Prayer of the Bear - Tom Bathgate

It was towards the end of the evening service that we heard the noise. A low rhythmic rumble. Discreetly, without being seen to be seeing, attention turned to Mr. Bathgate. Like the rest of us he was kneeling in prayer. Yet unlike the rest of us his head was slumped forward onto the pew in front, and he was snoring.

While we can make all sorts of jokes about sleep-inducing prayers, to say nothing of sermons, and feel empathetic towards Mr. Bathgate, there is a serious theological question to consider: Do you have to be awake to pray? Or, put another way, does prayer have to be an activity of the mind?

I have a friend who walks. Beaches are her favourites. The longer the better. She walks out for hours at a time. Sometimes she talks as she walks. Sometimes she thinks. Sometimes she doesn’t think at all. Her body moves, feeling the sand, the sea, the air and the ions. She returns re-stored. Spiritually renewed.

Does prayer happen just when she verbally addresses God? What about when she listens? Are concerned thoughts prayers? Are musings prayers? Is the physical act of strolling itself a prayer? Is feeling the breeze on your face, filling the sails in your heart, a prayer?

You can’t divide her walk up, you can’t divide prayer up, and you can’t divide her up.

Which brings me back to Mr. Bathgate. He likes the old evening service with words he’s heard most of his life. He comes into the shadowy, aged, holy space of the parish church. He smells the stone, inwardly etched with generations of prayers. He feels the ambience of candlelight, beautiful glass, awesome space, and quiet music. Without saying a word or thinking a thought he feels the presence of God permeating his pores. Just to be present is to pray.