My Bed-Prayers

Find James Fraser, one of the saintliest of our Scottish Covenanters, always accusing himself concerning his bed-prayers, as he contemptuously calls them. And, coming so often on that severe self-condemnation of his, that set me a-thinking on the whole subject of the times and the places and the circumstances and the accompaniments of our best prayer. And I will now proceed to give you some of the results of my meditations, but more especially some of my consultations with other men, living and dead, on this all-important subject. Well, Bishop Andre wes, in the same century, would seem to have had something of our Scottish Covenanter’s bad conscience about his bed-prayers also. For in his ‘ Act of Self-Examination before the Lord’s Supper’ he has this: ‘ Do I pray, if not seven times as David, yet, at least, thrice as Daniel? If not, as Solomon, at length, yet shortly, as the publican? If not, like Christ, the whole night, at least for one hour? If not on the ground, and in ashes, at least not in my bed? If not in sackcloth, at least not in purple and fine linen? ’ On the other hand, all the psalmists were great men for bed-prayers. The psalmists of Israel would almost seem to have been in the habit of betaking themselves to their beds when they desired to have a special season alone with God. Witness this, for one instance: ‘ O God, Thou art my God. When I remember Thee upon my bed, and meditate on Thee in the night watches, then my soul is always satisfied as with marrow and fatness, and my mouth always praises Thee with joyful lips.’ Indeed, all up and down the Book of Psalms there are constantly recurring allusions to the night watches and to the recollections and the meditations and the adorations that the psalmists hold with God upon their beds. And our author’s New England master was not so afraid of his bed as his so scrupulous Scottish disciple was. Indeed, the founder of Harvard would seem to have been in the habit of retiring to his bed like David, and of remaining in his bed of a morning, in order to meditate, and to praise, and to pray. As thus: ‘ When I was on my bed on Monday morning the Lord did let me see from my Sabbath work that I was nothing else but a mass of sin. But, then, my Redeemer suddenly revealed Himself to me, and did let me see that He has strength to succour me, wisdom to guide me, and mercy to pardon me, and that He is God’s whole Christ to save and satisfy me. And then the night after, when I was in prayer and meditation, I saw that it pleased God that in Christ should all my fulness dwell. February 25: At night, after lecture, I saw my vileness in my motives. The Lord made me see that no applause, but only shame, belonged to me. O Lord, I am destitute, but Thou wilt hear my cry. April 5: This morning I was in prayer on my bed, and the Lord greatly helped me to pour out my whole soul to Him. April 14: Plaving on my bed this morning seen how sweet a thing it is to be ever near the Lord, I greatly sorrowed over my vile nature, which is always haling me away from God who is the Fountain of all my good. September 8: I saw in my sleep that I was to act by a power super¬ natural, whereby I was to attempt things far above my own might, and was to bear crosses far above my own strength. September 17: This night I prayed that Christ would break out in far greater glory to my son than He had ever done to myself. And hereupon I was comforted about my son. November 10: Overnight I did question whether the Lord did call me on such and such a day. And in the morning, betimes in prayer, He called me mightily, and did say to me. Come and seek Me with your whole heart. And I did so, and found Him. November 15: On my bed in the morning I tried my heart, and asked myself who and what I would lean on

the next time I had to preach. And I saw that my principal support was Christ, in whom I trusted.’ And so on all through his secret book. The Bishop of Winchester also, with all his severe self-examinations, has his own great times on his bed. On the fourth day of the week he sets down this entry in the morning: ‘ I have meditated on Thee and on Thy works, O Lord, in the night watches. From my bed I have seen Thy great works in the heavens, and have said: Blessed art Thou, O Lord, who madest the sun and the moon, those two greater and lesser lights, and the stars also, for light, for signs, for seasons — spring, summer, autumn, winter — days, weeks, months, years, to rule over day and night.’

