Billy Coffey

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Nighttime prayers

August 15, 2011 by Billy Coffey 14 Comments

image courtesy of photobucket.com
image courtesy of photobucket.com

An important part of my nighttime routine is making a final pass through the house. I make sure the doors are locked and the outside light is on. Make sure the morning coffee is ready—it’s the smell of coffee and not the sound of the alarm that gets me out of bed—and the lights above the sink are shining—just in case someone wakes in the middle of the night thirsty. I’ll check to make sure my son is adequately covered and hasn’t flopped and flipped his blankets off. My final stop is to check my daughter’s sugar, because she may sleep and we all may sleep, but diabetes never does.

I always pray over my children then. Every night, without fail. They don’t know this; I’ve never told them. I suppose doing so is as much for my benefit as theirs. I have an uneasy relationship with the night. It’s the time of day when I often get most of my work done, and yet I spend much of that time peering into the shadows for what isn’t there.

My prayers are the usual ones—help us to sleep well, bless our family, let Your angels stand guard. And keep us safe, always that. Always a lot of that.

I heard a preacher the other day talk about praying for safety. He said Christians shouldn’t place so much of a premium on that, that this is pretty much one of the safest countries in the world and so we’re pretty much wasting our words, that we should instead pray for boldness because that’s what we need more. He said we’re often content to remain where we are because that’s where everything is safe and familiar, when God wants us to go forth and conquer new lands within and without.

I’ll admit he stepped on my toes a little with that. It’s probably true that I need more boldness than safety, just as true about those new lands. And I’ll say that fear plays an important part in my life and maybe too much, what with all those shadows and whatnot.

So maybe instead of praying that God will keep us safe, I should pray that He will keep us on our toes. And rather than asking that His angels stand guard over us, I should pray that they will charge ahead of us into new places and new ways of seeing things. Maybe I’ve been tricked into thinking that my life is better thought of as something to be endured rather than made better, as if my purpose in being here is to comfort myself before I comfort others.

Maybe.

But maybe praying for safety is important, too. It reminds me that despite what everyone in my family may believe, I’m small. Just a tiny speck in a big world, one that oftentimes is much more scary than it is beautiful. And one who often needs a great deal of help.

Perhaps if I had the faith of the preacher I heard the other day, I wouldn’t need to ask for so much safety. Perhaps if I had his view of the world, I would see no reason to fear anything. I would see the battle as already won and the last sentence already written, one with an exclamation point rather than a period.

I hope to have that sort of faith one day. For now, I don’t. For now, I look at this world and see more shadows than light and more of what could go wrong than what has already gone right.

Filed Under: Christianity, faith, fear, prayer

A prayer to remember

August 1, 2011 by Billy Coffey 28 Comments

image courtesy of photobucket.com
image courtesy of photobucket.com

On July 23, the NASCAR Nationwide series stopped in Nashville, Tennessee. It was an evening that promised all-you-can-handle-and-some-you-can’t action, the sort of reckless redneckery of screaming engines and burning rubber that has made racing one of the most popular sports in America.

With all it’s modern equipment and cutting-edge technology, NASCAR is nonetheless steeped in tradition. Its roots run all the way back to Prohibition, and its drivers are for the most part good ol’ country boys. And every race begins with a prayer.

That night in Tennessee, the honor of providing the invocation fell on the shoulders of Pastor Joe Nelms, a Nashville local. With heads bowed, hats doffed, and cameras on, Pastor Joe took the microphone and prayed this:

What happened afterwards was the sort of media deluge that could only happen in the age of YouTube and social media. Pastor Joe Nelms became an overnight celebrity. ESPN had a field day. Newspapers, news channels, blogs, radio. All carried the prayer, all had the same question—Why?

Here’s what Pastor Nelms said in one interview:

“I want[ed] to get somebody’s attention, so that’s been our desire every time we’ve been up there, to try to make an impact on the fans and give them something they’ll remember, and maybe they’ll go home on a Friday night or a Saturday night and say, ‘Maybe I ought to get up and go to church in the morning.'”

And really, what better way to do that than to give thanks to mighty machines, GM performance technology, Sunoco racing fuel, Goodyear tires, and his smokin’ hot wife?

Now you’d probably be right in saying I caught wind of this and thought right off that Joe Nelms had just uttered a prayer the likes of which hadn’t been heard since Jesus Himself taught us to ask for our daily bread and to deliver us from evil. And why not? I wouldn’t consider myself a NASCAR guy, though I suspect I fit their target demographic of country-livin’, Levi-wearin’, tobacco-spittin’, jacked-up-Chevy drivin’ men.

But you know what? That’s not how I reacted. That’s not how I reacted at all.

