"ONLY LET THEM BE TRUE"

“Some of the brothers went to Abba Macarius and said, ‘How should we pray?’ He answered, ‘It is not necessary to say many words, only let them be true. Turn your face to God and say “As You will, Lord, do to me. As You do, let me follow.” This is prayer.’ ”—from the Sayings of Abba Macarius

“Only let them be true.”

God knows who I am. He doesn’t have to wonder about it, I never puzzle Him, He knows me as I can never know myself. The problem I have with praying is me. It’s not so much that I don’t say the truth to God, as it is I don’t say the truth to myself.

I don’t say it because I don’t know it—or don’t want to own up to it.

As soon as my prayer moves beyond a childish “gimme, gimme, gimme,” I bump into a problem. It’s theological. Who am I praying to? Who is God? What’s He like?

One of the Commandments, etched by the fiery Finger of God onto the stone tablet, says “Thou shalt have no other gods but Me.” The more we learn about God, however, the more we’re inclined to trade Him in for another. Much of the story of the Old Testament is how the Jews kept turning from the God Who chose them to gods they chose for themselves. Those stories from long ago still ring true when they’re read among us today, because we still do the same thing.

When I pray, what I believe about God, who I think He is, will determine how I pray. If I think God is Santa Claus, I’ll tell him how good I’ve been and how deserving I am of the things I want. If I think God is a high school principal, I’ll try to keep the rules, remembering the long paddle that hangs outside his office. If I think He’s like “the Force” in Star Wars, an impersonal Power that generally oversees things, then I’ll try to be philosophical about everything and my “prayer” will be a vague sort of “hoping for the best.”

Who God is matters very much for a very practical reason: Who He Is determines who I am.

Those who find God in the Testaments lay aside all other gods. The One Who burned his words onto the Tablets at Sinai looks to write His words on our hearts. Prayer is us telling Him whether or not we’re willing to let Him do it.

Abba Macarius says, “Not many words, only let them be true.”

We learn from Scripture that God usually speaks to us, not in words we hear with our ears, but with words so subtle they can be discerned only with the mind and heart. Prayer isn’t prattling. I can prattle at God, but just saying words isn’t speaking. It’s reciting a monologue. “Let them be true.”

Prayer isn’t me flattering God (Whose angels see Him as He Is and forever cry “Holy, Holy, Holy” because in His Presence, there’s nothing else to say); nor is it me demeaning myself. It’s me saying to God who I am, warts and all, and God revealing to me Who He Is, as much as I can bear to know (which isn’t very much, but as much as He reveals it’s always more than I can take in).

To the extent I tell God the truth about myself, to that degree will I grasp the Truth about Himself He whispers to me. We will become friends.

When that happens, as happens to us when we find that rare true friend here, the day will come when silence is more eloquent than speech. I begin to see: prayer isn’t about asking but giving.