Orans

“Moses’ hands, however, grew tired; so they put a rock in place for him to sit on. Meanwhile Aaron and Hur supported his hands, one on one side and one on the other.” (Exodus 17.12)

C.S. Lewis made the argument in his book, “Screwtape Letters,” that the physical posture we take when we pray makes a difference in the efficacy of that prayer. On the surface, it strikes most of us as simplistic.

Still, there is a long-standing Biblical tradition of certain postures being associated with praying. A medieval saint made a list of such postures. Today there are wall charts for people who want such a guide. Admittedly, there is something to be said about the body-spirit duality working in tandem when we pray.

That same point is presented to us in that war story from the Book of Exodus. Wars–external or internal–always seem to be fertile soil for praying, so we should not be surprised to find prayer showing up on that battlefield where the Hebrews were fighting against the Amalekites. The chronicler tells us that Moses watched the battle from the top of a hill. More interesting, he tells us that “as long as Moses kept his hands raised up, Israel had the better of the fight, but when he let his hands rest, Amalek had the better of the fight.”

Certainly, Moses was an old man at this point and his arms held above his heads was tiring. A solution was needed if the Israelites were going to win the battle. So the writer tells us that two of his helpers–Aaron and Hur–had Moses sit down on a rock and then each of them took one of his arms and kept it raised. “One on one side and one on the other, so that his hands remained steady till sunset. And Joshua mowed down Amalek and his people.”

We can credit Moses, then, with one of the more familiar postures of prayer, known to us as the “orans.” As with many other words, this one comes from a Latin root that means praying or pleading. This particular posture has the person who is in prayer standing (the elderly, like Moses, can be seated) with arms stretched high, and with hands open. (Also absent, as a rule, are the two assistants holding up the arms.)

Although the posture preceded Christians by thousands of years, they made it a favorite because they saw it as emblematic of Jesus on the cross. It continues to the present day with the presider at the Eucharistic celebration assuming this posture during special moments of prayer. We find people in the pew often taking their cue from the presider and doing the same, especially during the recitation of the “Our Father.”

The early Church theologian, Augustine of Hippo, once claimed that we are all beggars before God. That point–so far as I see it–is indisputable. It doesn’t take long for us to realize that we humans are fragile, weak, and needy. Our bodies are susceptible to sickness and dying, hunger and injury. Our spirits similarly are open to attack by stronger forces than us, such as depression and despair, loneliness and lovelessness. While most of us do not wear the rags of a beggar, we are as ragged and as impoverished as the poorest man on the street. Take away our assistants–not Aaron and Hur, but a little money and some good fortune–and we are unrecognizable from the beggar on the street corner.

When we come to see that we are just beggars, then the only natural response is to cry out and to beg for help from someone who can hear us and who can help us. And that is what prayer is in its essence–the cry of the beggar. We reach to the high heavens with outstretched arms and with empty hands and we beg that same God to do battle for us as he did for the Hebrews. The battlefields are as varied as the persons crying out for victory over their enemy, but the parameters and the end remain unchanged. We cannot do or win the battle without help.

The beauty of the story of Moses raising his arms in petition to God, beseeching him to come to the aid of the Hebrews, is that not a single word is said. Or none is recorded in the sacred text. It is enough for Moses to lift up his hands in a silent plead for help. The posture becomes the prayer.

The point could be made, then, that we don’t need the words so much as we need the posture. Often, we think we don’t have the right words or we believe we can’t speak any sensible words to express the hurt in our hearts or the needs of our bodies. We have to remember that the lack of words does not preclude the prayer. The prayer comes from our physical bodies, broken and bruised, heavy-hearted and heavy-burdened. Often, our bodies speak the prayer more forcefully than our lips can.

Whatever we may tell ourselves to the contrary, our bodies do not belie the fact that we are beggars on the battlefield of life. They are more honest than our lips. They cannot hide the fact that we break and we bleed, we wrinkle and we wither away. So when we cannot find the words to express our pain or our need, it is enough to open our arms to the One above us in a silent plea for mercy. It is that prayer of our bodies that God will see and he will come to help us do battle against our enemy.

— Jeremy Myers