,—the blessings which keep us in fresh and constant contact with spiritual realities, and thus give us increasing power and unction from on high—these are the blessings most desirable, and which, sincerely offered, prayer never fails to bring. No matter how, or when, or where we pray, if we truly pray, down through the windows of heaven which our prayers, ascending, have opened, God will shed these gifts upon us, so proving the efficacy of prayer, according to the measure of our faith, the earnestness of our purpose, the submissiveness of our spirit, the continuousness of our supplications.
Profoundly convinced of the truth of these several statements, and as profoundly convinced, therefore, of the incalculable importance of this subject to all, and to none more than to us as individuals and as a Church, I urge it, with the intensest emphasis I can command, upon the serious consideration of every Universalist to whom these pages come. Are you, whose eyes are now resting on these words, a praying man or woman? If the head of a family, have you a family altar, at which, every day, God's word is read, and His name honored, and His love praised? If a father, or a mother, are you training your children to daily communion with God, and seeking thus to fill your home with the atmosphere of religious thoughtfulness and devotion? If a young man, or a young woman, are you realizing your exposures and your needs, and, every morning or evening, going to the Source of light and strength for the guidance and support you require? Young, middle-aged, or old, whatever your position or relations, have you your closet and your hour of prayer? And are you thus endeavoring to fulfil the deepest requirements of your own personal life, and, so far as your influence can go, to make our Church vital with the spiritual effluence that prayer alone invokes, and mighty with the power that only prayer can give? If so, pray on, growing more and more fervid and earnest. If not, let me plead with you, if you have any actual interest in religion, and wish to have more,—if on your conscience presses, or begins to press, any sense of your religious needs, or obligations,—if the story of Christ's life and death awakens any concern in your heart, and you have any love for him or his Gospel, or any desire to help on his kingdom in the conversion of souls, or in your own growth—or in the growth of your children, if you have any—in his discipleship, feel what prayer is, and henceforth give yourself to it. If our Lord himself felt the need of prayer, and saw it important that he should use it as a means of furthering his kingdom, who of us is superior to the necessity which he thus confessed, or, avowing faith in the truth he taught, should be unwilling to employ the same means to the same great end?
Especially would I plead with those having children under their charge, to reflect upon this subject. We defraud our children of an important element in the preparation for life, when we fail to make prayer and every means of religious impression a part of their education. A thoughtful and sensitive child—now a young lady—some years ago read "Home Influence," and, talking with friends in presence of her parents about its story of the power of family prayer, supplemented by a consistent religious example, to chasten and hallow the lives of children, sadly said, "We have no such influence in our home, mother." Who can tell how much she was surprised and shocked at the contrast she thus noted, or how much was lost to her life because her home had been without this influence? Quite of another sort was the remark of a young woman—a wife and a mother—far away from the home of her childhood, who, writing on her birthday to her mother, said, "On every birthday that comes to me now away from you, I do so miss father's morning prayer, asking God's care over me for another year! It always gave me a sense of blessedness to carry through the year, and the feeling that God took me anew under His guiding hand." Can there be any doubt what family prayer had been as an element in her life? Or, with these two instances before us,—samples of numberless similar cases,—can there be any difference of opinion among thoughtful minds as to which did most for those in it—the home that had no influence of prayer, or the home that had? O, if every Universalist home could but have its altar, and every Universalist believer his or her closet and hours of prayer, and our whole Church could but be pervaded by the new life and the fruits of Divine communion which would thus come to us, what a kindling there would be among us, and how the world would feel the glow and the impulse we should impart!
