The Beginnings of Prayer

“And he called his name Enos; then began men to call upon the name of the Lord.” — Genesis iv, 26.

“Then “; why not before? Why did the hour of prayer only come in the days of Enos? Enos had fallen on degenerate days — days of Paradise lost. Why did prayer begin then! Why did it not begin tn Paradise! Was not God nearer to unisXlen than to fallen man! Was not Eden flooded with the Divine presence 1 Yes; and therefore there was no place for prayer; it was all praise. You cannot see the stars except by night. You can see more gorgeous things by day, but not these special things called stars. Even so with the day and night of the soul. Eden was the day. It was the fulness of God, the enjoyment of God, the beatific vision of the eye. But for that very reason there was no sense of need, no prayer. Prayer could only come with the night, with the need. It is incompatible with full fruition. It needs the shadow to make its starlight, the silence to make its music, the want to make its cry. It is the bow set in the cloud, and it could be set in no other thing.

And so, my Father, there is a compensation for my night. I have been driven out from Eden into the land of swamps and marshes. But in the land of swamps and marshes I have found something I could not meet in Eden — the gate of prayer. Eden had no gate, because it had no need for an opening. It was all open together. There were no prisons to escape from, no fetters from which to be free. But the land of the stranger has given me the gate, because it has given me the wall. It has made me less near to Thee. It has put a barrier between us. It has caused me to miss Thee, to feel the want of Thee, to cry for Thee. My Christ is gone into a far country, and I stretch my hands to Him. Yet there is beauty in the stretching of the hands, the calling upon Thy name — His name. It is only the beauty of starlight; yet starlight has a glory that belongs not to the day. It is something to see Thee when Thou art passing by; but to cry for Thee when Thou art past has a music all its own. It is love in absence, love in Paradise lost. It is the refusal of my soul to be weaned from Thee by distance or disaster; it is the prodigal’s protest against the husks of the swine. I thank Thee that the loss of Eden has brought the hour of prayer.