Your kingdom come… Matthew 6:10
Have you ever been at a loss for words? Like, legitimately unable to find the words to speak? Moreover, do you ever find yourself at loss for words when it comes to prayer? As in, speaking with the Creator of the Universe? It is staggering when you think about it. That we have access to communicate with the God of Heaven and Earth through the ritual of prayer. There’s no test to take. There’s no contract to sign. Anyone and everyone has access to the throne room of God and… We are welcome there. He delights in our presence. He wants us to approach him and have communion with him. That’s why he sent Jesus… But wait… I’m getting a little ahead of myself. Let’s back up.
When I was 26 years old I flew from Portland to Nashville and then back home again. It was the first time I ever traveled alone. My reason for traveling to Nashville was to attend a convention and once I was in the hotel, I was surrounded by friends and colleagues. However, the entire flight and navigating from the airport to hotel was done on my own, alone, as a 26-year-old woman. It didn’t occur to me to be afraid. I think I was nervous, more about logistics than any inherent dangers. I simply took each set of tasks in turn getting myself from point-A to point-B in an unknown city, with no guide or guidance.
Nashville was beautiful and I remember falling in love with the green rolling hills that reminded me of the Pacific Northwest. I got to see the Grand Ole Opry and sat in the Ryman Auditorium. I spent my nights in the Opryland Resort Hotel and found an affinity for Lynchburg Lemonade. I strolled through “the District'' at night and gazed into Honky-Tonk bars in which the patrons and music seeped out onto the sidewalk late in the evening. I remember feeling the 90% humidity at midnight and saying I felt like I’d stepped into a sauna... But Nashville had a certain personality to it. It was alive and welcoming and to my young-untraveled mind, it felt like one of the most foreign places; loud and unwieldy, while also feeling like the most homey of places in its tempo and ease and comfort. Home and distant, strange and familiar, all at the same time.
At the end of my journey, when it was time to reverse my steps and return to the airport, I felt a pang of disappointment to be leaving Music City USA. But, as with most trips, I was anxious to be home in my own bed, with my own creature-comforts.
I boarded the airplane, found my designated seat (in the very last row), removed my paper-back novel and portable CD player (this was the 90s, y’all) from my carry-on, and buckled myself in for what I thought would be an uneventful trip. The first half was just that, we touched down in Cincinnati, Ohio without a problem. I stood for a moment or two to stretch my legs, but otherwise, patiently waited as passengers disembarked and new passengers boarded for the final leg from Cincinnati to Portland.
As we taxied and lifted off from Cincinnati, there was no visual or auditory clue of any concern. I did notice that our flight crew was less attentive and seemed to be involved in a lively discussion.
Several minutes into our flight, the pilot came on the intercom, as they are frequently known to do. But this time, it was not an announcement of cruising speed or ETA to our destination. Headwinds were not mentioned, neither were the meal options or the inflight movie. We were simply informed that the landing gear of our aircraft had failed to retract. That due to the additional drag the landing gear caused on the plane, we would not have enough fuel to make it to Portland. We would have to return to Cincinnati to have the situation rectified.
The pilot assured us that we were in no danger. However, he then proceeded to explain to us that there could be a slight chance, just a possibility, really, that the malfunctioning landing gear was not in a fully functional position. There was, again, a slight chance the apparatus would fail upon our landing and we would subsequently connect with the Earth on the belly of our plane… We would need to take emergency landing procedures… Assume emergency positions... There would be emergency vehicles dispatched to the tarmac for the possibility, the slightest chance, of our 735,000 pound aircraft, harboring approximately 550 souls, plummeting into the black-top runway of Cincinnati airport.
Heaven help us.
The airline crew was very reassuring.
“Just a precaution.”
“Nothing to worry about.”
“Everything will turn out just fine.”
“Happens all the time.”
But here I was. Alone. 26-years old. My first trip away on my own. In the back row clutching my paper-back novel. You-have-got-to-be-kidding-me. The stewardess kindly instructed us on how to place our hands on the back of the seat in front of us crossing right-over-left, tuck your head between your elbows. Place your feet squarely on the floor. Make sure those seats and tray tables are in the fully upright position. Store all your belongings… In other words, I thought, kiss your keister goodbye.
The inside of that aircraft was deftly quiet as we made our dissent. I have never been in a plane where every person was silent. Every ear tuned to the sounds of our air-ship careening towards our planet in which emergency crews awaited our arrival.
And then, out of nowhere, I began to whisper:
“Our Father… Who art in Heaven… Hallowed be thy name…”
This was a year before I had handed my life over to Jesus.
“Thy kingdom come… thy will be done… on Earth… as it is in Heaven.”
Did the people in the next seat think I was insane? A religious zealot?
“Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”
Was I losing my mind?
“And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever and ever. Amen.”
We touched down. The landing gear held. The emergency vehicles waited, unnecessary on the side of the tarmac.
A minor inconvenience. We disembarked and after an hour or so, re-boarded the same plane. We flew back to Portland in relative ease.
But...
Where did that prayer come from? I knew I had heard it several times throughout my life. Like I said, at this juncture I was not a seasoned Christian. Jesus was at work in the background, but had not yet made a grand entrance (to my knowledge). And yet, I was able to pray, out loud, the entity of the Lord’s Prayer as I hurtled towards an unknown circumstance.
Something inside of me, already knew how to pray. Something inside of me already knew the words to quiet my soul, to connect with the Father, to give me focus and direction and hope. The Holy Spirit was alive in me when I didn’t know he was there. When I didn’t think I knew how to pray, I did. It was inside of me, hardwired, all along.
There are times in our lives when we don’t have the words... I found myself without words in an airplane six miles over Ohio. Honestly, I was even without thought. I was petrified. No amount of those airline folks were going to talk me out of my terror.
Young. Inexperienced. Alone. Scared. The Holy Spirit interceded on my behalf and gave me the Lord’s Prayer. I didn’t have words. But he did.
Scripture tells us that the Holy Spirit intercedes with wordless groans when we don’t know how to pray (Romans 8:26-27). The words aren’t what’s important. What is important is that we seek out the Father. That we come to him with a heart of longing to be in his presence.
As I began to tell you earlier, Jesus came to narrow the divide between us and God. He came to bleed on a cross on Calvary so that we could one day be at home with the Father. Jesus taught the disciples how to pray with the Lord’s prayer, a blueprint for us thousands a years later... But when we can’t access the blueprint because our heart is broken, our soul is bleeding, our will is spent and we just can’t find the words, we have a helper to petition the Creator… with wordless groans.
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