The Countenance of the Lord (1 Samuel 2: 1-10)

 Sermon: The Countenance of the Lord

This is the prayer prayed by Hannah. In the Bible, it appears as a poem, so it is sometimes called the Song of Hannah.

Hannah was one of the two wives of a man named Elkanah. The other wife was named Peninnah. 

Peninnah had children, but Hannah did not… Hannah was childless… And Hannah was miserable because of this. She desperately wanted to have children. Having children was a sign of God’s blessing. Not having children, in the ancient world, was a source of shame.

Being childless today doesn’t carry the same stigma, and yet, for many, it is still the cause of much sadness. I know couples who desperately wanted children, who spent great amounts of money on treatments hoping that would help, yet, still, they remained childless.

Then there are the many who got pregnant, only to have the pregnancy end in miscarriage, or in the death of their newborn. Our regional church just published the first issue of a new quarterly magazine called the Christian, and on the opening pages, it mentions that 1 in 4 women have experienced a miscarriage or the death of a newborn. 

Did you know the numbers were that high? The grief that people experience because of miscarriage, or because of the death of a newborn, or because they were unable to conceive, is not talked about, not even acknowledged. It is a grief that is often borne in silence.

Yet, in the Bible, there are stories of women who are childless, even into their old age. Hannah is just one. There is also Sarah; Rebekah; Rachel, the mother of Samson; and Elizabeth; the mother of John the Baptist. 

Each of them were childless, and beyond the age of childbearing. Each of them lived many years suffering under the disgrace of that. 

But (spoiler alert!) each of these women did, in their old age, give birth. Including Hannah.

This isn’t the Bible’s way of saying, “if you have enough faith, God will grant you your wish as well.” We know God doesn’t always work that way.

But it is the Bible’s way of saying that those who have been treated poorly, those who have been mocked and ridiculed for reasons that aren’t their fault—God will take notice of them. God takes notice of those who are low. God hears the cries of those who suffer. And even though God doesn’t always remove the cause of that suffering as quickly as we would like, God is always there, suffering alongside those who suffer, weeping alongside those who weep, grieving with those who grieve, even if no one else is there to grieve with them.

For Hannah, her grief and misery is made even worse by Peninnah, who mocks and torments Hannah. Too bad Peninnah doesn’t belong to a church that has a Kindness Campaign! Perhaps then she would show a little compassion!

Perhaps Peninnah sees Hannah as a rival for Elkanah’s affection. Perhaps that’s why she does everything she can to make Hannah’s life miserable.

Elkanah, on the other hand, does show kindness to Hannah. He does not blame Hannah or shame Hannah because she is childless. He says to Hannah: “Don’t be sad. You have me! Am I not worth at least ten sons to you?”

Elkanah may be a little clueless, but he does at least try to console Hannah.

 So Hannah goes to the temple and prays for a child, a son, to take away her bitterness and her misery. In tears she prays, weeping bitterly. 

The priest, Eli, sees Hannah praying. She is praying silently; her lips are moving, but she is making no sound; and Eli thinks she was drunk…

Why are the men in this story so clueless? Why does Eli jump to that conclusion? Is there a lesson here for all those who mistakenly jump to conclusions, who prejudge a person before they even know what’s really going on?

Is this a lesson about how men make assumptions about women, thinking they know better than the women themselves about what’s going on in their lives?

Hannah says to Eli: “No, sir, I have not been drinking; I’ve been pouring out my soul before the Lord, praying out of my great anxiety and vexation.”

And Eli says: “Oh. Well. In that case, go in peace; and may the God of Israel grant the petition you have made to him.”

This benediction lifts Hannah’s spirits. She leaves the temple, goes on her way, and—the scripture says—her countenance is sad no longer.

That’s a cool word: countenance.

It’s one of those words that isn’t used as much anymore. A quick search online showed me that countenance was used much more in the early 1800s, but not so much now.

Some of you may know the word countenance from its appearance at the end of Numbers, chapter 6. In the NRSV, it goes like this: “The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious to you; the Lord lift up his countenance upon you, and give you peace.”

Hopefully that sounds familiar to you. Most Sundays, those verses are the basis of the benediction I give at the end of worship; except I don’t usually use the word countenance, because I know not everyone knows what it means. 

Instead of “The Lord lift up his countenance upon you,” I say, “The Lord look upon you with kindness.”

