'I'll pray for you'

I told someone recently that I would pray for her. She cringed. I realized in an instant why: All too often this is what we say when we want to close out a conversation about wants or needs or hurts. "I'll pray for you" is often synonymous with "Please, let's not talk about this any more."

It can also mean judgment. It can be the Christian's equivalent of the Southerner's "Bless your heart"-a seeming kindness that can cut as sharp as a razor. "I'll pray for you" can mean "My goodness, aren't you wicked," or, "I am so very glad that my sins don't come close to your depravity."

Perhaps worst of all, it can be a reflex that springs from our ever-present temptation to fix our brothers and sisters, to summon the righteous response that will set straight their crooked ways, their crooked lives, their crooked fates. It's part and parcel with our tendency to answer hurts with Bible verses, even when we know from our own suffering that sometimes we simply need someone to come grieve alongside us.

A young person I work with asked me recently what my advice would be for helping a friend recently stricken by a death in her family. "Just be quiet and be with her," I said. "Don't try to find words to fix it. When she's ready for words, she'll ask for them."

All this passes through my mind as I think on my cringing friend, the one who instinctively received my "I'll pray for you" as a slap. It's far better, I think, to pray than to promise prayer, whether we pray aloud or in silence or after we have parted. I'm going to try to make that my habit. Come to think of it, I could probably stand to do that in many areas of my life-fewer promises, more actions.