Three minutes left in the fourth quarter, a 12 point lead has shrunk to 6. Fatigue is setting in as confidence leaks out.
“Time-out!”I haven’t watched ESPN in vain; I know when to stop the bleeding. Dickie V. would approve.
The players hustle to the sideline, frustration evident in their posture and countenance. They each take a seat while teammates get water and towels and form a shell separating us from the court and bedlam erupting in the gym as the home team is making a comeback.
Now what should happen is that five sets of eyes focus on mine as I renew confidence, infuse courage, and give instruction.
Instead the players talk, accuse, blame, justify and in a word: blather.
At times like this I have learned to become silent – adding my voice to the din would only add to the disorder.
Sometimes my silence is realized – perhaps felt – and the players become silent. Though I feel a strong compulsion to speak rapidly both to scold and quickly instruct and save the day; I have learned from hard lessons to remain quiet. Five seconds become ten, an enormous sacrifice in a time-out period strictly limited to 60 seconds. Leaving me only time for a single sentence; perhaps only an encouragement, I might simply say, “We are all-right, play our game, Defense!”
Reminds me of my prayers, I am full of words, blame, excuses.
“Do something God, aren’t you in charge!” As I continue to blather on and on doing all the talking, accusing, blaming, justiflying. At the end comes my “amen” like the officials whistle and command of “Get them out here, coach”. Maybe God like a seasoned coach is silent, awaiting my attentiveness. Perhaps I should seek his eye rather than the sound of my own voice. Is God’s silence simply his awaiting my listening, my attentiveness?
I have recently been considering the following description of prayer:
to the One
who addresses us
in the here and now.
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