The word countenance refers to one’s face or facial expression, or the look one gives. When the verse says “the Lord lift up his countenance upon you,” it means, may the Lord’s face be directed toward you in kindness.

And when the scripture says that Hannah’s countenance was sad no longer, it means that her face was sad no longer. It means that the visible expression of grief, of sadness, of misery, was no longer upon her face. 

Hannah’s countenance was sad no longer because the Lord did lift up his countenance upon her. The Lord’s face turned toward her, took notice of her and her condition…just as the Lord took notice of the conditions of Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Elizabeth, those other childless women…  just as the Lord took notice of Hagar, Sarah’s slave-girl in Genesis 21, when she was about to die of thirst in the wilderness; the Lord’s countenance came upon her; the Lord took notice of her condition, led her to a well of water, and made a promise to her, that her son Ishmael would become the ancestor of a great nation.

The Lord’s countenance was upon all these women, because of their suffering, because of their misery, much of it inflicted upon them by a patriarchal society. 

Clueless men—often their own husbands—didn’t understand their suffering, their misery, didn’t understand what caused it, or were just indifferent to it; but God noticed. And God’s countenance was turned upon them.

So. The Lord’s countenance was upon Hannah. In due time, the scripture says, Hannah conceived and bore a son, who she named Samuel. And when Samuel was old enough, Hannah brought Samuel to the temple, to be trained in the ways of the Lord, because she had promised to do so. 

And her heart was filled with joy, and she sang her heart out to God, a song filled with praise and thanksgiving, because God’s countenance was upon her; God took notice of her grief, her misery; and God lifted her up out of that deep, dark place she was in, in a reversal that is so characteristic of God, lifting up the lowly to a place higher than those who had previously used their power and position to mock, ridicule, abuse and oppress. 

We are just two weeks away from the start of Advent. In Advent, we get to hear, again, the story of another woman, who–along with her people–longed for God to notice them, to lift up his countenance upon them. 

They were living in dark and difficult days; days when the people of God were oppressed and persecuted by Rome. A young, poor woman like Mary was particularly vulnerable. To avoid harassment and abuse, a young woman like Mary tried not to draw attention to herself. She tried to stay hidden. Unnoticed.

But then: God noticed her. God lifted up his countenance upon her, and his countenance was filled with kindness, compassion, and love. 

Just as God took notice of Hannah and her suffering, God also took notice of Mary. God took notice of the plight of all God’s people, and God would bless them—and bless the whole world—through Mary, and through the son she would bear.

And Mary sang her own song. The Magnificat. We’ll hear it in a few weeks, during Advent. 

But know that Mary’s song was inspired by Hannah’s song. Many of the themes are the same. Mary’s song was also inspired by the lives and the songs of Miriam, and Deborah, and perhaps even a heroic woman named Judith, and other women prophets and saints, all of whom bore silent shame and suffering, until they were noticed by God. 

God saw them, God took notice of them, and God lifted his countenance upon them. Even when their pain was ignored or misunderstood or minimized by the men in their lives, God took notice of them, took notice of their grief;

God heard their cries and their laments. God felt their tears. 

And God intervened, to turn their circumstances from ones of sorrow, to ones of joy.

God calls us to be those who notice the often hidden pain and suffering and misery of people today.

And I am thankful that, through the ministry of First Christian Church, we are doing just that. God is opening our eyes, helping us to see and notice those who grieve, those who suffer, and to do what we can to sit when them and to show compassion to them.

Since coming to First Christian Church, I have been thankful for those who volunteer at our Helping Shelf, showing compassion to our neighbors in need.

I have been thankful for acts of care shown to those beset by unexpected health challenges. You all have offered up sincere prayers and genuine love, and have literally sat with those who just needed someone to sit with them, and you have provided care for those who needed care shown to them.

You all have inspired one another and even other congregations in our community by getting us involved in the Kindness Campaign, letting one another and our community know that even when we disagree on things, that we can and should still treat one another with kindness, love, and respect; that when everyone else is hurling insults, we can respond differently.

You have supported our youth and our youth program, which lets youth know that they don’t need to do anything to earn God’s approval and love, that God’s countenance is upon them and will not depart from them. The world of youth today is one in which they are constantly made to feel that they must prove themselves in order to receive any kind of positive notice, but here, they learn that God notices them favorably—that God looks upon them with kindness—and that nothing they do or don’t do will change that.