Let no one say that because
no words, or set times, are necessary; that every good wish is praying; and that whoever, at any time, or anywhere, thinks of God, or is moved by a devout thought or feeling towards Him, prays sufficiently for all practical purposes. This, for the most part, is the talk of those who have little faith in prayer, or who seldom or never pray—as the like talk that we can worship anywhere as well as in the House of Worship comes usually from those who seldom or never worship at all. It is talk that has never helped anybody, but has made many a life prayerless, and many a soul empty, and many a church, or congregation, a corpse. True, God can be worshipped anywhere; but, as the rule, He is worshipped only by those who have nurtured themselves, or been nurtured by others, in the mood and habit of worshipping in the place consecrated to this purpose. So there may be prayer, or converse with God, without words; and some of the sweetest hours in every religious experience are those when, with no petition on the lips,—with scarcely a distinct thought, except the thought of God, in the mind,—one becomes absorbed in ecstatic communion with the Divine Father, as two hearts, with no need of words, sometimes interfuse themselves into each other, feeling the flow of a subtile and delicious sympathy that, in its supreme and electric blessedness, would rather be jarred and broken than helped by any language which speech could frame. But these are exceptional seasons, alike in the relations of hearts to each other, and in the relations of souls to God. Ordinarily, words are needed if friends, however much in sympathy, are to be put into communication; and by a similar necessity, if souls are to hold intercourse with God, and prayer is really and availingly to be made, there must be set times for it, and we must accustom ourselves to put our requests into fit and articulate speech. Christ gave us words, saying, "After this manner pray ye:" shall we treat them as worthless? He put his own prayers into speech: are we more independent of it than he? He had his seasons for prayer: have we no occasion for what he thus required? No doubt he had his hours of exaltation and voiceless communion; but in this custom of spoken prayer, at stated times, as well as in the model he left, he indicated the law of necessity in the case. And it is for us to understand that the best results of prayer are not to be attained except as we comply with the conditions thus imposed, for the reason that we cannot otherwise best form the habit of prayer, nor most distinctly frame our thoughts and petitions into the mould of prayer.
As little does it avail for any one to say, I am diffident, or slow of speech, and shrink from attempting to lead in prayer, or find it impossible to command language, especially in the presence of others. No doubt there are those who can plead one or both of these statements with truth. But the difficulty, in any case, is rather imaginary than real. In this as in other things, facility, usually, comes with practice; and there are Books of Prayer within reach of all, while self-command and practice are being acquired. The most diffident, or the slowest of speech, can at least read a chapter in the Bible, or unite with others in reading it, and then either lead, or have some one else lead, in prayer, using a book. It is only the will to pray, one's self, or to institute family prayer, that is, under any circumstances, wanted. This determined, everything else will, in some way, easily follow. So in respect to the excuse, As we are situated, we cannot find a time for family prayer. If hearts hunger for prayer, the time will be found.
Prayer, it is true, does not fulfil all duty. Other things are important. Better a conscientious discharge of every moral obligation without prayer, so far as it is possible, than a life full of prayer and abounding in talk about religion, but empty of the evidence of a real regard for God or duty. Better homes in which the voice of prayer is never heard, if they are pervaded by a kindly and loving spirit, and a general endeavor to make them real homes by fidelity to every tender office, than homes with family prayer every night and morning, and filled with religious form and chatter, in which those who pray and profess to be devoted to religion make everybody uncomfortable by a morose or fractious temper, and by a general irreligiousness of manner and spirit. I once had a teacher who opened school every morning with a Bible-lesson and prayer; and, frequently, hardly had he said, Amen, when he would angrily throw the Testament out of which he had just been reading, or something else near his hand, at some scholar whom, through his glasses while praying, he had seen inattentive or disorderly. Need it be said that his praying did not avail much to fill us with respect for religion? So praying, anywhere, is only a burlesque of religion, doing more against than it can do for it, if there be not with it a temper, a manner, a general influence in keeping with it, or at least a constant and manifest effort to put the substance of religion into character and daily life. But while all this is true as to the necessity of something besides prayer, it is also true that neither by individuals, nor by a Church, are the best things to be attained except through prayer—fervent, intelligent, consistent prayer. This is the lesson that all churches and multitudes of no church have need to learn, and that none have more occasion than we,—that few have so much as we, to learn. What the world wants of us—the destiny that God is proffering us—is, that we shall be the revolutionizing, regenerating, quickening Church of the Future, gathering into itself the choicest resources of spiritual influence, and sending out this influence for the salvation of our race. But we cannot be this except as we become more generally, and with increased fervor and unction, a praying people—with praying fathers and mothers in our homes; with praying superintendents and teachers in our Sunday-schools; with praying young men and young women in our congregations; with praying ministers and members in our churches.
Shall we not, then, have the New Departure we so much need in this respect? Preach about it, O brethren of the ministry. Talk about it, O teachers in the Sunday-school. Enforce it as alike a privilege and a duty, by word and by example, O believers all. Then shall a new day open for us, as, taking our New Departure, we become filled with a new impulse, and go forward with new energy, to larger and grander results.