Playing piano taught me to pray
Over the years, I gradually tuned my ears to God’s presence in my life, both on and off the piano bench.
On one of my very first nights at seminary, I went out with some new friends and explored the town. On this warm, September evening, we explored the Princeton campus under the streetlights. We crossed under the great, stone arches, passed by the ivy-laden Nassau Hall, and walked through the campus gates out onto the bustling downtown streets. We ended our night at a local pub and got a table together. At some point during the evening, I briefly left our table and went up to the bar to order another drink. While I was waiting, I noticed an elderly gentleman watching me curiously.
“You look like you’re having fun,” He said bluntly.
What an odd comment! I thought. Still, I went along with it and answered, “I am having fun.”
“Are you a student at the university?”
I shook my head. “At the seminary.”
The man looked me up and down in disapproval. “You’re a seminary student? Shouldn’t you be at home praying?!”
I love sharing this story for so many reasons. For one, it so perfectly encapsulates assumptions made about seminary students: that we spend hours and hours cloistered away praying. This may come as a surprise, but my seminary experience was not primarily spent in prayer. Of course, I studied the history of prayer in the Christian church, methods of prayer, and particular theological figures and their theories of prayer. I studied a great deal about prayer, but that’s at all the same as spending dedicated time in prayer.
So in some way, the strange man in the Princeton bar that evening was right. Perhaps I should have been at home praying. Then again, the traditional image of pious prayer as a person kneeling diligently by his or her bedside at night isn’t entirely accurate either. Seminary taught me an invaluable lesson about prayer. That prayer, in its most basic form, is simply coming before God, and intentionally and faithfully, calling God into our daily experience.
Furthermore, seminary taught me that — although I never previously named it as such — I had actually been practicing a daily prayer regimen for most of my life.
Growing up, prayer didn’t come all that naturally for me. When I carved out space to spend alone with God, often the right words simply didn’t come, and I would grow frustrated and quit. However, having played piano since the tender age of five, I was well-versed in the language of music. When I was upset or stressed, excited or joyful, I came to the piano bench and I played. I didn’t have to come up with words to express how I was feeling, my fingers simply settled on the keys and the right notes gave voice to my soul. The piano seemed to be the one place where I could truly focus in on the present moment.
Through a daily music ritual, I learned to invoke God’s name into my lived experience and to lay my burdens at the feet of the Lord. When I first sat down at the piano bench, I thanked God for the opportunity to play. As I began, the notes on the page would lift up particular moods and evoke memories of the day. Bright melodies in major keys summoned grateful thoughts of my many blessings. Haunting melodies in minor keys layered on the complexity of life’s many cares and difficulties. Being present and honest in my own experience reminded me always of the many ways in which God was with me, walking this journey of life beside me, even when I didn’t realize it at the time. And as I played more and more over the years, I gradually tuned my ears to God’s presence in my life, both on and off the piano bench.
John Calvin writes that through faith, “our hearts are trained to call upon God’s name.” Calvin speaks of prayer as an exercise, indeed he believes prayer is the “chief exercise of faith.” Prayer is something we are to practice regularly. President and Professor of Christian Theological Seminary Matthew Myer Boulton sums up Calvin’s view of prayer. Boulton states that, for Calvin, prayer is like a “relational workout, a strengthening discipline that builds up our trust in God’s fidelity and care.”[1] Little did I realize that every day, in diligently practicing piano and lifting up my experience to God, I was, in effect, training my heart to call upon God.
John Calvin writes that through faith, “our hearts are trained to call upon God’s name.” Calvin speaks of prayer as an exercise, indeed he believes prayer is the “chief exercise of faith.” Prayer is something we are to practice regularly. President and Professor of Christian Theological Seminary Matthew Myer Boulton sums up Calvin’s view of prayer. Boulton states that, for Calvin, prayer is like a “relational workout, a strengthening discipline that builds up our trust in God’s fidelity and care.” Little did I realize that every day, in diligently practicing piano and lifting my experience to God, I was, in effect, training my heart to call upon God.
It’s true that Calvin had a rigorous vision for daily Christian prayer. He believed that we should pray “when we arise in the morning, before we begin our daily work, when we sit down to a meal, when by God’s blessing we have eaten, and when we are getting ready to retire (Institutes 3.20).” He also recognized that most Genevan Christians, even in his own city and under his own charge, did not live up to this very high standard. Calvin knew that the language of prayer often doesn’t come easy for us. This is why Calvin’s section on prayer is one of the longest sections in his entire Institutes of the Christian Religion. And of course, remember that Jesus’ own disciples came to Jesus earnestly seeking instruction for how to pray. Prayer often doesn’t come naturally for us at all.
Even so, prayer should not seem a daunting task. Prayer should not be uncomfortable or forced. It’s not even about feeling guilty for not being “at home praying!” If we remember this simple truth, that through faith, prayer is simply “training our hearts to call upon God,” then we can find little ways throughout our day to invoke God’s name. Wherever we are, whatever our circumstances, in prayer we simply ask God to be present with us. It’s truly that simple. Perhaps in a meditation practice, on a morning walk, or maybe on a daily commute back and forth to work, in little moments throughout the day our hearts are trained to turn to God. It’s not at all about saying the “right” words. For Jesus tells us to not “heap up empty phrases,” “for your Father knows what you need before you even ask him.” It’s about building up our trust in God’s holy presence in our lives and in God’s divine care.
As we lay our joys and cares at the feet of our Lord and Savior, we become more and more aware of this ostensibly simple yet life-altering revelation that God hears us and is always with us — every single hour of every single day. Whether through music or something else, find a prayer language and practice that best suits you. Don’t worry about saying or doing it the exact “right” way. Because ultimately, prayer isn’t about doing.
Prayer is about being: being you before the God who made you.
[1] Matthew Myer Boulton, Life in God: John Calvin, Practical Formation, and the Future of Protestant Theology, (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans), 168
