When Will They Learn?

At church during Lent we were privileged to hear several commentaries on prayer. Prayer for healing, Taizé worship, the meaning of prayer, personal prayer, and our spiritual types—all were beautifully covered. I wonder if God sees all these valiant strivings to get close to him, scratches his celestial head, and muses, “Why don’t they just talk to me? I’m always here, waiting. I know their music, a gift from me, helps calm their frenzied souls. I know silence, candles, rituals, altar trappings, icons, laying-on-of-hands, Elizabethan language, hymns—they use all of these to get them in the mood to relate me. But I wonder why they want to—maybe HAVE to—jump through all these hoops to reach me when I’ve made myself so available to them? I’m to their left, their right, above them, below them, and WITHIN them—a mere heartbeat away. I read their very thoughts. I created them to talk to me, to listen to me [oh, how hard they seem to make that!], and to love me as I love them. Why are they do dense? When will they catch on to how easy I’ve made it for them? When will their days be filled with one long continuous conversation with me? When?”