Reiner - Bless You, Child
January 31st, 2009 by Nicholas Chorba
How well I remember my first real prayer. A youth leader was explaining to my friend Udo how to become a Christian. “Let’s kneel down right now,” he said. “What about you, Reiner? Do you want to become a Christian too?” Without thinking I said yes, and prayed as he instructed us. It was an unforgettable experience that changed me forever. I looked up at the stars in the sky and felt connected to the universe. At age twelve, I had found my place, a whole new identity.
A few minutes later I came back down to earth as my mother yelled at me for coming home so late. I tried to explain, but she could not understand. For her, prayers were the formal recitations you heard at church, nothing so personal. For three days I did not eat. “All you do is think about God,” Mother complained. She was right.
Shy and introverted, I learned to pray aloud by listening to others, learning their phrases, figuring out when to jump in and when to stay silent. Prayer seemed a kind of a social skill. Oddly enough, it came easier when I traveled from Germany to the U.S.A. to study. Praying in my new language, English, forced me to be more aware and authentic. I couldn’t fall back on old patterns and familiar phrases.
Eventually I became a pastor. As I listened to people pour out their heartaches and human problems, I would try to respond with comfort. Sometimes I had the feeling that the words I spoke to them at such a moment became a prayer. I realized that more than two of us were present.
I also became a father, with a daughter and a son. As they slept, I would step into their rooms, make the sign of the cross over them, and pray for their future. A parent has such little control. You have to fall back on God.
My son has epilepsy. His first grand mal seizure terrified me. We called for an ambulance, and I held him in my arms as his head shook from side to side, stroking his forehead, trying to say calming words while inside I felt the opposite of calm. Consciously I tried to pour my spirit into his, to take on his pain. I doubt I’ve ever felt closer to my son than during that first seizure when I held him - both of us so helpless, so afraid.
Prayer for me has become a form of blessing. Bless you, I would say to the parishioners who laid bare their stories. Bless you, child, I would say over my daughter’s crib. Bless you, I would say while holding my convulsing son. I want to be a conduit of God’s blessing to others. I want to feel that blessing for myself, in prayer.
Sometimes I rest, relaxed in God’s love. Sometimes I thrash and tremble, like my son during a seizure.
Quoted from Philip Yancy’s book “Prayer: Does It Make a Difference?”, published by Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan, USA, 2006, pages 26-27.
