Recently I walked into the auditorium a little late for one of the inmates baptism. Someone was praying. I looked and saw something between the pews toward the back and on the other side, and wondered what it was. To my amazement, it was the jailer who had brought the inmate for baptism. We don’t see that much any more.
Tonight reading the first ten chapters of Matthew, I noticed how many kneeled when they met Jesus and asked him to heal them, or someone for whom they cared.
I remember my Uncle Beamon Bryant, an elder of the church at Opp, AL. He always knelt when he prayed. I can see him now kneeling at the front pew, and even behind the pulpit where he preached occasionally. I like that humbleness.