A Sacred Dialogue
Sarah had always thought of prayer as a monologue—a one-sided conversation where she spoke, and God, somewhere far off, listened. She grew up reciting the Lord’s Prayer, offering petitions before meals, and whispering hurried requests before bed. But something had shifted in her heart recently. She felt a deep yearning, a sense that there was more to prayer than she had been taught. It was this quiet hunger that brought her to the old stone chapel on the outskirts of town, where the air seemed to hum with centuries of whispered prayers.
It was a cold, gray afternoon when she found herself alone in the chapel, the wooden pews creaking softly as she sat down. She closed her eyes, trying to focus, to find the right words. But for once, they didn’t come. Instead, she felt a profound silence, not the absence of sound, but a presence that filled the space around her.
In the quiet, Sarah began to speak, not out loud, but in her heart. “God, are you there? I’ve always believed you were, but sometimes it feels like I’m speaking into the void. I want to hear you, to know you’re listening.” She sat still, waiting, feeling somewhat foolish. What did she expect, a voice from the heavens?
But then, something remarkable happened. A warmth spread through her chest, and a thought surfaced, not her own, but tender and inviting. “I’m here, Sarah. I’ve always been here.”
Sarah’s breath caught in her throat. Could this be real? She hesitated, then allowed herself to trust the moment. “Why does it feel so hard to hear you?” she asked, her heart trembling with the vulnerability of the question.
The response came, gentle and clear. “You’ve been speaking at me, not with me. Prayer isn’t just words, Sarah. It’s communion, a conversation of the heart. Let’s talk, but more than that, let’s be together.”
Tears welled in Sarah’s eyes as she realized what she had been missing. Prayer wasn’t just about asking for things, or even about worship—it was about relationship. “How do I start?” she asked, her thoughts almost a whisper.
“Start by listening,” the voice within her suggested. “Listen to the silence, to the space between your thoughts. I’m in the quiet places, waiting for you.”
Sarah let herself sink into the silence, feeling the divine presence more intimately than ever before. It was as if the boundaries between her and God blurred, and she was no longer praying to a distant being but communing with a loving presence within and around her. She felt a deep peace settle over her, as if she had finally come home.
“What do you want to say to me?” she asked, feeling bold and deeply connected.
“I want you to know you are loved, beyond measure. And I want you to love yourself, to see yourself as I see you. Let go of the fear, the doubt, the need to control. Just be with me.”
In that moment, Sarah understood. Prayer wasn’t about speaking the right words or performing rituals; it was about opening her heart, being vulnerable, and allowing herself to be held by the divine love that had always been there, waiting for her to notice.
When Sarah finally rose from the pew, the cold gray afternoon had softened into twilight. She stepped outside, feeling lighter, more connected, more alive. The conversation had ended, but the communion continued. She knew now that prayer was not just a moment in time but a living, ongoing relationship—a sacred dialogue that would carry her through each day, one loving exchange at a time.
Sandy Coelho serves as Lay Leadership Development Coordinator at the Baptist Churches of New England.