Praying on the Sabbath is like walking under a full moon. Moonlight reveals things washed out in full sun. Sometimes slanted light illuminates a situation or a person, and for that instant, I pray what God wants.

The other Sabbath morning, I took a walk under a full moon, carrying a friend’s burden as my own. As so often happens when the need is great, I lost the ability to pray. The meditative chorus of a John Michael Talbot song rose to the surface of my brain: “Father, I put my life in Your hands.” So I sang that, and put my friend’s name in it. Soon I thought of another friend, and of my uncle, and of my minister, and so on, for the entire 40-minute walk. I ran out of road before I ran out of people to place in the chorus. That Sabbath, I found a beautiful new equation for prayer.

My life is full of cloudy spaces and sunlight so strong it kills. During the week, I can delude myself into thinking I know how to pray for everything. Only when the moon comes out do I realize that I am deceived. My eyes cannot imagine the rest of the world, alive with dark matter and charmingly strange combinations of quarks. There are things as yet undreamt of in my philosophy

One day, all clouds will dissipate. The sun and moon will be unnecessary. I will not struggle to pray. I will simply walk in the Light and fully know even as I am fully known

That will be an uncloudy day.