Dwight A. Moody
(written in 2000 then published in 2004 in the book On the Other Side of Oddville)
All the talk about prayer, high school football, and the Supreme Court reminds me of my own episode with such things thirty-two years ago.
The year was 1968, and I was an eighteen-year-old senior at Hazelwood High School in suburban St. Louis, It was, they told us, the largest high school in the state.
Because it was known around the school that I aspired to the ministry, somebody asked me to deliver the benediction at our high school graduation. I was honored and told my friends.
One such friend was Steve Sherman, a drummer in the band, which is how I knew him. He asked me, “Are you going to pray “in Jesus’ Name?” Being Jewish, he was interested in such things. Naturally, I said, “Yes”.
At that time in my life, I did not know there was any other way to pray.
He told his mother, who spoke to a teacher—also of the Jewish faith—who talked to somebody, who of course complained to the principal, who discussed the matter with the superintendent of schools.
At least, that is the way I think it all happened.
I do not remember being aware of any “controversy” until I was summoned to the office of the principal, a Mr. Fuqua. He was not a stranger to me, but reporting to such an office always provokes anxiety.
As it turned out, it was a low-key affair. He explained their situation, a delicate one, he said. Some had requested that I prepare a manuscript of the prayer and present it to the principal for approval.
As providence would have it, Mr. Fugua was a Baptist layman, and, would you believe it, so was the superintendent, an unexpected situation in such a place.
“Dwight,” he said to me, “I know we Baptists are not accustomed to writing prayers, so I am telling you this situation and asking you to be sensitive to everybody. I know you will do the right thing.”
There was never any doubt in my mind what “the right thing” was. An eighteen-year-old preacher boy has a firm grip on what is right and what is wrong.
I had never written a prayer, and as far as I knew I had never heard a written prayer. Extemporaneous prayer is the pattern in the free-church tradition, as is prayer in the name of Jesus.
Since then, I have learned the value of written prayers, have composed many for my own use, and have been blessed by reading, hearing, and praying those prepared by others. Much about this has been good for my Baptist-shaped soul.
But as for praying “in Jesus’ name”?
I have not come to think it better to give up the specific for the generic. There is pressure these days toward generic praying, using general terms and broad petitions, without saying anything that ties a prayer to a particular tradition. It is supposed to help all listeners feel included.
But I wonder.
I still prefer the specific to the general. When in public, I say, pass the prayer around. Let the Baptist pray his way and the Catholic hers; allow Jews to offer Jewish prayers and encourage Muslims to recite Islamic prayers. Give me a Jewish prayer any day rather than something generic.
I can learn from the Catholic and the Muslim as they lead in prayer. But if everyone goes for the lowest common denominator, so that all prayers sound alike, what difference does it make who prays, and to whom, and for what?
So it was that day when we gathered in Keil Auditorium, the large civic arena at the center of St. Louis. There must have been 5,000 people present. I do not remember a thing about the event: not where I sat, or who spoke, or where we went to celebrate after the ceremony.
Only this: as we turned in our caps and gowns, one fellow graduate, an athlete who might have passed at the anti-type to this thin, bespectacled preacher boy, gave me a big slap on the back and said, “Thanks Moody. That was one hell of a prayer.”
Never again has one of my prayers, written or otherwise, provoked such a memorable response!
Dwight A. Moody
(written in 2000 then published in 2004 in the book On the Other Side of Oddville)
All the talk about prayer, high school football, and the Supreme Court reminds me of my own episode with such things thirty-two years ago.
The year was 1968, and I was an eighteen-year-old senior at Hazelwood High School in suburban St. Louis, It was, they told us, the largest high school in the state.
Because it was known around the school that I aspired to the ministry, somebody asked me to deliver the benediction at our high school graduation. I was honored and told my friends.
One such friend was Steve Sherman, a drummer in the band, which is how I knew him. He asked me, “Are you going to pray “in Jesus’ Name?” Being Jewish, he was interested in such things. Naturally, I said, “Yes”.
At that time in my life, I did not know there was any other way to pray.
He told his mother, who spoke to a teacher—also of the Jewish faith—who talked to somebody, who of course complained to the principal, who discussed the matter with the superintendent of schools.
At least, that is the way I think it all happened.
I do not remember being aware of any “controversy” until I was summoned to the office of the principal, a Mr. Fuqua. He was not a stranger to me, but reporting to such an office always provokes anxiety.
As it turned out, it was a low-key affair. He explained their situation, a delicate one, he said. Some had requested that I prepare a manuscript of the prayer and present it to the principal for approval.
As providence would have it, Mr. Fugua was a Baptist layman, and, would you believe it, so was the superintendent, an unexpected situation in such a place.
“Dwight,” he said to me, “I know we Baptists are not accustomed to writing prayers, so I am telling you this situation and asking you to be sensitive to everybody. I know you will do the right thing.”
There was never any doubt in my mind what “the right thing” was. An eighteen-year-old preacher boy has a firm grip on what is right and what is wrong.
I had never written a prayer, and as far as I knew I had never heard a written prayer. Extemporaneous prayer is the pattern in the free-church tradition, as is prayer in the name of Jesus.
Since then, I have learned the value of written prayers, have composed many for my own use, and have been blessed by reading, hearing, and praying those prepared by others. Much about this has been good for my Baptist-shaped soul.
But as for praying “in Jesus’ name”?
I have not come to think it better to give up the specific for the generic. There is pressure these days toward generic praying, using general terms and broad petitions, without saying anything that ties a prayer to a particular tradition. It is supposed to help all listeners feel included.
But I wonder.
I still prefer the specific to the general. When in public, I say, pass the prayer around. Let the Baptist pray his way and the Catholic hers; allow Jews to offer Jewish prayers and encourage Muslims to recite Islamic prayers. Give me a Jewish prayer any day rather than something generic.
I can learn from the Catholic and the Muslim as they lead in prayer. But if everyone goes for the lowest common denominator, so that all prayers sound alike, what difference does it make who prays, and to whom, and for what?
So it was that day when we gathered in Keil Auditorium, the large civic arena at the center of St. Louis. There must have been 5,000 people present. I do not remember a thing about the event: not where I sat, or who spoke, or where we went to celebrate after the ceremony.
Only this: as we turned in our caps and gowns, one fellow graduate, an athlete who might have passed at the anti-type to this thin, bespectacled preacher boy, gave me a big slap on the back and said, “Thanks Moody. That was one hell of a prayer.”
Never again has one of my prayers, written or otherwise, provoked such a memorable response!
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