And this is why our ministry at First Christian Church is so important… and why your support for our ministry is so important. Your tithes, your pledge, your participation, your prayers—it all helps us let people know that God’s countenance is upon them, that God looks upon them with kindness; that God notices them even when no one else does; even when they bear their grief silently.

And by doing this, we are allowing God to work through us to restore people to wholeness. God is working through us to save people’s lives.

Maybe that’s the real meaning of the story of Hannah and all these other women who were childless into old age, but then who miraculously were able to conceive and bear children: that even when all life seems gone, when things are at their most hopeless, hope and new life can still spring forth. 

When things in this world seem to be at a low point, and it’s too late to change course, too late to find new life, God’s countenance still shines down, and God still works in human history reverse all the unjust, un-right, unfair things that are happening, and make the world whole once again.

And what a blessing it is, for us, that God does this through the ministry of First Christian Church.

"Reading With Different Eyes" 1 Samuel 1: 1-18

Elkanah had two wives: Hannah and Peninnah. Hannah had no children, but Peninnah had children. Hannah was cursed; Peninnah was blessed.

Elkanah said to his wife Hannah: “Hannah, why do you weep? Why do you not eat? Why is your heart sad? Am I not worth more to you than ten sons?”

When I read this, I think of Elkanah as a kind, sympathetic husband. He’s providing genuine comfort to Hannah. I hear Hannah saying, “I haven’t got anyone,” and Elkanah responds, “Yes you do; you have me.” And I think, “What a nice guy! What a caring husband!”

My friend Sandhya Jha hears this differently. She wrote a study based on this scripture that our CWF groups used this month.

When Sandhya hears this story, in her mind what she hears Elkanah saying is, “just get over it, dear. You should be happy you have me. I’m awesome! I’m worth more than ten sons.” That’s a little different than how I hear it.

Sandhya writes that, instead of hearing Elkanah ask, “aren’t I worth more than ten sons,” what a woman would rather hear is, “You are worth more than ten sons to me.”

In my reading, the way I hear it, Elkanah is sympathetic and understanding.

But in Sandhya’s reading, Elkanah is “ham-handed” in his love for Hannah, and “does not understand the complexities of the struggles Hannah faces.”

Two very different readings. And the thing is, I can’t tell which one is right.

The same thing happens a few verses later…

Hannah goes to the temple to pray. She’s torn up about this. Elkanah’s words were obviously not enough to comfort her (which – I don’t know – suggests that perhaps Sandhya’s reading is closer to the truth than mine). Hannah’s prayer is so intense, so heart-felt, that she’s almost in a trance… her lips are moving, but her voice is silent… and in walks Eli, the priest, who sees her, and accuses her of being drunk.

An honest misunderstanding, I think. Hannah’s situation is exceptional, the intensity of her prayer is exceptional, so the misunderstanding is understandable.

Not so, says my friend Sandhya. Eli the priest has insulted Hannah (whether intentionally or not) by failing to offer her comfort, compassion, or justice. The suggestion is that with compassion, he should have recognized her desperate state, but instead, he criticized her, adding further insult to her misery.

Now, which reading is right? Are we supposed to sympathize with and understand Eli’s mistake, or should we see his failure to recognize Hannah’s prayer for what it was as a sign of his lack of compassion?

I asked myself: What is it that makes Sandhya read this scripture the way she does? 

I recalled that, in her book Pre-Post-Racial America, Sandhya mentions that her father is a Hindu who was born in India, and her mother is a Christian who was born in Scotland. Her Scottish mother was rejected by her Christian family for loving a man of a different race and religion.

When Sandhya’s parents first bought a home together, there was a petition to evict them from the neighborhood. When Sandhya became a minister, churches didn’t call her, and she wonders: was it because they couldn’t pronounce her name? Or was it, as other clergy colleagues of mine have found out, because she was a woman?

So this is what goes through my mind as I wonder what makes Sandhya interpret the scripture the way she does. But then that leads to another question: What is it that makes me read this scripture the way I do?

Perhaps that should have been my first question. In asking what made Sandhya read and hear the scripture the way she did implies that there is something abnormal about her or the way she reads scripture. The assumption I made is that the way I hear the story is the “normal” way.

