Prayer is one of the candidates that shows up for annual self improvement. We bolster our intentions to read the Word more, speak to God frequently. Which may be why it showed up as the topic for church early in January.  

The story that was enacted was of Hannah praying for a son, and the disapproval of Eli who stood watching. The woman who played the part was in earnest. Her face carried the creases of sincere petition, and a flurry of people I care about streamed across my mind: certainly those who strive with infertility, but also those aching for a loving partner, a stronger marriage, the well being of their child, or a change in health.

The minister explored some of the practices of prayer. One was a singing bowl, and I recalled the book Material World which chronicles the possessions of a hundred homes from around the globe. The authors coaxed each family to let them photograph their composite belongings. The household from Nepal had a collection of prayer bowls that outnumbered everything else.

The little girl in front of me whispered to her mother. 

"We should get a bowl too!"

In the conversation following the service people explored the origins of kneeling, and folded hands. The latter is never mentioned in scripture, by the way, and yet it is a universal symbol for talking with God. One person said that clasped hands symbolize that they are empty, and underscore our dependence on God. One woman suggested cupping our palms down when we speak the longings of our spirit, and cup them upwards when we are poised to listen. 

During an interlude of quiet music we were invited to try new ways of expressing prayer with our bodies. Some bowed, or held up their hands to heaven. A little girl and her mother danced like leaves in the wind. They turned round and round, their dresses swirling. I heard in my heart the words to the song wafting from the piano.

"To turn, turn will be our delight til by turning, turning we come round right."

Which is the essence of every prayer.