Praying etymology

The trouble with using the word “Pray” as a substitute for “think” is in its etymology.

‘Pray’ comes from a Latin word for ‘ask’ or ‘beg,’ and connotes a kind of pleading, as in, “Pray thee, pass me that glass of water.”  Though I’m perfectly willing to accept the importance prayer has in one’s relationship with their Almighty, and how that might work its way in to their daily lives as they decide on things, it is the substitution that worries me.  What happened to all of the thinking?  What’s the point of being human, of not being an animal, if all we’re ever doing is asking for help and guidance.  What if, instead of saying “I’ll pray about that later,” the say, “I’ll have to beg on that some more before I decide?”  At once this feels sadder and yet more accurate if we’re being serious about our choice of words.

So the trouble, then, is that we’re always asking for help.  I think, ideally, a person ought to be pretty self-reliant.  I’m sure that the messages are a bit mixed sometimes in church, but it seems reasonable that someone’s God is going to feel like they’ve already given us most of what we need to survive and live good lives and that we shouldn’t be constantly relying on them to help us out with every decision.  Isn’t that, after all, the point of us being given Free Will?

Now, it makes sense that somebody with a lot of God in their heart is going to want a lot of God in their decisions, but even then, it seems like the right thing to do is to take the lessons learned and apply them, the way you learn to make your own, adult decisions, from the lessons your parents give you as a child.

Maybe a nice compromise might be to Pray on something for a bit (I imagine this as a kind of Holy Voice-mail) and then do some real, human, rational thinking in the meanwhile, utilizing empirical evidence and sound judgment until revelation has a chance to kick in.

Alas, I too (and I’m sure this is hard for most people who know me to believe) pray from time to time, as a kind of vestige from my slightly Catholic childhood.  Granted, the intervals are ever increasing, and thereby nearly not worth mentioning.  I’m aware that my prayer is only slightly genuine in the sense of faith, and feels more like a kind of cherished sentimentality, sort of like how I’ll light a candle in a church for my dead grandparents, not so much because I believe, but because I know the moment is symbolic for something they would have appreciated and is a nice way for me to reflect on them.  The difference, for me, is that when I pray, it’s usually not about asking for something.  I’m not saying there is anything wrong with asking, because we all do it, all the time, every time we think about the lottery or hope, beyond hope that health returns or bills stay away or that nobody will catch us doing whatever naughty act we’ve done this time.  But the asking ought not to be the norm, lest we wear the Father out.

I suppose the lesson here is, as with most topics of language, to really know what it is you mean when you say something.  When I’m feeling something, something that is mostly emotional, I say “feel.”  When I’m attempting a sound judgment, I say “think.”  When I pray, it’s because I’m asking for something, something which is out of reach by my own abilities.  I submit that Prayer ought to be reserved for these instances where we haven’t got all the tools to handle our lives.  God is busy and, besides, a child who is constantly asking for help when they’re perfectly capable of handling things on their own is apt to get spoiled, and what kind of God wants a selfish brat for a subject.  So next time some issue is kind of tough, let’s all look up to the sky and pray, “Hey god, I have this tough thing to think about, maybe a little advice, if you have the time, but meanwhile, don’t you worry.  I’m going to handle this one on my own, thanks.  Because really, you did such a nice job with my brain, and it would be a shame to let it go to waste.”