Anger, frustration, darkness—these characterized the daily
existence of a little girl in Alabama.
Because she had an intelligent mind, she had the capacity for normal
life, but the normal windows into her mind, her sight and hearing, were
shut. She would become enraged
when she didn’t get what she wanted, and even as a six year old, she was
getting no closer to sharing what that was. When through the gift of a persistent teacher Helen Keller
was given a language—even a rough sign language drawn on her hands—she said she
moved from being almost brute beast into much fuller humanity. Ideas that were impossible to think and
emotions that were impossible to feel were now real and present to her. Where before she could not relate to
people now she could interact, understand, and love .
It would be correct to say that in some very real way
language creates us. Without it, we
would have no complex thought; we could not interact. Without it, we would have no personality
to speak of.
The language of humanity is prayer. It forms and shapes our character. As God communicates to us, he educates
us in the fullest sense of the word, drawing us out of ourselves and into a
relationship with him and others.
Prayer teaches me to love him; it teaches me who I am.
When God speaks into a heart, it awakens with light the way
a crystal outcrop hidden in a cave sparkles in front of a flame. There is some faculty in a person ready
to receive, to hold for an instant, and to reflect back the truth and light of
God. The giving and receiving of
that light is called prayer.
Prayer is a true giving and receiving between a human and God. As mathematics is the language of
science, prayer is the language of interaction between creature and creator. As a mother and father speak to a
newborn, God gives words to us and waits for us to understand them. And we do. And then we speak back to him. At first we do this in halting syntax and lisps. Later, we develop an easy
conversational style. Correction,
expression, direction and affection are communicated to us. We question and thank and resist or
comply with prayer. It is the
gateway to becoming who we were made to be.
In Harold Bloom’s “Shakespeare: The Invention of the Human,” Bloom stakes out a very modern
understanding of what it means to be a person. Bloom writes of Shakespeare’s characters that “they develop
because they reconceive themselves…this comes about because they overhear
themselves talking…self-overhearing is their royal road to individuation.”
We become human, not by some self-conscious dialogue with
ourselves—as if the key to maturity were introspection—but by our conversation
with God. The name of this
conversation is prayer.
Overhearing oneself speak, introspection, and everlasting
dialogue with self when there is no outer corrective or partner higher than
ourselves with which to speak is rather the path to the hell of solipsism.
Prayer can be funny; it can be touching; it can be stern and
demanding; but it is always asking me to look past myself into a greater
reality than that which exists in my own mind.
The Hebrew scripture begins with this:
In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. The
earth was without form and void, and darkness was over the face of the deep.
And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters. And God said, “Let there be light,” and
there was light.
Listen to the rhythm:
Darkness
then word
then light
The Gospel of John begins in similar fashion
In the beginning was the Word, and
the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were
made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him
was life, and the life was the light of men.
Creation and enlightenment comes
through the language of God. Echoes of creation still
reverberate in the development of every human being.
Lord, teach me to pray. It is in conversation with you that I am given a language to
understand the world, myself, and you. Lord, give me the words and concepts and feelings that
are necessary to become a person made in your image. I cannot love unless you write the language of love in my
heart. I cannot be compassionate,
merciful, forgiving, holy, or courageous like you are unless you teach me. Form these gifts in me and form me in
your likeness. Give me ears to
hear you, a mouth to speak to you, and a mind that sees you. Let your word, like light, come into my
heart and transfigure it.