Fortunately, because of my friendship with Sandhya, and because I’ve read her book, it wasn’t long before I was able to see my mistake.

So what is it about me that leads me to read this scripture the way I do?

In the places where I’ve lived and worked, I have never felt judged because of my skin color or my gender.  I have never felt discriminated against for either of these reasons. I’ve never had my motives questioned because of my race or because I’m a male.

Certainly there have been times when I’ve felt I’ve been misjudged, misunderstood, or mistreated… but it hasn’t been because I’m a white male. My only real experience as a victim of racism didn’t happen because of who I am, but who I was with at the time.

In fact, people are more likely to give me the benefit of the doubt just because I am a man, and just because I am white.  That’s the privilege I have in society.

And because people are more likely to give me the benefit of the doubt, I’m more likely to do that for others, especially if they are white like me. Or male.

So I have to be very careful. We’ve seen over and over how the media report on events, and how the media describe people of different skin colors in different ways. A gathering of African Americans is a riot, but a gathering of whites is a protest. What is it that makes people interpret and describe similar events differently? What is it that makes them “read” the events the way they do?

Our own experiences shape how we see others and the events that surround them. It’s what comes natural. Eli the priest thought Hannah was drunk. Well, it’s a natural mistake, I think. A simple misunderstanding. That it might have something to do with the fact that she’s a woman doesn’t occur to me.

And my interpretation of Elkanah’s motives… he’s not trying to make Hannah feel bad. He’s not trying to belittle her concerns. He’s genuinely trying to comfort her.

That’s how it seems to me.

The reason it seems that way to me is this: I’ve not experienced the oppression Hannah has experienced. I’ve not experienced what it’s like to be a woman in a patriarchal society. I’m not used to having people question my motives. And I’ve not experienced the despair of being childless in a society that says to women, “you’re not whole unless you’ve borne children.”

And the experiences that I’ve had – and the experiences that I’ve not had – influence how I read and hear scripture.

In seminary, I took a class called “U.S. Hispanic Theology.” I was asked once or twice, “Why do you want to take that class?” … the implication being that Hispanic theology was for Hispanics.

Well, I’m glad I took the class. I learned in that class that if you want to understand the situation of people in the Bible, it helps to understand the situations of people today that are similar.

In that class, we talked about how Jesus was a Jew from the town of Nazareth, in the region called Galilee. Not everyone who lived in Galilee was Jewish. There were a lot of non-Jews there, and a lot of Greek and Roman influences. In fact, Galilee wasn’t always a welcoming place for Jews.

Jerusalem, far to the south, was the center of all things Jewish. And yet, when Jews from Galilee went to Jerusalem– you might think they’d feel welcome, because they were surrounded by other Jews. But they weren’t. Not always.  They were Jews, yes; but they were too Greek to be “real” Jews. They were tainted by Galilean influences.

Thus, the welcome in Jerusalem was often less than sincere.

Maybe that’s why Mary and Joseph had a hard time finding a place to stay in Bethlehem. “You’re Galilean Jews? No, there’s no room for you here.”

All this is to say that a Galilean Jew like Jesus was not fully welcomed in Galilee because he was Jewish, and was not fully welcomed in Jerusalem because he was Galilean.

In class, we talked about this, and then we talked about Mexican-Americans.

In America, they are often told that they should go back home to Mexico.

But Mexico is no longer their home. It may even be that their families came from Mexico generations ago, or even have lived here when California was part of Mexico. If they go to Mexico, they find a less than genuine welcome there. They’re not Mexican after all; they’re too American.

Not welcome here; not welcome there. Just like Jesus.

Thus, if you read the New Testament the way a Mexican-American might read it, you just might understand a little better the life and struggles of Jesus and other Galilean Jews.  It helps to read the stories of Jesus through Mexican-American eyes.

In northern California I had another friend who is a pastor in the church. He is also gay. I knew that it was hard for gay people to find a welcome in the church. But he told me that it’s even harder to find a welcome in the gay community when they find out he is a committed Christian.

Not welcome here. Not welcome there.

Now maybe that’s changing as more churches are opening up to the gay community. I hope so. But it still shows how learning to see the world from another’s perspective can open you up to new levels of understanding.

You’ve heard the saying, “don’t judge a person until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes.”

