September 6, 2023
“A Telephone Pole Faith”: A Prayer
O Lord, we were driving to the first of two doctors’ appointments
and I was looking out the window
at nothing in particular
when I saw it;
how long it had been there, I could not say;
how often we had driven by it,
I have no idea;
how many times I had seen it
but did not see it,
I do not know;
what I do know
is that suddenly
I did see it, and
what I saw
was exactly
what I needed to see
that day; just
one word
hand-painted
on a small board
nailed to a telephone pole,
and the word was this word: FAITH;
not HAVE FAITH;
not HAVE FAITH IN JESUS;
not even culture’s mantra, HAVE FAITH IN YOURSELF; but
simply
FAITH,
that is all;
not printed in elegant German script;
not painted with fancy lettering;
not produced by professional
practicing profession;
painted like
JESUS SAVES
signs painted,
letters not neatly done,
not quite in line across the board,
one a little higher than another,
painted by someone who had
a brush, a can of paint, an old board, and
a message,
the message everything,
neatness not,
a simple message:
FAITH;
and why that message,
who can say;
maybe he survived who knows what
and wantED others to know what had brought him through;
maybe he had gone through only he knew what
and wanted to say how he had made it;
maybe his life had come apart at the seams
and he wanted someone to know
how he had held on;
whatever the reason
FAITH
was the
word
he wrote.
And that, Lord, was the word I most needed to see that morning,
and I needed to see it written exactly
the way it was written,
rough around the edges,
rather raw is how I saw it,
somehow more real than
realtor signs littering;
somehow speaking
of a faith more real than the
formal faith of German script, the
fancy faith of fine lettering, the
fault-free faith of pro painting; a
gut level faith;
far from neat and tidy,
a messy faith of messed up feelings;
passionate pleading,
beggar begging,
no sterile statement this;
hanging on for dear life,
reaching for a hand in the dark,
clinging to the tiniest scrap of hope;
a faith
like a
torn and tattered coat
wrapped around someone
in the midst of a storm;
a faith
more like
an anguished sigh sighed
than a
creedal statement stated;
a faith
more at home
on a telephone pole
than in
a cathedral;
FAITH
is what was painted on a board by someone who
had FAITH,
lost FAITH
longed for FAITH,
and that’s what made that small sign
so big,
so real,
so powerful,
because
it was a word
from someone
who had been through enough
to understand that
a simple word,
a single word,
a solitary word,
could say,
DON’T GIVE UP,
HANG ON,
TRUST;
a word suddenly there,
then gone,
yet still there with me
miles down the road,
with me for days,
the word I most needed to hear that day and in the days since;
FAITH, a
telephone pole FAITH.
And I have a feeling, Lord, I’m not the only one, that for many of us
it is the word most needed to be heard most days,
just that one word;
not an elegant explanation,
not a crisp creed canted,
not a professional profession,
but that single word saying so much;
and that is
my prayer,
that we each
see that word
somewhere, and
hear it saying,
DON’T GIVE UP,
HANG ON,
TRUST;
and that
we wrap around us
like some torn and tattered coat
whatever FAITH we might have and
weather the storm no matter what it may be
with strength
and hope.
And we pray, O Lord, for all who are ill or battling disease, for
those who are suffering or hurting, those who are
dying, those who are grieving, those who’ve
had enough and feel like letting go; and
for the hungry, homeless, refugees everywhere.
Grace them with the FAITH
that you will help and heal them
and see them through to
new life and gladness.
O Lord, you are the painter of the sign, of course, disguised as
some man or woman with a brush, a can of paint,
a small board and a big message,
slapping up signs all over,
in the hope
that we will
look,
notice,
pay attention,
and see
the word
we most need to see,
and be given what
we most need to be given,
which for me one day was
FAITH
FAITH enough for the day and the days beyond,
a telephone pole FAITH.
Amen.