Standin' in the Need

There's an old gospel spiritual that we occasionally sing at my church's evening service that goes,

"Not my mother, not my father, but it's me, O Lord, standin' in the need of prayer,

Not my sister, not my brother, but it's me, O Lord, standin' in the need of prayer.

It's me, it's me, it's me, O Lord, standin' in the need of prayer..."

I love how everyone starts to sway and clap, with big smiles and nods, when the music starts for this one. It makes me feel like I've been transported out of our urban Episcopal chapel and into a clapboard Baptist church somewhere below the Mason-Dixon Line. It's one of those songs that is fun to sing and just so simply true all at the same time.

It struck me particularly this past Sunday night. I'd come to church that night in a much-less-than-perfect state and to say the least, I was feeling "the need." I’d spent the weekend mostly alone and I felt like I’d whiled away precious free time. It was more than simply being unproductive; it was the feeling that I’d somehow unplugged the goodness and joy stored inside. Instead of replenishing that store through the things I know help me to rest (reading, knitting, worshiping, prayer, journaling, walks, cooking), I’d made choices that drained it, leaving me feeling stuffed yet empty, restless, and exhausted of my own mind. Long periods of time spent alone, like I had this weekend, often begin with relief at finally being hermitted away from the world, but end in overstaying my welcome, getting on my own nerves. 

While I actually had some amazing, revelatory moments of self-compassion this weekend (I'll get to that in a post in the next few days, I hope!), by the time Sunday rolled around, I still just felt BLEH. I knew I was supposed to be one of the healing prayer team members that night at the service, so that made me even less excited at the prospect of driving into the city for church-- how could I possibly pray for others when I felt such a general funk?

But what I love about our evening service is that there is a kind of permission to come as you are. So in the end, I dragged myself there (after, of course, finding every conceivable way to delay my departure), walked in toward the end of the sermon and snuck into a seat in the back. I sat there feeling inadequate and disconnected and completely the wrong person to soon stand up as one of the prayer team in a few minutes. But something made me stand up anyway. I took a spot leaning against a wall, gazed straight at the cross, and just whispered His name. So many times in life, that is enough. He simply doesn't require more than a breath of yes. 

And as people came forward for prayer, a beautiful thing happened. I prayed from the place I was at.  From "the need." And it turned into some of the most connected prayer I've done with others in awhile. I guess I've recently gotten used to praying for others from my knowledge of Christ's strength, rather than my need for Christ's strength. That night, I prayed with those who came, not as a warrior, calling down heaven and casting out the enemy….but as a fellow beloved struggler, “standin’ in the need of prayer.” When one young woman asked for prayer after losing her job and having to go live in a shelter, describing herself as having been pushed “fifteen steps backward," I prayed from the place in me that felt pushed backward and thwarted.When another described feeling disjointed in this city of hampster-wheel-living, I prayed from my own topsy-turvy and unfocused mindset.  I prayed from the place of need and it became a prayer that I could fully participate in. As I proclaimed truths of God’s love and provision and restoration over these women, I could sit under that fountain of His abundant love, too. Or, rather, stand. Because on the good days and the bad, if we're honest with ourselves, aren't we always just standin' in the need of prayer?