When it comes to scripture, it’s helpful to say, “Don’t think you understand completely what the scripture says until you’ve learned to read it with another person’s eyes, or hear it with another person’s ears…”

All of us have experiences that influence how we read and understand these stories. All of us have experiences that influence how we read and understand our faith. Our understanding of scripture is never complete if we don’t take the time to see things through the eyes of people who are different than us.

Power of Prayer (1 Samuel 1)

For some weeks now, in our church newsletter, the Fellowship News, there have appeared a series of articles on prayer. When Monica, our church secretary, showed these to me, I agreed that we could reprint them if space allowed. I figured they would get people thinking about prayer, which is usually a good thing.

This is not to say that I agreed wholeheartedly with everything in those articles. I didn’t. I don’t. But we don’t need to be afraid of those whose opinions are different than our own, do we? Besides, in reading those articles, I found myself thinking about prayer and about how I pray. The articles were stimulating. I discovered that I was engaging in conversation with the articles, in my mind, saying to myself, “Yes, I agree with that,” or, “No, I don’t agree with that,” and then asking myself, “What do I believe about prayer?”

I have found this inner conversation to be helpful. I hope you have, too.

The biggest disagreement I have with this series of articles is the title. The series is called, “The Proper Way to Pray.” I think that these articles describe a proper way to pray. I do not think that they describe the proper way to pray. I firmly believe that there are, in fact, many different ways to pray.

The first book of Samuel starts with a story about Hannah, one of a number of Old Testament women who are barren, but then, through divine intervention, bear offspring late in life. Tired of being tormented and ridiculed by others, tired of being sad and depressed, Hannah went to pray and plead to God that she might bear a child. Her prayer was sincere, but I don’t think anyone—not my seminary professors, not the author of those newsletter articles—would approve of the prayer she offered.

Hannah’s prayer seeks to strike a deal with God. “Oh, God, if you do this, then I will do that.” I know we often pray like this, but in the back of our minds, we feel guilty for doing so. It’s not really proper, is it? Surely God deserves better from us.

Hannah prays in such a way that Eli, the priest, accuses her of being drunk. How must one be praying in order to be mistaken for a drunk? And if the good priest doesn’t recognize the fact that you are praying, but instead mistakes it for a drunken spectacle, … Clearly, Hannah was not praying “the proper way.”

But there can be no denying that her prayer was from the heart. Apparently, with God, that counts for something. And so, her prayer had power; and she knew it. Her sadness went away, as soon as the prayer ended, even before God answered her prayer.

Eventually God did answer her prayer. Hannah gave birth to a son, whom she named Samuel. And when the time was right, she fulfilled her end of the bargain. She presented Samuel to the Lord.

So. Was that the right way to pray? We want to know, because we want our prayers to be right. We want to know, because we want our prayers to be effective, and powerful. And we’re never really sure if we’re doing it right. The Bible doesn’t really have a step-by-step how to pray instruction guide in it. It’s not exactly “Prayer for Dummies.” (“Prayer for Dummies” might be a better name for those newsletter articles, but I digress. And no, I don’t mean to be overly critical—those “for dummies” books can be wonderfully helpful. But still.)

What else can we say about Hannah’s prayer? Hannah’s prayer was spontaneous. It was extemporaneous. It was not a prayer that was composed ahead of time. It may not have demonstrated very good theology, but it was from the heart; and God did answer her prayer. God granted her request, despite the bad theology; which suggests that, perhaps, this way of praying is the proper way to pray.

But then: what happens next?

After Samuel is born, after he is weaned and begins serving the Lord, Hannah goes before the Lord and offers up another prayer. And this second prayer is nothing like that first prayer. Everything about it is different.

This second prayer is a finely polished, well composed prayer, written out in poetic form. It’s a psalm, and it appears here in the first book of Samuel as Hannah’s prayer, although parts of it certainly don’t sound like anything Hannah would have prayed for.

Listen:

My heart exults in the Lord; my strength is exalted in my God.*My mouth derides my enemies, because I rejoice in my* victory.