And, then, over against our Scottish author, I find that Teresa of Spain, that ablest and holiest of women, has this. She does not accuse herself about her bed, for these are her exact words: ‘ For myself,’ she says, ‘ I find that comfortable postures are best for my meditations and for my mental prayers.’ Then, again, to leave the beds of the great saints, and to enter on their devout days, I find that both Father Faber and William Law, when I consult them, greatly recommend the dressing hour in the morning. And the author of The Serious Call especially, enters into that hour with a point and with a power that his devotionally-minded readers can never forget. As soon as he awakes again he

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always says: ‘ When I awake I am still with Thee.’ And what led him to form that habit, or, rather, what drove him to form that habit, was the way that yesterday and yesternight were wont to spring upon him before he was well awake next morning. The shameful falls of yesterday, the unadvised words that he spake yesterday, and the unadvised deeds that he did yesterday, all came back with a rush upon him next morning. Yesterday, with all its evil conscience, used to sit all night at William Law’s bedside in order to leap at his throat as soon as he should open his eyes, till he was taught to be beforehand with his evil conscience by coming to himself every new morning in the gracious presence of his God. Then after that, when he plunged himself into his morning bath, he always said: ‘ There is a fountain filled with blood! ’ And when he washed his hands and his face he almost worshipped the water, that so beautiful and so beneficent gift of God, as he saw it proceeding down to him out of the throne of God and the Lamb. His very towel also was made sacramental to him as he repeated to himself how their Master washed His disciples’ feet and wiped them with the towel wherewith He was girded. And so on, that man of such intellectual distinction and such true spiritual genius. Then, again, on consulting him, Jeremy Taylor would have me tell you that some of the most ancient litanies were always said by the worshippers when they were walking, not kneeling, nor sitting, nor lying, nor standing, but walking abroad. ‘ And all that variety,’ says that most eloquent of English¬ men, ‘ is but another ornament in the praying man’s robe, clothed with which he enters in every way into the Divine presence.’ Then, again, some men who pray and praise without ceasing have very heaven¬ ward moments at every meal. Writing to Thomas Corbet, one of his Anwoth parishioners, Samuel Rutherford says: ‘ I never once eat that I do not pray for you. We shall meet and sit down together and eat and drink and return thanks in our Father’s house before very long.’ And then in a pastoral letter to the whole parish he writes; ‘ I do not eat,

I do not drink till I have again prayed for you all.’ What a falling off from that is all our breakfast and dinner and supper tables, where the last thing we think of is to mean and to feel what we pretend to say! Among the men, living and dead, whom I have consulted I find some who meditate, and adore, and pray, and praise best on their beds, like David; some when they are dressing, like Faber and Law; some when they are walking alone in the country, like Isaac; some on horseback; some in a railway carriage on a long journey; and one of my correspondents when he is on a long sea voyage, from Dover to Calais, and from Liverpool to New York. And so on. There is no hard and fast rule. Men’s minds and hearts and habits so differ. And God is so near, and is so midtifarious, and is so multitudinous toward His people in all His merciful ways with them.

Then, again, the element of time in prayer is of the first importance. We do not give ourselves time enough to get the full good out of our devotions. We are up and away from them before the answer has had time to come down. Swift as Gabriel can dy, we are no longer there when he arrives. A doctrine, a promise, a psalm, a hymn, take some time to get a proper hold of our hearts. And yet we are always complaining that our devotions are so dry to us, and that our prayers are so unanswered to us, when we do not give God sufficient time to answer them. Will you think about that the next time you are alone with Him?

There is a page in the Private Devotions that is fitted to give us food for thought in this whole matter. I will copy it out for you. It is this: ‘ Always, like our Lord. Without ceasing, like Paul. At all times, like Paul. He kneeled upon his knees three times a day, and prayed and gave thanks before his God, that is to say, Daniel. Evening and morning and at noon will I pray and call aloud, and Thou shalt hear my voice, says David. Seven times a day do I praise Thee, says David again. In the morning, a great while before day, it is written of our Lord. At day¬ break, like David. The third hour of the day, like Peter. The hour of prayer, the ninth hour, like Peter and John. At eventide, like Isaac. By night, like the servants of the Lord. At midnight, like David.’ With all that, some men of prayer have no set time in their devotions. Brother Lawrence, that great expert in prayer, had no set times. The times that were set him for prayer by his superiors did not differ with him from other times. He retired, indeed, to pray according to the rules of the house, but he did not need that retirement, because his greatest tasks did not divert him from prayer; rather otherwise. His view of prayer was nothing else but a sense of the presence of God, so that when the appointed times of prayer were passed he found no difference, because he still continued as he was. ‘ The time of business,’ says he, ‘ does not differ with me from the time of prayer; and in the clatter of the kitchen, while several persons are at the same moment calling for different things, I possess God in as great tranquillity as if I were upon my knees at the Blessed Sacrament.’ And, again, in a letter: ‘ Be not discouraged by your repugnance to prayer. It is your fallen nature to feel that repugnance. But you must do yourself violence in that matter. Often, at the outset, you will think it lost time; but go on despite of all your difficulties.’

