Telling the Truth

“O sinners let’s go down, Down in the river to pray. ”  The lyrics of this haunting song echo in my head when I think about my life on the river.*  An eerie juxtaposition of natural beauty and heavy-laden humanity.

The topic is prayer.  As an 8-year old, I think we already have more than enough of it in our family.  But it seems there’s room for more.  Here it is, all laid out from my point of view.

Easiest Prayers
Bedtime Prayers with each of us girls as we were falling asleep.  These prayers were quick, short and to the point.  ‘Thank you God for watching over me during the day.  Please forgive me of all my sins, and give me good rest so I’m ready for tomorrow.  In Jesus’ name, Amen.’  A goodnight kiss and hug, a tug at the covers to make sure I’m cozy, then lights out.

Mealtime Prayers for the food we are about to eat–whether we like it or not.  Also quick, short and to the point.  Everybody’s hungry!  It almost doesn’t matter what we say, just so we say a sincere ‘Thank you, God,’ and ‘Amen’ at the end.  When we get older we sometimes remember to thank God for the hands that prepared the food.

Farewell/Travel Prayers for our family before we start the car up for a long trip; for family members going away to summer camp or special trips; for visitors or house guests before they leave.  ‘Dear God, please watch over them and keep them safe while they travel and are away from us.  In Jesus’ name, Amen.’  Then farewell hugs, handshakes and sometimes kisses and a few tears.

Special Occasion Prayers like when we get an unexpected check in the mail so we can buy food or other things that are running out; or finding ourselves on a vacation trip out in the middle of nowhere with a flat tire or dead battery; or if one of us is very sick and not getting well.  Definitely designer prayers for each occasion, but with a similar theme:  ‘Thank you God that you know all about what we need so please send us help now, and thank you for taking care of us no matter what happens.  In Jesus’ name, Amen.’

Most Hated Prayers
Post-beating Prayers of Confession that I’ve already described quite enough right here.  I can’t remember what I said to God, but God knows I was sometimes lying to save my skin.  I was just saying whatever Daddy wanted me to say—even though I didn’t believe it was the whole truth and nothing but the truth.  I know God understood.  I’m just making sure you, my dear Reader, also understand. Thank you.

Scariest Prayers
Stormy Weather Prayers that I pray when the weather is so bad I’m afraid it’s going to crash right through the walls of the house and destroy me and everybody else.  The Deep South must be a flash point for lightening, thunder and terrifying wind whipping through the trees at night.  ‘Dear God, please help us get through this stormy night.  I don’t want to die just yet.  And I don’t want any of my family members to die, even though I got into arguments with some of them today.  In Jesus’ name, Amen.’

Weeping Prayers that I hear Daddy praying when he’s in his study.   Sometimes Mother sends me to tell him lunch or dinner is ready.  I can hear him through the door, weeping and crying out to God.  I knock timidly, not sure whether to interrupt him.  He tells me to come in.  I don’t ever go in, but I can see he’s kneeling on the floor beside a little cot in his office, and he has a great big handkerchief he’s been using to wipe away his tears.  But they’re still streaming down.  He always thanks me for bringing Mother’s message and says he’ll be there in a few minutes.  I can’t imagine why he’s crying and praying like this.  It scares me.

New for the South!  Daily Family Bible Reading and Prayers
Every weekday morning we clear the dining room table and stack the dirty dishes in the kitchen. Daddy opens his big Bible. I see him peek to see what we read yesterday.  (Isn’t that cheating?)  Who remembers what we read yesterday? I like memory games, and there’s no punishment if we get this question wrong. If needed, Daddy reminds us.

Then the fun part starts. I like this part.  If we know how to read, we get to take turns with Mother and Daddy reading the Bible. One person each day. Daddy’s goal is for us to read the Bible straight through, a little each day, from Genesis to Revelation. We don’t skip anything, even when it’s boring or embarrassing. Daddy helps us with names and places we don’t know how to pronounce.

Then Daddy quizzes us about what we just read or heard being read. If we can’t identify the children’s sermon in the text, he’s more than ready to deliver it. We listen obediently. We never contradict his children’s church sermons. They’re usually about obeying God and our parents, and loving each other.  Also being good and honest and repenting of our sins.

Now it’s time to pray. At Daddy’s direction, we bow our heads, close our eyes, and sit obediently until the last Amen. First one of us girls prays. Then Mother. Her prayers are longer than mine, but they don’t last forever and I can usually understand them. Then there are Daddy’s long, sad-sounding prayers that go on and on and on until I just want to go to sleep. God knows we have a lot of relatives and know a lot of missionaries. But do we have to do the roll-call every single day?

On the sunny side of things, this is how I learn to read out loud and to listen. I grow up loving to read the Bible. Most if it. On the less sunny side, my father’s prayers don’t help me learn to pray in my own voice.

Observations and Connections
It didn’t seem to matter whether he prayed at home or in church. My father’s prayers sounded the same: somber, full of pleading language, and heavy-laden with language about thee and thou who art in heaven. To my young ears it was exceedingly formal and painfully long. Was he afraid he might omit something or someone?

I struggled then and later to stay awake and alert. Most of it was repetitious—the same language patterns, tones of voice, and lists of requests. Every time he seemed to come to the end of one list of people, he got started on another.

Worst of all, my father’s prayers seemed to reflect negatively on my simple, halting, self-conscious prayers. I was always relieved when it was one of my sisters’ turns to pray out loud. I feared my father was analyzing and grading my prayers, and that they might be used against me. If I’d had a recent beating, was this his way of reinforcing the punishment? Making sure I was contrite and submissive to him?

As a child I feared praying out loud in front of my father. This only got worse when I became an adult.  Whenever he asked me to pray out loud (especially around the dinner table), my adult gut went into panic mode. He seemed to be intruding on me, forcing me to expose myself and my spirituality to him so he could check me out.

All my adult life I’ve been afraid to pray in public, not just in front of my father.  I’ve also feared my sexuality.  Somehow–I don’t know how–it seems connected to the beatings:  the shame I felt about having to expose myself; being forced to pray out loud in front of him after the beatings; and my deep fear that I’m a fraud.

• It’s the mid 1990s. I’m almost ready to leave the house for the seminary where I serve. I’m the main speaker at a public seminary event. I’m feeling a bit anxious, and decide to pray before leaving.  I’m not in the habit of kneeling to pray, but this time I choose to do so.  I kneel beside my bed, lean over and fold my hands in front of me. Immediately, without warning, my body explodes into gut-wrenching sobs—my body flashes back to my father’s beatings and the female body shame and humiliation of it all.  Emotionally I feel 8 years old; adrenalin is flooding through my body.  I sob, breathe deeply, and stand up.  I walk into the den, sit down on the sofa and address God just as I am:  God’s beloved daughter-child–a mature, responsible adult woman.

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*You can listen to this old slave song here.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 30 March 2014