Less than a handful

Last Wednesday we held our annual “Around-the-Grounds” prayer event. For several years running, we have held a “back-to-school” prayer walk and gathering on the Wednesday before school begins. On a typical prayer walk, we may have 15-20 people of all ages on hand who, after brief, corporate prayer at the flag pole outside of the school, disperse into teams of 2 and 3 to either pray around the school grounds or through the school halls. It's usually a mixed crowd of parents, supportive members of the community and kids of all ages. We start at the high school/middle school and later move over to the elementary school to repeat the whole process there. The teams who move inside pray in different places of the building invoking God's presence there. They are also encouraged to sensitively approach teachers and other staff and ask if they can pray for them. In a small town, most people know each other anyway and staff usually welcome prayer and are frequently touched by the fact that someone would pray for them.

But this year's walk, at least on the surface, appeared to be almost a non-event. Only two other individuals besides myself were on hand – a 17-year old senior and a retired teacher. Despite news releases in both the “Back to School” special insert in our weekly paper as well as on the “church page”, despite discussion at the Breakfast Club and email reminders, vacations, appointments, and other things, apparently took precedent over this important walk. But on the kingdom principle that three is a quorum (“For where two or three come together in my name, there am I with them." Matthew 18:20), we began our walk at noon as planned. We spent a good fifteen minutes praying by the flag pole before making our slow meander around the grounds of Chetek-Weyerhaeuser high school and middle school. Two of us use a prayer language and so frequently while one was praying in English the other was quietly speaking in tongues. We took Paul's counsel to heart about “praying every way you know how for everyone you know” (1 Timothy 2:1, Msg) and asked God to fill the place, to protect those who would frequent it or play upon the fields around it, and for gospel-sharing activity to take place within it. With the exception of the Middle School secretary, who is a part of the Refuge faith family, we found no one else to pray for. All else were either on lunch break or in staff meetings.

Part of the 2011 prayer walk

When it was time to move over to Roselawn, our senior had to go so it was now just Teresa and I. But we metaphorically linked arms and began the process all over again. All the teachers at the elementary school were in a staff meeting with the principal so we walked the halls mostly just quietly praying in tongues. Admittedly, given the fact that we had been at this for over two hours now, we both were beginning to run out of gas and out of things to pray for. But we finished the task and considered our schools sufficiently blessed for the onset of the new school year which begins just a few days from now.

That night I had invited all the other fellowships in town as well as anyone else from the community who were not able to participate in the prayer walk to join us at Focus for a prayer meeting. Apart from our own kids, Pastor Norm and my wife were the only two “outsiders” to bolster our ranks. But we worshiped, we had the group of about 20 break into three prayer circles and pray spontaneously for the upcoming school year and then, later, I opened the floor mic for anyone who wanted to pray something for us to corporately agree with. I had only two takers (but these kids can pray!) And then we returned to worship to end the gathering.

 So, was it a failed prayer meeting? I mean, what does it mean when you invite people to pray with you about a place and for some people that are important to us all and nobody (or very few) respond? Is it unbelief? Is it indifference? Is it not appreciating the significance of the Body of Christ corporately gathering together? Those who normally would have been there made a point of calling me up and letting me know they would not be able to participate this year on account of various reasons. And this is not the first time I have called a prayer meeting to order and there was no need of a gavel. But it isn't that prayers weren't prayed – they were! And they were not pale prayers, strung out needlessly to fill space. Both the three prayer-walkers and the twenty individuals who gathered in the sanctuary this past Wednesday night prayed sincerely and, at times, passionately for the things that were on their heart to pray. The fact that less than 25 were on hand to agree together on these things does not lessen the significance of their prayers. God heard and I trust that it matters.

At the annual Night of Power vigil held at The Well a few weeks ago, only six participated in the 6 p.m.-12 midnight prayer gathering on behalf of our Somali neighbors. A few nights ago at the House of Prayer, an all night prayer meeting was held on behalf of Steve and Kari from our fellowship as Steve continues to recover from a traumatic brain injury suffered on account of a motorcycle accident this past spring. While I certainly wasn't there for all of it, I think they had a good turn-out (maybe two dozen individuals who showed up at different times during the 12-hour set.) Worship was led and prayers were said. I don't doubt that they were effectual regardless of how any of us felt about the flow of our intercession.

I don't think our experience in Barron County is all that different than a lot of places in America. As a people we have no stomach for corporate prayer gatherings or we no longer know how to sit quietly and wait so “plugged in” are we. Things come up and certainly no one can be at everything but the relatively low turnout to these gatherings suggest to me that we lack understanding about the significance of when Christians in a certain community come together and pray. What's more, it is another sign that as a people we are maxed out emotionally and our appetite for God and his kingdom has been spoiled by other – and I would add, lesser – things. Nevertheless, I am grateful for those who came, for those who maybe did not come but prayed at work or at home and for all the other prayers that will be lifted on behalf of our teachers and students through the course of the next school year.

Prayer Walking in Barron

It is a warm spring night and no one has shown at our monthly intercessory prayer gathering in Barron. We are never more than a handful but this night we are, apparently, just a finger - me. We gather at a place called The Well in our county seat to pray regularly for our Somali neighbors and for those who are in relationship with them. We've been praying for this slice of Africa that moved to our nearly all-white county a little over ten years ago for some time now. But this night other priorities must be taking precedent in the lives of those who share the same burden as I.

