A Closer Look
In and perhaps through this time of prayer, however, Hannah does experience transformation, as Brueggemann points out. Note the contrast between her bitterly tearful, hushed, anguished prayer in chapter one, and the “exuberant, energized” song of praise she sings in chapter two, what Brueggemann calls “Israel’s most dangerous song.” This is the song that will inspire the song of Mary, the Magnificat, which we still pray today, perhaps without noticing the kind of radical and discomforting transformation it describes, of the mighty brought down and the lowly lifted up. The lives of these women, and many like them on the margins long ago and today as well, have been transformed by God. Martin Copenhaver suggests that a story like Hannah’s (and surely, Mary’s) reminds us of an uncomfortable truth, that the amazing things that happen “in holy places” happen because of God, not because of anything we do. Actually, I think we can find a lot of comfort in that thought. It’s not all up to us, is it?
Hannah’s prayer is persistent and quite bold. Some prayer is persistent and quietly humble. I remember my oldest brother asking me how my granddaughter was doing (she struggles with a serious medical condition), and he said, very humbly, very gently, “I want you to know that I pray for her every day.” Every day. Not just in church, but every day. After the recent death of my mother, my sister and I were sorting through our parents’ “things” as they broke up housekeeping, and among them we found multiple versions of our dad’s daily prayer list, with many names added through the years. What a testament of faith and trust in God! God at the center of our lives, and our lives inside God’s own story. One of the finest pieces of literary extended prayer of a person on the margins is the journal of Celie in The Color Purple (again, by Alice Walker). In her most painful experiences (and even mired in doubt) and in her exuberant joy, Celie sees God as someone who listens to, and cares about, people like her. In the course of her long and often painful story, Celie seems to find her place in the story of God.
In our churches and in our homes, on our deathbeds and in hospital rooms, in swerving cars and moments of desolation and loneliness, we approach God with the prayers of our hearts. What a challenge it is to encounter one another in every moment of life, not knowing what is in the heart of another, but honoring their prayer and their longing and their pain nevertheless.