I suppose I fall in that category of the “privileged,” since I have time to pray. In fact I do pray, and I expect I’m going to keep praying, but I can see that I’d better answer that question about whether praying does anything for people who need help.

 

I know I care for people in all the corners of the world who are hungry, poor, and oppressed, because I keep asking myself what I’m doing about it. For a while I used my “privileged” status to volunteer myself full time to helping poor kids in Atlanta, when I lived there back in the late ‘80’s. I tutored them, brought them to my house, fed them, taught them to swim and play the piano, went to the zoo, rode elevators – all things they never got to do before. I loved them dearly. But they were still poor. Happy, but their families were poor.

 

After a while I began to wonder what I could ever do that would be enough to make a difference. We finally moved out of town, and I spent a long time thinking of what I could do that would really make a difference for people who need help. I prayed about that. I don’t think that prayer was too selfish, since I was asking God how I could be of better help.

 

I started to really consider whether my prayers would have more impact than all the “doing” I’d been doing. That was a tough question. The bottomless pit I encountered would run me out of resources. So I had to ask myself if I had any evidence that prayer actually benefits other people.

 

 

There was one man in particular who clinched it for me. He came into a Christian Science Reading Room one winter day, asking for some money to take the train back home. He was obviously homeless, hopeless, and helpless. The policy was not to give money, but to refer these people to the care facilities in town. He shuffled out, mumbling a kind of hopeless thank you. I followed him out, eager to find some way to really help him. I offered – well, my prayer. I was confident God would supply his need, since I’d been praying about these things recently. He accepted my prayers and shuffled on.

 

 

Now I was face-to-face with this huge question: Do prayers do anything for people who need help? I turned off the noise from the whole world around me and immersed myself in sincere prayer. I thanked God for being this man’s Father and Mother, always caring for him. I thanked God for providing everything he needed – whether it was wisdom, patience, intelligence, hope, or obedience. Then I started doubting my prayers again. How could God give him what he needed immediately? Even getting a job right away wouldn’t get him a shelter for the night! Since I couldn’t offer that to him, I prayed again. I had to ask God to silence my doubting heart. And I fervently prayed to trust that “all things are possible to God.”

 

Of course I’d never see him again, so I had to keep going back to those prayers every time I thought about it. Otherwise, I’d be left with the doubt again. It must have been six months later, when this very same man stepped into the Reading Room. He saw me, and called out, “Hey! Ain’t you the lady that believe in me that day?” I was speechless. He was grinning ear to ear. Clearly this was the man I remember so well, because he stayed in my prayers for so long. He stood there, taller than I remember, clean, strong, and happy.

 

He said he had a job, paid off his debts, and was busy thanking God for all his blessings. He came back to pay me the dollar I had given him that day. Then he left. I looked at the dollar, and I thought, “No. He remembered that part wrong. I didn’t give him a dollar. If I had, I know I never would have prayed so earnestly!”

 

I still think about those kids in Atlanta. Their pictures are on my refrigerator. But I wonder if this guy I met got a better deal from me in the long run. Don’t get me wrong. I’m going to keep doing all I can to help people in need.  Prayers shouldn’t have earned such a bum rap.