Chagall
I don’t think so. Here is a story:
In March 2008 my three brothers and I stood by father’s body as he lay for viewing in the funeral home. One brother asked for us to do something unexpected; he asked that we say a prayer for my father. This was an unusual request because he is not the least religious. Neither was my father, but to say a prayer at this time seemed to be the most natural thing to do so the four of us recited the Lord’s Prayer together. I am sure that my brother asked for this because he felt it would bring comfort, which it did.
When my mother died a year later the exact same events happened. Since I am the only one in our family who attends church with any kind of regularity, you would think that it would be me that would remember to say a prayer as we stood beside her in the funeral home, but no – it was this same brother who asked for us to say a prayer.
Since these deaths I have been interested in finding out more about the power of prayer and why
people pray and what prayers they use.
I came across an interesting story told by John Cassian, the 4th Century Desert Father. He had visited a respected elder, Abba Isaac, who had told him a “formula” for prayer which is: “Oh God, come to my assistance; oh, Lord, make haste to help me.” The person who invokes God as his protector is made aware that God is ever present and at hand.
I can’t say that I understand anything more about this prayer. By the use of his word “formula” I understand that this prayer is a sure-fire way making God feel close to you in every circumstance.
I had an occasion to try out this idea just two days ago.
I was at St. Paul’s Hospital for the second time in 3 months. I was undergoing another endoscopy
because, the first time, the doctor had found some precancerous cells in my upper duodenum. She had nipped them out at the first visit but wanted to do a second procedure to see if anything had grown back.
I lay on the hospital bed feeling grateful for the chatty, cheerful nurse who lay a warm flannel sheet over me and took my blood pressure.
I was also feeling nervous about getting the results and also about the procedure. For one who gags at the thought of a doctor even touching the back of my tongue, let alone allowing her to lower a camera down the throat and thread it through my innards — well, let us just say that I tried to calm myself by breathing deeply.
I remembered the prayer formula and said it to myself several times: “Oh God, come to my assistance; oh Lord, make haste to help me.” I then came to the conclusion that I could handle the results. If I were free from cancerous cells I could deal with this. If (and I’m being morbid here) cancer was found raging everywhere and I needed to be given last rites soon — well, I could deal with that also. On the up-side of this latter diagnosis I would pass away happy with all the fun that I’ve had in my post-retirement years and also I would saved the trauma of watching myself grow feeble and toothless in a slow decline.
In this frame of mind I was wheeled into the procedure room where the doctor administered a sedative. I could feel the scope going down plunging left and right through my digestive system. It seemed to know just what it doing down there and where it was going. I could relax and allow it to do its work and before I knew it, the procedure was finished. The doctor came right over and
told me that she could see no trace of anything abnormal growing.
You might think that I shouted for joy at this news, but what was interesting to me was that I did not experience a huge sense of relief that I was being spared the awful spectre of treatment for cancer. My first thought was – “Oh, this is the plan for me”. I was to be healthy for a little longer.
It was wonderful to feel this sense of peace in the hospital and that my being content did not rest in using prayer to manoeuvre for a particular outcome.
Did the Abba Isaac prayer help me to be receptive to thoughts that would bring calm? And did these thoughts come from God? I can only speculate.
The prayer needs further testing.
