In a world where “bigger is better,” it is hard to remember that most things — from skyscrapers to symphonies to prayers — begin small.  Consider the mustard seed and the portion of yeast, for example …

Romans 8:26-39; Matthew 13:31-33

Starting Small

The prayer hymn we are going to sing when I finish preaching is probably a better sermon than the one you are about to hear. So I’d like to begin by asking you to turn

to hymn #520, and read the first and second stanza with me:

Eternal Spirit of the living Christ,

I know not how to ask or what to say;

I only know my need, as deep as life,

and only you can teach me how to pray.

Come, pray in me the prayer I need this day;

help me to see your purpose and your will,

Where I have failed, what I have done amiss;

held in forgiving love, let me be still.

These are our voices, voicing the thought that begins today’s lesson from the book of Romans: “… for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with signs too deep for words. [Romans 8:26]

Prayers do not always come easily; sometimes they seem not to come at all. In the awkwardness of beginning a discipline of prayer, in the guilt at returning to the practice after a time away, in the clutch of grief or anger or despair, in the excitement of effort and success, in the strangeness of new life circumstances, in the sudden recognition of the audacity of addressing the one with no name but “I AM,” – in all of these moments, we are at a loss for prayer.

I say “a loss for prayer” instead of “a loss for words,” because, of course, prayer is not always a matter of words. Prayers can be made with our wordless longings, our mute emotions, our visual imaginations, our spiritual ears – in very many forms and faces. But sometimes the variety available to us is just another burden in our attempt to make contact with God, to converse or communicate, or just to take some companionable time together.

And so St. Paul (who wrote the letter to the young church in Rome), and Frank von Christierson (who wrote the text of the hymn) gently instruct us in the same way. When we cannot find the prayer that we want to pray, we can ask for one. This is advice that I also often give to people who are beginning in prayer, or whose prayer life has become stale: Pray for a prayer. We believe, after all, that God already knows what is on our hearts; sometimes it is clear that God knows our hearts and our longings far more accurately and compassionately than we know ourselves. And so we place before God our desire to pray.

This is a small start to a life of prayer. But Jesus teaches us that small starts are valuable in spite of their apparent size. The mustard seed, he says, is the smallest of all seeds, but when it is grown it is the greatest of shrubs and even becomes a tree. And a small amount of yeast, he goes on, is enough to leaven three measures of flours. What begins small can surprise us with its final size.

I have always loved both of these parables. I remember as a child being jealous of a friend who had a crystal charm on her charm bracelet that held a single mustard seed. And I used the parable of the leaven and the flour in a job application several years before I came to Northfield, as a way of describing how the United Church of Christ might be a powerful change agent in the world, in spite of its relatively small size.

And because I love them I have to tell you that both of these stories are very odd. The mustard seed, if truth be told, is not the smallest of the seeds. It is small, but by no means the smallest. And when it grows, it becomes a shrub, and not a tree. Moreover, it is not a particularly large tree – certainly not large enough for a bird of any size to make a nest. As for the yeast – well, the Jewish people to whom Jesus was speaking had a feeling about yeast that was at best complex. They ate bread made with yeast, but their bread of ritual, for the Feast of the Passover, was made without leavening in memory of their flight from Egypt. Yeast was often spoken of as a symbol of corruption, or at least of contamination, and homes were cleansed of every bit of leaven before the Seder meal began. Mustard seeds and yeast are, indeed, fine examples of small things that grow large – but the parables about them may have left their first listeners scratching their heads a little bit.

Asking for a prayer is not the only small way to begin a discipline of prayer, however. Another way is to join in the prayers of other people. We do that when we offer a union prayer, as we do each week for our prayer of confession, and often for our prayer of dedication. And we do that when we listen to the prayer requests that are made during the “Joys and Concerns.”

Today, we are going to be more explicit about our practice of praying together about the Joys and Concerns. I will follow my usual practice of repeating the requests that are made, but I will finish each one by saying “.. and we join him/her: …” to which the congregation will reply, “Your prayer is our prayer now.” My partner Jean and I were introduced to this format when we worshipped last April in a small UCC congregation in Tampa Florida. I was struck by how clearly these words expressed our hope that when joys and concerns are shared, they become the prayers of all who are present. I know we may feel awkward the first few times we pray together in this way, but I hope it will also serve to remind us of the ways that we support one another in praying, as well as in prayer.

If St. Paul is any example, our small prayers may lead us to faith that is larger than a tree and more nourishing than bread. He asks, rhetorically, “Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril or sword?” [Romans 8:35]

The answer, famously, is “no:”

For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. [Romans 8:38-39]

These are big words. There are few affirmations of faith more lyrical, more persuasive, more powerful than these. Sometimes I think that these should permanently become our closing words on Sunday mornings, so that we would carry their deep conviction in our mouths and our ears when we leave. I often read them as part of funeral services, as a testimony to the strength and endurance of God’s love, even in the midst of terrible grief and loss.

Only a few people of faith come to these big words easily. Most of us circle around these categories, always suspicious that there really is something we could do, something we could be, something we could think or imagine that would make us unlovable in the eyes of God. We hear Words of Assurance after our prayer of confession, but the words sound less potent than the errors we have made, the selfishness and greed we have acted on, and the injustices to which we have been complicit. The truth of God’s mercy is almost too much to bear.

And so in that, too, we would do well to start small. Acknowledge, for today, that there is nothing you can do or say, think or imagine, that will separate you from God. Acknowledge, for today, that your small, tentative, hesitant prayer – perhaps even your half-hearted request for a prayer – will be heard, will be cherished, will be enough.

Amen.

Prayer for July 27, 2008

Almighty and everlasting God, creator of things both seen and unseen, hear now our silent prayers, as we open our hearts to you in the sacred quietness.

God of faith and hope, we bring before you our prayers for those we have named this morning – we especially remember … Bring to each of them the gifts of mercy and grace that are most needed, according to your wisdom and love.

God of all our days, this morning we ask for your presence and guidance on our spiritual journeys, our explorations of faith, and our struggles with religion.

You have sent us your Holy Spirit, but it is usually hard for us to hear the whisper of the Spirit in all the noisiness of our lives. Teach us to find the inner quiet that makes it possible to hear your still small voice, and strengthen our discipline to enter that quiet more often and more regularly.

You have sent us prophets to remind us of the dangers of human pride, power, and greed, but it is hard for us to heed them in the midst of a world that rewards these traits more often than it punishes them. Give us the clarity to see with a prophet’s eyes and to recognize the injustices that are around us; give us the prophet’s voice to speak truthfully and forcefully about them; and give us the prophet’s persistence to carry forward the work of peace, justice, and reconciliation.

You have sent us saints to provide models of healthy piety and holy lives, but it is hard for us to follow them in a world that makes light of things that cannot be seen or heard, bought or sold, won or lost. And so we pray for the courage to live simple and prayerful lives, celebrating the sacredness of the creation around us and the blessedness of the people around us. Grant us the grace of unselfconscious faith – faith that is expressed without apology but also without arrogance or haughtiness.

You have called us into your church, but it is hard to maintain a community of faith without becoming just another club or organization. Fill us with a passion for the Good News of the Gospel so that it infuses life into all that we do, and fill us with humility for all of the errors and omissions that we make along the way.

All these things we pray in the name of the one who invites us on the journey of faith, and whose life shows us the way of humility, compassion, and peace, even Jesus Christ, and we pray together now in the words that he taught us …