I’ve Got a Hammer

Years ago folk singers Peter, Paul, and Mary popularized the song, “If I Had a Hammer.” I liked the melody, but the words brought me to a halt. What would I do if I had a hammer? The folk singers would hammer in the morning and the evening “all over the land.” They’d hammer out danger, a warning, and love. It all sounded so revolutionary, idealistic, and noble. What kind of a hammer did those kinds of things? It was a song, so who knew what kind of hammer it was!

Tools, in general, fascinate me. If I go into a hardware store, I can wander around for a long time, intrigued by all the tools and materials for solving all kinds of household problems. Meanwhile, my husband, who would rather get lost in a bookstore, library, or museum, glazes over in abject boredom.  Still, I love problem-solving, and when I amble through the aisles and aisles of hardware, I find solutions for problems—solutions I never knew were possible.

Now a hammer is often the perfect solution. I’m fond of hammers and have several, including a pink-handled model. A hammer can be part of a building process. It can also be part of a demolition project. As I consider demolition projects, I realize that razing something can certainly be part of a building process. Sometimes things need to be torn down before something can be built. It’s the pre-build, isn’t it?

 Peter, Paul, and Mary sang about building a new something or other with a hammer. And I have a hammer, too. I have a different kind of hammer than my hammers in the garage. I haven’t always thought of it as a hammer, but it is. In fact, my hammer is a power tool.  No, it’s not an electric hammer, although there are such things. Nevertheless, it’s a powerful hammer. Sometimes it’s quiet; sometimes it’s loud. Quiet or loud, it just keeps working away, often building, sometimes tearing down so construction can begin.

The name of my hammer? Prayer. I hammer away with prayer. I can hammer away all over my life, my family, this land, this world and even the unseen world through prayer. Some of my hammer tappings are quiet, whispered prayers of entreaty asking God for what he wants to be done. Other hammerings are fierce, splashed with tears of anguish at walls that are thick fortresses raised against righteousness. Some of my prayers are the constant tapping and rapping work of perseverance in the face of demolition that appears overwhelming and impossible. They are all hammerings of prayer.

Even though it takes time to crack something hard, it does happen. Over and over and over again, when something works at that hard surface, it cracks. I’m waiting for the cracks in many places, and I’m going to keep tapping out, hammering out my prayers to a God who moves mountains and tears down strongholds.