2There is no Holy One like the Lord,
no one besides you;
there is no Rock like our God.
3Talk no more so very proudly,
let not arrogance come from your mouth;
for the Lord is a God of knowledge,
and by him actions are weighed.
4The bows of the mighty are broken,
but the feeble gird on strength.
5Those who were full have hired themselves out for bread,
but those who were hungry are fat with spoil.
The barren has borne seven,
but she who has many children is forlorn.
6The Lord kills and brings to life;
he brings down to Sheol and raises up.
7The Lord makes poor and makes rich;
he brings low, he also exalts.
8He raises up the poor from the dust;
he lifts the needy from the ash heap,
to make them sit with princes
and inherit a seat of honor.*
For the pillars of the earth are the Lord’s,
and on them he has set the world.
9He will guard the feet of his faithful ones,
but the wicked shall be cut off in darkness;
for not by might does one prevail.
10The Lord! His adversaries shall be shattered;
the Most High* will thunder in heaven.
The Lord will judge the ends of the earth;
he will give strength to his king,
and exalt the power of his anointed.

This prayer is a psalm of thanksgiving, which does mention a barren woman bearing many children; but it also mentions rejoicing over one’s enemies, it mentions bows and arrows, it mentions princes and kings…. What do these things have to do with Hannah?

Nothing, actually.

So why did Hannah compose such a prayer?

She didn’t.

What she did, most likely, was go to the priest, explain her situation, and ask for a prayer of thanksgiving. The priest would then think about and look through all the prayers that were written on the scrolls that he had stored away. Eventually he’d come upon one that mentioned a barren woman having children. He’d say to himself, “Yeah, this will work.”

Actually, it’s not that different from what your church staff does each week when picking out hymns for worship.

Then the priest would bring the scroll out to Hannah. He’d unroll the scroll, and he’d read it out loud, since it’s doubtful that a woman like Hannah could read, although if she could, she might read along with him. She’d speak strongly, emotionally, the parts that pertained to her, and possibly she’d mumble through the parts that didn’t.

Which is not that different from what some of you do when you sing the hymns that have been selected for worship.

And then the priest would roll the scroll back up, and put it back on the shelf so that it would be ready the next time.

Hannah’s second prayer was not spontaneous. It wasn’t even Hannah’s. It was artistically beautiful, but it was off-the-shelf. Does that make it any less powerful?

Well, given the way it is featured so prominently here in the first book of Samuel, I’d say no. As it is presented here, this prayer was intended to be used over and over by people who wanted to combine their thoughts and prayers with the thoughts and prayers of others, by praying one, common prayer. And that can be a very powerful and effective way to pray.

So: two very different ways of praying. Neither is the proper way to pray. Both are acceptable to God.

Jesus prayed in many different ways. Growing up in the Jewish faith, he surely said his morning and evening prayers, which included the prayer known as the Shema, a prayer that we find in the sixth chapter of Deuteronomy. It is the most important prayer in Judaism, still said twice a day by Jews today. It begins: “Hear O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One.”

Jesus also prayed spontaneous prayers from the heart, prayers like the one he prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane.

A third type of prayer Jesus prayed was the contemplative—or meditative—prayer. Sometimes Jesus would spend the whole night in prayer, most of it in silence, listening for that still small voice, discerning God’s will for him, seeking focus and clarity for in his life.

I don’t think that there’s any doubt that all three of these ways of praying are acceptable to God.

There is something else you should know about Hannah’s second, more formal prayer. The first king in Israel’s history would be anointed by Hannah’s son Samuel after he grew up and became a man. Before that time, there were no kings. While Samuel was a child, there were no kings. And yet, this prayer of Hannah mentions the king.

So probably, this prayer wasn’t even prayed by Hannah at all. The author of the first book of Samuel inserted this prayer in here after the fact. Most likely, there was no scroll containing this particular prayer from which Hannah or the priest could read in the presence of the Lord. There may have been other prayers, but not this one.

Does that make this prayer less powerful, less meaningful?

Many centuries later, the gospel of Luke would record that Mary, when she was pregnant with Jesus, sang a song of praise to the Lord. Mary’s song of praise is based on the prayer that is ascribed to Hannah. It’s not exactly the same, but it does bear a very close resemblance. What happened is that, over the centuries, that prayer took on a life of its own.

Now you could look at this in one of two different ways. You could think of it as a sham: that the person whose name is attached to the prayer didn’t write it, didn’t even pray it. Or you could think of it as a powerful yet mysterious wonder, that a prayer of unknown origin could have so much meaning and so much power to so many people in so many different ways.

There really is no one right way to pray, as long as you do it. As long as your heart is in it, as long as you are sincere; then your prayer is appropriate and acceptable to God.