After about ten minutes and no late-comers have pulled up, it's such a pleasant evening I decide to go on a prayer-walk. I head up 14th Street and then turn left on LaSalle heading toward the business district of the city. I have walked no more than 500 feet when I notice Salem Lutheran's sign which reads: "Jesus said, 'Listen to Me.'" And so I pray silently, "Lord, help me to listen to You as I walk."

Though it is about 6:45 p.m. there are few cars on the road. The birds are trilling louder than the hum of the traffic a block over on Highway 8. People - all white - are out walking their dog or working in their yard. There is not a Somali in sight. Barron has the feel of a town that has seen its better days. The homes on LaSalle - especially as you get closer to down town - were glorious, imposing edifices in their day. But now there is a feel of general decay all around as if the city has succumbed to old age. As I get closer to the Post Office, there are more and more empty storefronts. I look in the window at the Barron Bakery and it looks like how I would imagine a bakery in the former Soviet Union would appear - empty shelves, empty racks and no goods in the window to incite a potential customer to come in and take a gander at their wares.

I reach Safari, the "Somali restaurant" as it is known to the locals, and go in. A few old ones are listening to some man speaking in what I assume is Somali on a lap top. I say "Mafiantahi" ("Hello" in Somali) to them and they either do not hear me or do not care to acknowledge me. I order a Chai tea and wander a bit through the few aisles of groceries just to pass the time while I wait. I pay for my tea, thank the man and exit and continue on my walk. With the exception of the four guys I saw in Safari, there are no other Somali about. Just white people - and not many of them, either - enjoying the evening air. A young dad ahead of me pushes a jogging stroller with a couple of kids in it. He is stopped by a Somali man walking with his two young daughters. As I come upon them, he is asking the young man about his children and the stroller that clearly intrigues him.

I pass some Cub Scouts and their leaders who are out on the lawn of the courthouse batting a beach ball around. Later on, I pass a group of kids playing what we refer to as "blob-tag" out on the lawn of First Lutheran. It must be some kind of kids' program as a number of adults are shouting instructions and generally looking on.

I have been walking for about a half hour now and have not really prayed anything of substance other than, "Lord, I don't know how to pray so please teach me to pray for Barron tonight." I walk on. I notice a block or so ahead of me what must be a Somali woman out walking for she is in traditional dress. She turns down another street. I reach First Baptist and I begin to think again about the sign at Salem Lutheran: "Jesus said, 'Listen to me.'" So I begin to imagine what a city would look like if they listened to Jesus.

When Jesus was transfigured, the Father is reported to have spoken "This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased. Listen to him!" (Matthew 17:5)So I pray that Barron would listen to Jesus. That they would bless those who treated them poorly; that they would pray for those who spitefully use them; that they would forgive their enemies and love their neighbors. I arrive at the Copland's home on Lake St and stop in.

Wade & Jessica have lived in Barron for three years now and came from sunny California due to the call of the Lord to work with the Somali. They head up The Well and are doing a wonderful work at incarnating the Gospel among their Muslim neighbors. In fact, recently Wade had the opportunity to pray with one of them who has professed faith in Jesus Christ (the first one in Barron to do so to our knowledge). They are sitting in their living room having just finished their dinner. We visit about "the work", about the two Mormon guys who have been dropping in for lengthy conversations, and about Jessica's doctor-prescribed bed rest due to a baby who is too eager for its own good to join his or her family. She is due in August - a long time from now - and as you would expect from someone who is doing a lot of sitting, she seems tired. I stay about 30 minutes and then pray with them and then resume my walk.

I'm walking eastward on Highway 8. Traffic is steady. I pass one house whose owner is trying to get his yard cut before it is completely dark. After a few blocks on "8", it's too busy for my liking and I cut over to LaSalle again which by contrast is completely deserted. A kid on his bike is heading either home or on a quick errand. Dark is coming rapidly. The Somali man with the two little girls is heading my way. I quick pray that God will help me as I greet him only to see him duck into a building. I have LaSalle again to myself.

"Barron, listen to Jesus," I pray again. I pray for the Church of Jesus in this community to listen to their Lord. I pray for the Muslim people to listen to Isa. I pray for the LDSers and the pagans as well who reside in this city to "Listen to Him", to heed his voice, to walk in his way. As I walk the final quarter mile or so back to my van, I pray that God would root out all manner of division between the various Christian fellowships in Barron which seems to have two of everything - two Lutheran congregations, two Baptist, two Methodist as well as a group of Mennonites, Four Square, St. Joseph's and the various Christians no doubt living in this city who are disaffected and do not find the present structures of any of the fellowships life-giving to say the least. I pray for them that they will bless their brothers, speak well of each other and love each other as if their lives depended on it so that "the world will know" that the Father has sent Jesus and loves them as much as he loves Him (John 17:23).

I'm back at my van. I drive up 14th Street but this time turn right on LaSalle, past the mosque and onto Highway 8 heading for home. It has been pretty - well, dare I say it? - pedestrian as intercession goes I suppose. But it was a beautiful night for a walk and I trust as simple as my prayers were, God led me and taught me how to pray for Barron on this warm night in April.