Some weeks ago an enterprising London editor sent out a request to a large number of well-known men asking them to tell the public through his paper what expedients they fell on when they were afflicted with sleeplessness. Among the devices they employed, some said the multiplication table till they fell asleep, some counted up to a thousand, some repeated old ballads, and so on. It was a doctrine of the Jewish Fathers that when any son of Jacob could not sleep he was to say the 63rd Psalm till he fell asleep saying it.

Then, again, the Hearer of prayer has laid down no law as to our attitudes in prayer any more than about our times and our places. We ffnd some of His best remembrancers being heard and answered when they were on their knees; others when they fell down on their faces; others when they were lying on their beds; others when they were standing on their feet; and others when they were walking in the fields. Let every individual man therefore be a law to himself in that matter. There is no virtue in any attitude, but only so far as this attitude or that is found to assist the devout man and rightly to affect his mind and his heart.

With his wonted good sense John Calvin dwells upon that in many places. ‘ The attitude is quite immaterial,’ he says; ‘ only let every man say and do in this matter according to his own circumstances and his own experiences.’ The greatest of the commentators is most excellent upon that in his exposition and application of Daniel. The captive prophet opened his windows toward Jerusalem when he prayed. But why did he do that? asks Calvin. For what end did he do that? Not with a view to God, no; but with a view solely to himself. God was in Babylon as well as in Jerusalem. But to open his windows toward the far-off temple greatly inflamed the captive prophet’s heart, and that to a far greater importunity and perseverance in his prayer. Now if that so holy and so acceptable servant of God needed the stimulant of an open window, let us not be slothful in finding out and in applying to our cold hearts everything that will kindle them into a Daniel-like devotion. So far John Calvin.

Now, my brethren, what do you say to all that? Does any part of that truly describe you? Or is all that a strange land and a strange language to you? No! God forbid! not to all of you. What, then, are your bed-prayers? What is your most frequent scripture, and psalm, and hymn on your bed? In an old Hebrew book we read that the Jewish doctors who catechised the child Jesus in the temple were wont to tell their disciples never to lie idle on their beds, but always to fall asleep saying the 63rd Psalm. Mrs. Garment of Rosskeen used nothing but the 51st Psalm every night till she was eighty years old. Then when you are dressing, how do you occupy the time? When you enter on a confidential correspondence about these matters you come on strange experiences. For instance, one of my friends tells me that nothing prostrates him before the God of holiness and love like his morning newspaper. Another of my correspondents has six children. And it is his rule to give to each of them, in turn, one night a week, in secret prayer. And what struck me most if for any cause he misses a night, he falls back on that great text for fathers: ‘ In Thee the fatherless findeth mercy.’ Again, when Sir Thomas Browne would be driving through the streets of Norwich to visit his patients, he never passed a church of any denomination that he did not lift his hat and pray for the minister and the people of that church. And you will not forget Samuel Rutherford’s happy habit at every meal of his.

But enough, and more than enough, for one Sabbath evening. Only begin to pray as you will wish you had begun when you are on your last bed, and have not all your life on earth learned aright to pray. Pray without ceasing, while the way is still open to the mercy-seat. Hitherto you have asked nothing. Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and you shall find; knock, and it shall be opened to you; even the whole treasure-house of God. For all things that are really worth asking for are open to him who lives a life of prayer.