Osler's Razor

President Trump followed the tradition of other presidents and spoke at the National Prayer Breakfast in Washington this week, saying this (and no, I'm not going to quote the weird part about "The Apprentice"):

I will tell you that and I tell you that from somebody that has had material success and knows tremendous numbers of people with great material success, the most material success. Many of those people are very, very miserable, unhappy people.
And I know a lot of people without that, but they have great families. They have great faith; they don't have money, at least, not nearly to the extent. And they're happy. Those, to me, are the successful people, I have to tell you.
(APPLAUSE)
TRUMP: I was blessed to be raised in a churched home. My mother and father taught me that to whom much is given, much is expected. I was sworn in on the very Bible from which my mother would teach us as young children, and that faith lives on in my heart every single day.

There is some truth in there. For whatever else you might think, Trump isn't over-scripted, at least.

A lot of people had a problem with what Trump said at the National Prayer Breakfast. My problem is with the National Prayer Breakfast itself. I have never liked the idea of a prayer breakfast as a Christian who cares about what Christ actually taught (as I have said before):

First, the centerpiece of a prayer breakfast is usually the very public prayer by an honored figure such as a governor or former quarterback (or in this case, the President). But how does this jibe with Jesus’ teaching? The truth, if you believe the gospels to contain truth, is that prayer is to be a private matter; Jesus’s instructions were that “when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.” I am always surprised how easily some people dismiss this clear instruction (and they are often the same ones who decide who is and isn't a "real" Christian based on their interpretation of much more ambiguous passages).

Second, a truly Christian prayer breakfast would feature an utterly vacant head table. This is what Jesus taught about banquets: “When you are invited, take the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he will say to you, ‘Friend, move up to a better place.’ Then you will be honored in the presence of all the other guests. For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” Yet, somehow, the head table always seems full from the start.

Finally, the prayer breakfast is structured so that the primary speaker is presented as a heroic figure. He (and it is usually a “he”) is given a glowing introduction, a seat of honor, and more often than not a standing ovation when the prayer is concluded. How seductive this must be! Those of us with theological ambitions, meanwhile, cannot help imagining ourselves as one of these Super Christians as we watch from the back. Of course, like all who are honored, these Prayer Heroes are held to impossible standards and when subjected to scrutiny too often see their status dissolve in scandal or confusion. Is it the seduction of power and privilege? Could this be what Christ himself warned against in teaching “when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by men?”

In the end, the prayer breakfast is structured to ignore the key nutrient of the Christian faith, which is humility. It is not in gazing up at the Super Christian (or the President as the President) that I glimpse God in others. More often, it is in a humbler scene, fraught with quiet and light: The silent circle of Quakers, the Catholics kneeling with reverence and cupped hands, the Mormons on bicycles, and the Baptists with hammers, building a home where once there was none.