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"Pray for me."
Sitting in Christ Cathedral, New Orleans on the 40th anniversary of the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Becky and I listened to a concert of spirituals offered by trumpeter Irvin Mayfield and a host of his musical friends. One of the most significant moments for me was a hymn whose lyrics include the phrase, "Pray for me." What effect might it have on our souls and on the soul of the world if this were part of our regular salutations to one another?
The lyrics and tune, not to mention the incredible interpretation of Irvin and his fellow players, made my heart stir and my imagination flow.
What does it take for us to ask others to 'pray for me'? A certain humility, an inherent recognition that there is much in me needing completion, connection, restoration and things which only God knows; and that these are things which require more than just my good intention. It suggests a very healthy humility: I am not complete, I am not where I wish to be, and yet have deep hope that in God I will be; and that I am in some way already tasting where I wish to be simply through my hunger for it. It is like Merton's appeal to God, "...the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe the desire to please you does in fact please you."
'Pray for me...' is found in our Rite of Reconciliation where the priest says to the person coming for confession and absolution, 'Pray for me, a sinner." It reminds that all need prayer, all are incomplete, all need restoration, even those who in the name of the Church are able to declare absolution.
How might that phrase change public discourse? How might that affect the current 'unhappy divisions' in the church? How might that change congregations and the way we relate to each other- all of us seeing ourselves as incomplete persons in need of divine filling and connection- all of us recognizing in a healthy way, not a condescending way, that every last one of us is incomplete? How might it buffer any sense of certainty that leads us to uncharitable judgments of others? How might it buffer any sense we clutch that our lives, our thoughts, are somehow inherently better than any other person, inherently more right?
As I listened to these men play, I heard their souls wrapped and released in the music and lyrics. I heard their passionate appeal that we pray for them and that we find the freedom that can only be found in such an appeal. I hoped that in my applause they heard my response, 'Please, pray for me also."
Todd Donatelli