And while I can appreciate the good Reverend’s intentions, I gotta say I was more than a little saddened. I was raised to take prayer sincerely. I close my eyes and bow my head with the knowledge that I am about to utter my feeble voice to the Lord of all creation, the Holy One who made not just me, but the farthest star and the tiniest atom. And more than that, He HEARS me. And more than even THAT, He cares about what I say, knows my words even before I speak them. Even before I think them.

It’s serious business, praying. And while I’m sure you realize God has a sense of humor—have you taken a look around lately?—I’m sure you also realize there is a time and a place. On bended knee is neither.

We live in a time when mockery of God is accepted, even cool. How many times a day do you hear, “Oh my God”? How many times do you get a text that contains OMG? How many times have you heard “Goddammit” on the television lately?

Plenty, I’d imagine, if you’re like me.

But we want to be cool. That’s the thing. We know our task is the Christian walk, but it’s a straight walk, a rigid one, so why not strut a little? Why not? If we dumb down God to make Him more accessible to people, more believable, more Jesus-would-have-a-beer-with-me, then is that such a bad thing?

Sometimes I think yes. It is.

God is not cool. I think we’d do well to remember that. I think we’d do well to keep close the treasured wisdom that He is big and holy and we are small and not. And I think it’s a good guess that what we often mistake as His laughter are really His tears.

Honestly—what did you think of that? Did you chuckle? Laugh? Or did you think something along the lines of, What the heck was that? Because I figure I’m either really, really right on this one, or really, really wrong.

Filed Under: praise, prayer

A question of prayer

April 25, 2011 by Billy Coffey 20 Comments

image courtesy of photobucket.com
image courtesy of photobucket.com

Working at a college has its advantages. Having access to such a big group of smart people comes in handy for me in my daily life, especially when it comes to some of the larger problems I run across. In the five years I’ve been there, I have spoken with English professors about writing, political science professors about the goings-on in the world, and religion and philosophy professors about, well, religion and philosophy.

I would call none of our conversations a sharing of ideas. Their words and the diplomas that hang on their office walls are proof enough they are much more intelligent than little ol’ me. I’m good with that. There are advantages to being the dumb person in the room.

So the other day when my mind asked a question my heart had trouble answering, I went knocking on some office doors.

The first chair I sat in was in front of four bookcases that stretched floor to ceiling and were stuffed with titles I could barely pronounce. The professor—smart fella, with a Ph.D. in philosophy courtesy of an Ivy League school—looked at me with kind eyes and asked what was on my mind.

“What’s the point of praying for anything?” I asked him. “I mean, if God knows everything and has a perfect plan, then won’t His plan work out regardless of what I tell Him?”

The professor took off his glasses, rubbed the lenses with a handkerchief. Then he put the glasses back on and looked at the bookshelves behind me, looking for an answer.

“Let’s see,” he told me. He rose from the chair by the desk and brought down one book—this one old, with a worn leather cover and yellowed pages—and then another, this one so new the spine cracked as he opened it.

He talked for ten minutes about free will and time being an unfinished sentence. Or something. My nods at first were of the understanding kind. The ones toward the end were because I was fighting sleep.

I still don’t know what he said.

The door down the hall belonged to a religion professor (Ph.D. again, Ivy League again). I sat in a different chair in front of different books and asked the same question with the same results. More free will, plus something about alternate histories and God “delighting in Himself.”

It wasn’t the first time I’d walked into a professor’s office with one question and walked out with a dozen.

To make matters worse, my mind was still asking that question and my heart was still having trouble answering it.

What’s the point of praying for anything? Because it seems a little presumptuous to ask for anything from a God who already knows what I need (and what I don’t).

I was at a standstill over all of this until I talked to Ralph at the Dairy Queen last night. Ralph doesn’t have a Ph.D., and the only Ivy he knows is the kind that grows on the side of his house. And though far from an expert on matters of the spirit, he does preach part-time at one of the local churches when the regular preacher is sick or on vacation. And since he waved at me and was eating his cheeseburger all alone, I figured what the heck. I’d ask him:

“What’s the point of praying for anything?”

Ralph paused mid-chew. Cocked his head a little to the side. Said, “What kinda stupid question is that?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Just popped into my head the other day. But seriously, why ask Him for anything. And really, why pray at all? If God already knows what’s in my heart, why do I have to speak it?”

Ralph finished his bite, swallowed, then said, “B’cause it ain’t about you, son.”

“It’s not?”

He drawled out a slow “No” that sounded more like Nooo. “Boy, prayin’ ain’t about askin’. Ain’t even about praisin’, really. Nope, prayin’s about you gettin’ in line with God. It’s not about Him gettin’ in your head and heart, it’s about you gettin’ in His.”

Ah.

I left Ralph to his cheeseburger, answers in hand. And honestly, that answer made sense. Because life—better life, anyway—is always about Him more than about us.

And I left with other wisdom, too. The next time I have a question, I think I’ll spend less time in a professor’s office and more time down at the Dairy Queen.

Filed Under: doubt, faith, God, prayer

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