Intercessory Prayer in the Chat

Yesterday was my first day of the onground intensive for the certificate program in spiritual direction.  This onground intensive being held online.  By now, I've done so much online that I thought I didn't have many discoveries to make about what it means to live chunks of life online.  I've been teaching online since 2013, and I've also been a student here or there.  I've been a part of more online communities than I can count.  In the past year, I've been part of worship services that are online--that was a first for me.

So I wasn't expecting anything new from last night's Vespers service.  That's not to say that I thought I wouldn't appreciate it or that I dreaded it--on the contrary.  And at first, I relaxed into the service--we breathed together, we listened to music, we heard a Bible reading and a homily.  And then we got to the intercessory prayers.

We were worshipping by way of Zoom, and instead of speaking out loud or turning in our prayer requests in advance, we entered our prayer requests into the chat window.  For the first 30 seconds, while people typed, it was quiet, but then the requests rolled in.  I kept scrolling through the chat, offering up prayers, wondering what I would type in if I was so inclined.  There were about 45 of us worshipping, and I don't know if this approach would have worked as well if we had been a larger group.  And if I was a slow reader, I might have felt frustrated at my inability to read every request.

I did not enter any prayer requests, and lately, I've been doing some thinking about that.  Part of it is rooted in my not wanting to be a bother.  And part of it is that I feel like any of my problems are not nearly as bad as the problems of other people--I'm also not sure why I think there's a hierarchy of problems, and that my problems will always rank as not as important as the problems of others.

Earlier yesterday, in our small group session, I heard an idea that was new to me:  wanting to be independent and/or self-reliant is a common response to trauma.  I can't quite capture the essence in words, but it was profound when I heard it yesterday.  When I think about the recent past as trauma, some of my thinking makes more sense to me.  The last 4 years of the Trump administration have felt like continual trauma, as has the past year of pandemic developments.  

No wonder it's hard for me to ask people to pray for me.  And lately, the prayer list gets ever longer.

So perhaps my inability to offer my own prayer requests makes more sense.  Or maybe I'm becoming ever more like my grandmother, compressing myself, not wanting to be a burden or a bother.

And yes, I understand all the theological implications and why I need to resist those urges, why I need to keep connecting, why I need people to pray for me.

We all do.