The Language of Prayer

In "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn", Huck finds himself in a real dilemma. What is he to do about Jim? As he reflects on his situation, he realizes that there is no easy way out. What follows are these classic lines:

"And I about made up my mind to pray, and see if I couldn't try to quit being the kind of a boy I was and be better. So I kneeled down. But the words wouldn't come. Why wouldn't they? It warn't no use to try and hide it from Him. Nor from ME, neither. I knowed very well why they wouldn't come. It was because my heart warn't right; it was because I warn't square; it was because I was playing double. I was letting ON to give up sin, but away inside of me I was holding on to the biggest one of all. I was trying to make my mouth SAY I would do the right thing and the clean thing, and go and write to that nigger's owner and tell where he was; but deep down in me I knowed it was a lie, and He knowed it. You can't pray a lie — I found that out."

What Huck found out was that the effectiveness of his prayer was not going to be based on the language employed (thank heavens for Huck!). The essence of effective prayer is real intent. It is based on respect, reverence and faith. But real intent is the key. James 1:5 is familiar to all members of our church. But in the verse that follows we read: But let him ask in faith, nothing wavering. For he that wavereth is like a wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed.

And again, we read in Moroni 10 the promise. After reading and pondering, what is the key to unlock revelation? “…if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ..."

I look in vain to see in the formula the use of proper language in prayer. I hear about it from time to time in things I read and sermons I hear. How I wish we spoke Spanish (or even Portuguese - Gary) when it comes to prayer. As a missionary, little time was spent on the "Language of Prayer" even among the poorest of the poor in Chile. Speak to God, your Father, as you would your loving spouse or tender child.

I read a talk by Elder Bruce R. McConkie once about prayer. I remember feeling nonplused after first reading his talk. (I have a habit of reacting that way to some of his material).


But I re-read it in light of tomorrow's lesson and came away with a different feeling.
Rather and reading his "suggestions" on how to avoid vain repetitions (by using his words instead), maybe my challenge is to write some of my deepest and most reverent thoughts that can help me to penetrate the sound barrier and sin barrier, bringing me to the very alter of God, or maybe even to the bosom of my eternal daddy.
When in Rome, do as the Romans do. When in Church, used the prescribed language of prayer. I should never use the prayer to divert attention away from God. There, I speak as the voice of all present. But when in my closet, remember that one of the Savior's final pleas was "Abba". He is my daddy too.

Coops to Courts

From Coops to Celestial Courts

When I was about 12 years old, our ward was part of the Flagstaff and later part of the Prescott Arizona Stakes of the church. Like many stakes, we had a welfare project. Ours was a "Poultry Project"or chicken farm. My dad, Boyd Tenney, served on the High Council. He had deep roots in the Prescott area, was a rancher and cattle broker and owned a Purina feed store  This put him in close contact with many people involved in agriculture. He learned of a poultry operation in Chino Valley, AZ that was available. Our Stake purchased the farm and we all had opportunities to make it function.

Maybe it is just my imagination, but it seems that as one of Boyd’s kids, I had more “opportunities” to work at the chicken farm than most. What was that like? It was the filthiest work I have ever done. These coops were about 100 feet long. The work often entailed going in and shoveling the manure, straw, dirt and dust out and putting in fresh straw. The smell of ammonia was so overwhelming that my eyes would burn, my throat would close up and I would feel like I was choking. Sneezing, coughing, teary eyes and back-breaking work – what a joy! Returning home was such a relief. I hated working at the chicken farm. Or did I? There was a feeling, deep inside my chest, beneath the secretions in my airways, that my contribution was worthy. It was the feeling you get when you do something good and necessary that you know others prefer not to do.

Fast forward about 45 years. Recently a few volunteers were recruited to go to the Mesa Temple and assist in cleaning after hours. Marilyn and I volunteered and spent one late Friday evening there. We were asked to clean the upper floors of the temple. Dressed in white, with dust cloths in hand, we went up to the highest courts of the temple and there spent a few hours cleaning, vacuuming, dusting and polishing. It may be more accurate to say that we were in search of a speck of dust to capture and discard. I felt so good when I actually noticed some small thing that needed attention. But to be in these sacred areas, serving, thinking about what the Temple represents was a real joy. No iPods, no music, nothing but silence. That is when my mind returned to my childhood memories of the chicken farm. What a contrast there was! Besides the environment, the opportunity to be in the Temple at all is a sacred privilege in and of itself.
The contrast of these two experiences is very stark. But there are some similarities as well. Service is needed. Volunteers have to step forward. But surely cleaning the House of the Lord is far more worthy an activity that of a filthy chicken coop, right? When I left the chicken farm I was filthy. When I left the temple, I felt more clean and pure than when I entered.

Leviticus has many chapters devoted to what makes us ritually and spiritually impure and what steps are needed to reclaim our purity.  That night I came to some surprising conclusions about service.

1. Willingness:
When given the “opportunity to serve”, what goes through my mind? Do I celebrate the all chances to serve equally? What do I say to myself when volunteers are requested for the chicken coops of life?
2. Why do I serve?
The classic talk given in General Conference by Dallin Oaks in October 1984 lists five possible motives for service. Usually I fall far short of the ultimate motivation – the love of God.
3. Does God have a system of ranking service?
If so, it surely must favor simple, contrite and authentic acts. From the tears and the alabaster box of ointment bathing the feet of the Savior (in the presence of “honored guests”) to the widow’s mite (giving her all in the face of greater contributions from others of their abundance), it seems to me that the Savior prefers the simple, honest and quiet contributions.

The feelings I felt after working with chicken manure was one of worthiness and peace. Did I want to rush back the next day to repeat this experience? No. But still, there was sweet feeling doing something no one else wanted to do. Serving in the temple was one that purified me, leaving me cleaner. But I feel well suited to be a pooper-scooper if only at the gates of the Kingdom.