Praying in Pictures

A sermon preached by the Rev. Terence L. Elsberry, Rector, at St. Matthew's Church, Bedford, New York, on the Second Sunday in Lent, Year C, March 7, 2004.

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I

In sermons this Lent I'll be talking about prayer. And this morning I want to talk about what for you may be a new kind of prayer. I call it “praying in pictures.” And before I tell you how it works, a look at human nature to see why it works, why it can be an effective way for us to communicate with our God.

II

We are an image-driven people. Even before television brought pictures of the world into our homes, we thought and remembered in pictures.

That's why our great communicators have used the power of imagery to help us catch their view of the world.

When Churchill sought to describe the barrier between Communist Eastern Europe and the West, he called it an “iron curtain.”

When F.D.R. talked about going to war against the Nazis, he said, “When you see a rattlesnake poised to strike, you don't wait to crush him.”

When Jesus wanted to describe what the Kingdom of God is like, He called it “a pearl of great price.”

If I say, “I saw an elephant the other day,” what do you see with your mind's eye? Do you mentally spell elephant? Or do you see a picture of an elephant? If you're like me, you see an elephant.

And we all know a picture is worth a thousand words.

Yet when it comes to prayer, our tradition has been to pray not with pictures but with words.

Nothing wrong with that, I love words. The reason I left the Congregational Church and became an Episcopalian is because of the beauty of the words in our Book of Common Prayer.

At the same time, if we pray only using words, you and I are missing out on something vitally important. It's the power of visual imagery. It's the power of what I call “picturing prayer.”

How does it work?

Since prayer is a dialogue between two persons – you and God – you have to start with God.

Picture God.

Not easy, you may say.

It reminds me of the little boy whose mother found him drawing a picture of God.

“But, Son,” she protested, “nobody knows what God looks like.”

“Well,” he said, “they will when I get finished.”

We may not have a very clear impression of God the Father, but most of us probably have an idea of what Jesus looks like. And Jesus is, after all, God the Son, sent to earth that we might see the Father in the Son.

Among my earliest memories are two pictures of Jesus, one that hung in my Sunday School classroom, the other in my parents' bedroom. Then there have been the movies' interpretations of Jesus. The March 8 th issue of U.S. News & World Report shows nine, concluding, of course, with Mel Gibson's “The Passion of the Christ.”

And a few years ago an archeological/historical/sociological portrait of Jesus was created by scholars who had studied the physical characteristics of Galilean Jewish males who lived in Jesus' time.

The Bible paints its own series of Jesus images.

Jesus referred to Himself as a shepherd, to let us know He loves us with the nurturing, life-giving totality a shepherd had to give his sheep in the wilds of Judea.

In today's Gospel, Jesus likens Himself to a mother hen, worrying over the people of Jerusalem. I grew up visiting my grandparents' farm, and I know there's nothing more consoling than the sound of a mother hen clucking over her chicks, nothing more touching than a mother hen herding her tiny, yellow-feathered babies into a safe corner.

What does Jesus look like to you? That's really the only question that matters when it comes to this way of praying.

How do you pray with pictures?

You can be anywhere, at any time, as long as you have sufficient quiet to let you form mental images and hold them for a while.

Maybe you have a problem you want the Lord to help you solve, or a burden you want Him to remove.

First, picture Jesus there with you. Then picture His helping you in whatever way you need.

Years ago a woman named Helene came to me and she said, “Terry, I'm weighed down by burdens. I have a health problem. My husband and I are in conflict about whether to move away or stay here. We're having a problem with our son. I need help.”

I can take no credit for what I said. But I had the idea of suggesting she close her eyes and picture giving all her burdens to God.

I prayed something about God lifting her burdens, but then we just stood there together in silence. After a few moments, Helene opened her eyes and it was as if she'd been transformed. She had more color in her cheeks than I'd ever seen. Her eyes sparkled with a new vitality. A giant smile showed her sense of relief and release.

Within months of that day, her life took positive new directions. Every one of those problems were resolved. Is it because of something I did or said? Or was it because of a transaction that took place in those moments between Helene and the Lord?

She told me later: “Do you know what I pictured that day?”

I said, “No, of course I don't.”

She said, ‘I pictured the meadow in the opening scene of the movie “The Sound of Music,” where Julie Andrews comes running out across that high alpine meadow, lifts her hands, and begins to sing.” Helene said, “I pictured myself in that meadow. First I saw the Lord standing with me. Then I pictured putting all of my problems, all of my burdens, in a bundle. I gave them all to Him, and He took them, and I haven't felt so free in years. I felt like singing.”

Whatever your need – for peace, for comfort, for wisdom, for solace, for help of any kind – take time out. Get quiet. Picture yourself and Jesus together. Picture asking Him for help. Picture His giving you the help you need. Picture yourself receiving the help He has for you.

III

A former mentor and great influence in my ministry was Paul Walker, pastor of a huge church in Atlanta. Along with being a captivating preacher, he also had a powerful ministry of pastoral counseling.

He tells the story of a man who brought his wife to Dr. Walker's office because she'd been rendered almost catatonic by the problems in her life.

The woman was so distraught she could not speak. Finally, she slid from her chair onto the floor of the office and assumed the fetal position – much to the horror of her husband and the minister. There she lay in silence.

Paul Walker said: “To be honest with you, I was worried. Then,” he said, “I knelt down beside her, and I whispered in her ear ‘Do you remember the story in the Bible when the disciples were in the boat, trying to go across the lake, and the waves got so high (the Bible says they were of seismic proportions) the boat started to sink? Do you remember how Jesus stood up in the bow of that boat, and He said three words: “Peace. Be still.” The Bible says there was a great calm.'”

Paul Walker said to the woman, “I know you've been deeply hurt, and know there are things in you that nobody can really understand, and you don't want to face up to. But I want you to get a mental image. I want you to see that same Christ. He's in the boat, and He's saying to you, ‘Peace. Be still.'”

A fear began to trickle out of one eye. She began to move. She reached out her hand and Paul Walker took it.

She stood to her feet. Her husband came rushing over and took her in his arms. They began to weep together, and the dam broke.

Paul Walker didn't see the couple for a while after that. Then one Sunday the woman came through the line after church. She didn't say anything, but she smiled, and she pressed a note into the minister's hand. When he got to his office, he opened the note. On it were three words: “Peace. Be still.” And at the bottom: “It works.”

Picturing prayer. It works. It worked for that woman years ago in an Atlanta church. It can work for you.