This is a speech I gave to Heartland Unitarian Universalist Church last week. It is always an honor to speak to this congregation:
I really do enjoy coming into your space to share with you. The coziness of the room, the way this community hugs and hold hands in prayer, and of course the baked goods and conversation in fellowship afterwards. We don’t have that today but I hope me coming into your homes through technology will bring a spark of thought and joy.
When Rabbi Israel ben Eliezer known as the Baal Shem Tov, the founder of Hasidism, saw that the Jewish people were threatened by tragedy, he would go to a particular place in the forest where he lit a fire, recited a particular prayer, and asked for a miracle to save the Jews from the threat. It is said that the miracle would come and the crisis averted.
Later, when the Baal Shem Tov’s disciple, the Maggid of Mezrich, had to intervene with heaven for the same reason he called out to the heavens “I do not know how to light the fire, but I can find the place and know the prayer and this must be sufficient.” The miracle was accomplished.
Later still, Rabbi Moshe Leib of Sasov, in turn a disciple of the Maggid of Mezrich, went into the forest to save his people. “I do not know how to light the fire,” he said, “and I do not know the prayer, but I can find the place and this must be sufficient.” Once again, the miracle was accomplished.
When it was the turn of Rabbi Israel of Rizhyn, the great grandson of the Maggid of Mezrich who was named after the Baal Shem Tov, to avert the threat, he sat in his armchair, holding his head in his hands, and said to God: “I am unable to light the fire, I do not know the prayer, and I cannot even find the place in the forest. All I can do is to tell the story. That must be enough.” And it was.
And it was enough. As we come together in prayer today we are like Rabbi Israel, we are in a new landscape, but we still trust in who we are as a community.
Someone once said the invention of the Jewish prayer book stifled prayer for the people. Indeed as we canonize what prayer is and put it in writing we lose a piece of what it is to be in the moment of prayer. When I lived in the south I envied my Christian friends who could be asked on the spot to offer a word of prayer and riff on the thoughts of the day with the eloquence of a poet. But often when I am asked to give an invocation I run to my bookshelf to find the appropriate language. It is something we lost, like that of generations of Hasidic Rabbis in the story. But in every generation we can tell our story while still keeping faith with our past.
Praying is a singular act we share with others. How we reach out to that which is beyond us is a highly personal thing. How it is received is too quite personal but too often we have created professionals to tell us how to pray and with what words. I know, I kinda am one of those guys. But it doesn’t have to be that way.
A shepherd spends his day in the field. Every day he praises God saying things like “Dear God, if you were cold I would give you my robe, if you were hungry I would share my lunch with you.” Or “Dear God you have given me such blessing, if it rained you could borrow my hat”. He didn’t know the traditional prayers but he felt a closeness with God. One day a great scholar and rabbi was walking down the path and heard the shepherd say, “Oh God, you give me such abundance, if only you could come to me and share in my joy and meet my family”. The rabbi was outraged. He told the shepherd that was no way to pray to the Holy One. He took his prayer book and went page by page reading and explaining all the daily prayers the shepherd should recite to pray to God. Hours passed and the day near ended. He gave the shepherd the book and walked away telling him to pray with that. The shepherd couldn’t read so he stuffed the book in his pack and took his flock home. The next day in the field he went to praise God but found he couldn’t remember how the rabbi had taught him. He looked at the book and saw lines and circles that made no sense, so he remained quiet. Days went by and God wondered why the shepherd was silent and sent an angel to investigate. The shepherd told him the story of the rabbi and the angel whisk him away to the heavens where a chorus of angels were praising God says, “Dear God, if you were cold I would give you my robe. If you were hungry I would share my lunch”. The angel returned the shepherd to his field. The next day God was thrilled that the shepherd again began his prayer.
There may always be a right way to do things in our minds. Prayer may be one of them for you. But today we cannot fully embrace the comfort of what things were like just a few short months ago. So now here we stand or sit, at computer screens, struggling to stay connected while continuing the seemingly unending practice of distancing. Our prayers feel different, we are not in the room, and we do not fully experience the joy or angst in those who would normally be near us. The small boxes are barely enough to stay fully connected in this space, but we can do it. It will be different and we may even be getting use to this. A joke going around the net is that of a congregant texting with their clergy who asked if they were worried that we would lose people the longer we do services online. The response was:
Pastor, I can get up an hour later, I can stay in my pajamas, I can drink coffee on my sofa, and I can mute you. I think this will only increase attendance.
Throughout Jewish history we have often changed the way we interact with God, The Tanakh (Bible) teaches God spoke directly to individuals who shared the message with the people. Later, following God's direction, people sacrificed in many places then one central location. Later, after the Temple was destroyed, sacrifice gave way to prayer as a means of reaching God. Our homes replaced the Temple and symbolism allows us to stay connected with our past but blaze our own future. We see God differently than our ancestors and make meaning of our relationship in our own way.
When the pandemic hit we were flummoxed by the way we had to change the pattern of daily life. Our screens became a lifeline to family and friends who we normally would gather with, we shopped online and had groceries delivered, we tried to figure out what is safe and what isn’t as we learned to wash our hands like surgeons and avoid showing embarrassing art work on our walls during work meetings or maybe that was just me.
And praying as a community had to change. But there is hope, you see, look into the eyes of the people on your screen, as they share their homes, sip their coffee and maybe even show off their PJs or workout clothes. This community has stories to tell and words to recite that are lifted up, alone and together. We do not have the room, we do not have the hugs and the hand holding and we do not have the great baked goods to share in fellowship, but we have each other and we have the stories. That will be enough!
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