I suppose I am getting used to worshiping while seated on my bedroom sofa and staring at two iPads on a music stand. It seems a bit less weird than it did in March, but I don’t think I will ever prefer it over gathering in the sanctuary. Worship is still worship – and I keep reminding myself of that.

A couple of weeks ago, the soloist at our Sunday worship sang the beautiful hymn, “Now the Silence” which was written in 1968 by the hymn poet Jaroslav Vajda (1919-2008) and it is his most widely published hymn. Vajda was, for much of his life, a Lutheran pastor, serving Slovak-English parishes in Pennsylvania, Indiana, and Missouri. He began writing hymns at age 49, writing over 225 hymns before his death at age 89. If his beautiful poem about worship slipped past you at the time, I would like to bring it back to your consciousness.

“Now the Silence” was written to be sung at the beginning of a service – as our soloist did it – telling worshipers what they will encounter during the coming time of worship. The insistent word “now” appears an astounding 21 times in the hymn. Vajda does not want us to forget that we come to worship to encounter God in the present, not in the past or in the future. We come to worship wherever we are and whoever we are with. We come to worship Now.

In 1968, Vajda wrote this about how the poem came to be written: “I have felt that we often get so little out of worship because we anticipate so little, and we seldom come with a bucket large enough to catch all the shower of grace that comes to us in that setting. Suddenly the hymn began to form in my mind as a list of awesome and exciting things that one should expect in worship, culminating in the Eucharist and benediction.”

I love that expression about coming to worship with a bucket. We are definitely coming to worship with a different bucket these days. It may be a bit smaller, even rusty, and perhaps even leaky. Worshiping together in isolation at home is a very different experience of worship, though perhaps Vajda would remind us that our bucket shouldn’t be any smaller just because we are not gathered in our sanctuary and sitting in our accustomed pews. We should continue to anticipate encountering God in all of the aspects of worship, and we should not lower our expectations.

The poem closes with a naming of the Trinity, but in a reversed order from what we are accustomed to hearing, jostling our ears and inviting us to think again about worship. About this, he wrote, “The reversal of the Trinitarian order in the benediction was made not only to make the conclusion memorable, but to indicate the order in which the Trinity approaches us in worship: The Spirit brings us the Gospel, by which God’s blessing is released in our lives.” The hymn then ends with the compelling (and even demanding) repetition, “Now Now Now”.

While “Now the Silence” may be unfamiliar to us, we frequently sing Vajda’s most famous hymn, “Go My Children With My Blessing.” Usually sung at the end of worship, it is a benediction and blessing, and it summarizes what has happened during the worship service – reversing the order from “Now the Silence.” Vajda covered all the bases in these worship “bookends.”

In speaking of his work, Vajda said, “My hymns are what they are: poetic expressions of thanks to God. They are my grateful reaction – my praise and wonder and exclamation – to the love and glory of God.”

So, what kind of bucket will you bring to worship next week?

Now the Silence by Jaroslav Vajda

Now the silence
Now the peace
Now the empty hands uplifted
Now the kneeling
Now the plea
Now the Father’s arms in welcome

Now the hearing
Now the power
Now the vessel brimmed for pouring
Now the body
Now the blood
Now the joyful celebration

Now the wedding
Now the songs
Now the heart forgiven leaping
Now the Spirit’s visitation
Now the Son’s epiphany
Now the Father’s blessing
Now Now Now

Words © 1969 Hope Publishing Company
Scripture referenced in “Now the Silence”:

Psalms 63:4, Psalms 95:6, Lamentations 3:41, Matthew 26:26-28, Mark 14:22-24, Luke 15:20, Luke 22:17-20, 1 Corinthians 11:23-25, 2 Corinthians 6:2, 1 Timothy 2:8

Paul Ryan believes in prayer so much that on April 15 he forced the House chaplain to resign.  Ryan has not given a reason for the dismissal, but many are pointing to a prayer Father Patrick Conroy offered while lawmakers were considering tax reform.  The priest prayed that lawmakers would “be mindful” of economic disparities and those “who continue to struggle.”  Ryan’s concern is surprising as the prayer clearly did not work.

Every once in a while scientists who cannot raise money for real research get stuck doing a study on how prayer works.  Non-believers argue that wishful thinking is not a suitable subject for scientific investigation.  Believers argue that the results of prayer are not easily measured.

The outcome of these studies tend to reflect the desires of whoever paid for the research.  Religious researchers often find that praying for another’s well-being reduces one’s own anxiety.  Non-religious researchers point out that prayers for healing are no guarantee that healing will occur.

The scientific study of prayer focuses on the things for which people most often pray—health concerns, financial difficulties, or societal problems—but the prayers we do not pray are the best evidence that prayer works.

Hunger is a subject about which we do not pray.  After Jesus told the rich young ruler to sell all that he had and give it to the poor, we can be fairly certain that young man did not go home and pray about it.

We are careful not to pray seriously for the homeless.  We find it awkward to pray for people who have no home when we have a guest room.

There are so many situations in which we will not pray.  Your boss tells a sexist joke.  You know it is evil and wish someone would point it out, but do you really want to pray, “God, what should I do?  Should I challenge my boss who might not take kindly to my helpful words of correction?”

We have been praying about gun violence, but we are careful.  If you want gun control it is hard to pray honestly about the sense of moral superiority that may be taking up residence in your heart.  If you are a second amendment person it is hard to pray honestly for innocent children who are dying.  If we pray seriously about gun violence, we will do more than wait around for the next election.

We do not want to pray about our careers.  Does the senior pre-law major want to pray about whether God would like for her to be a social worker?  Does the successful businessperson want to ask God if a lower paying job might make more of a contribution to the world?

We are careful about praying for people we do not like.  When Jesus said “Pray for your enemies” he was inviting us to the kind of prayer that will lead us to say something kind that we do not want to say.

Prayers should come with warnings.  Do not pray about the school system.  You may end up tutoring second graders.  Do not pray about human trafficking.  You may end up paying for much-needed supplies for victims.  Do not pray about racial justice.  You may end up working on bail reform.

We like what we have—especially the vices we have gotten used to.  We do not pray about our addictions—eating too much, drinking too much, or spending too much.  St. Augustine prayed, “God, give me chastity, but not yet.”

Most of us, including Paul Ryan, understand that critiquing prayer is easier than truly praying.  We do not avoid praying because our prayers go unanswered.  We avoid praying because we are afraid our prayers will be answered.  The proof that prayer works is the way we choose a life given to comfort over a life given in prayer.