So, I’m out for breakfast with a couple who have been
worshiping with us occasionally, off and on, for several
months. I know that they are interested in learning more
about the church because they accepted my invitation
to a meal. But I also know from our brief conversation
after worship that church is something new for them,
something they are just beginning to explore in this
new chapter of life. So, we meet at a coffee shop, tables
filled with other young professionals on laptops sipping
lattes. We sit down and stare nervously at our avocado
toast. The silence is filled with suspense. Well, probably
not, but at least that’s how I perceive it. Why? Well,
because in that very moment, a decision must be made.
To pray or not to pray? Do I bow my head and risk
being the presumptively pious pastor praying in public?
Or do I skip it and leave these potential parishioners
pondering the possibility that the preacher is a pagan?
For me in that moment, the stakes feel high.
I wonder if you have ever been in a similar situation. The
awkward dis-ease. In some ways it’s a minor concern.
After all, there are many different ways to give thanks,
including in the silence of our hearts. But I do think that
it demonstrates the discomfort, even among the most
faithful among us, with the practice of prayer. Many of
us are unclear about what prayer is. Or perhaps, more
to the point, what prayer does. Some have abandoned
the practice altogether as archaic, outdated, antiquated,
unscientific. Others among us continue the discipline
with about as much passion as brushing our teeth. Just
a part of the daily routine. Going through the motions.
Checking off the to do list as a part of our spiritual
hygiene plan.
This morning, we renew our annual tradition of August
sermons on questions the preacher often hears. And
it may not surprise you that I already have next year’s
list in mind. I am blessed with a congregation of deep
thinkers! This week we take up a question I have heard
from young children and older adults, a question I have
heard in hospital rooms and on youth group retreats,
a question I have been asked by those struggling with
big, life-altering decisions, those processing terrible
news, those grieving difficult loss. Does prayer work?
And as with any profound theological question, this
seemingly straightforward quandary immediately brings
up others. For starters, what is prayer?
And here I think we have some important
deconstructing to do, because the most pervasive
and misguided understanding of prayer in popular
culture is as a wish list for God who must either fulfill
our demands or risk losing our devotion. Perhaps like
me, you’ve heard more than a few preachers deliver
articulate and exhilarating explanations of prayer
that simply turn God into a kind of magical vending
machine. We deposit our prayers, and God delivers
the results for which we pray. Anyone who lives a real
life in the real world knows the transparent falseness
of this claim, and yet when we hear it—packaged well,
shiny, and new—it feels so good to us, so convenient,
so comforting, so compelling. Perhaps you’ve heard it.
Whenever prayers go up, blessings come down.
Except that they don’t. Not always. Not automatically.
Not in the way that we hope or imagine. The problem
with a faith dependent on God’s customer service
record is that it ignores divine sovereignty and human
limitation. Perhaps worse, it cheapens the practice
of prayer. It sets God up for failure and us up for
disappointment.
Perhaps truer to our lived experience, especially for
those who have given up on the practice of prayer,
is a deep frustration with God’s lack of response. We
diligently pray for loved ones who do not experience
the dramatic healing we hope. We persistently pray
for patience, and then we lash out at those who
upset us. We passionately pray for peace and then
watch as the world careens toward violent conflict.
We pray diligently for guidance and then feel no
clear sense of direction. We see no answer written
in the clouds. No voice booming from heaven. In
fact, the silence of God is often more consistent than
God’s response to our requests.
And so, sometimes we assume that God is not
present or does not care. I have to say, however,
that this perspective also seems to me to miss the
mark or misunderstand the meaning of prayer. Every
time I consider the perceived silence of God in the
contemporary world, I can’t help but think of the
amount of noise we create. If God is speaking, how
would we ever hear in a culture flooded with the noise
of our babble? Perhaps the sense that God is not
speaking is rather an indication that we have stopped,
or forgotten how, to listen.
I love the story of Mother Teresa. A reporter once
asked her (of course, Mother Teresa was known to
spend hours each morning in prayer). The reporter
asked, “What do you say to God during your time in
prayer?” Mother Teresa’s response: “I don’t say much.
I mostly listen.” Well, intrigued by the answer, the
reporter asked the obvious follow-up question. “Well,
what does God say?” Mother Teresa smiled. “God
doesn’t say much. God mostly listens.”
In the verses just before our passage, the disciples
have asked Jesus a practical question. Teach us how
to pray. What they want is what we want. A method. A
manual. A process. A formula. We want the how, the
when, and the where.
In our text, Jesus shifts the question. Not how. Not
when. Not where. Not even why. Jesus is interested
in who. He wants his disciples to know who God
is. He wants them to know the God to whom they
pray. Prayer is rooted in relationship. Prayer is a
conversation. We listen. God listens. The practice of
prayer, modeled for us in scripture, is one of active
listening and genuine vulnerability. Prayer is not about
proving ourselves to God (or to prospective church
members). Prayer is not about demanding God prove
anything to us. We pray because we know and love
the God to whom we pray.
Before he was a journalist, Bill Moyers served as
Special Assistant to President Lyndon Johnson.
The story goes that one Sunday he was invited to
the White House for dinner, and since Moyers is an
ordained pastor, the President asked him to bless
the meal. As he was praying, President Johnson
could not hear the words he was speaking and
so said to Moyers in that way President Johnson
could, “Bill, I can’t hear you. Speak up, man! Speak
up!” With that, Bill Moyers looked up and calmly
answered, “Mr. President, with all due respect, I am
not speaking to you.” There was a very long pause.
The President sighed deeply and lowered his head
for the rest of the prayer.
Listen to this. The substance of our prayers depends
on our understanding of the God to whom we pray.
Who is this God? There are many answers. If the
recipient of our prayers is a Santa Claus in the sky,
then why not make a list of what we want? If we are
praying to a divine vending machine, yes, deposit our
prayers and make our selections. If we are convinced
that this granter of prayers is partial to our tribe and
subject to our whims, why not ask God for victory on
the court, the field, the election, the war? If we can
place the one to whom we pray in a box of our own
creation, our prayers will reflect that impoverished
theology. We put God on a leash. Our prayers are
weak, subject to our personal preference.
If, on the other hand, we are praying to the sovereign
Lord whose power is defined by compassion, we
will think differently about the prayers we offer. For
starters, we will pray with humility. We will ask for
God’s wisdom. We will pray with confidence. We
may even have the courage to pray for our enemies,
recognizing that they too belong to God. That’s why
I think an authentic practice of prayer should come
with a warning label—if you choose to pray, you will
be changed. Sometimes prayer works by working on
us. Opening our eyes. Softening our hearts. Changing
our minds. Reordering our values.
I pray because I believe in a God who desires
relationship, a God we can know, whose love we can
experience. In response to the disciples’ request,
what Jesus offers is an invitation to approach God
Almighty with the same intimacy, boldness, and
trust as a child running to her parent for protection
and provision. And so, to pray is to lean on God’s
strength when we cannot rely on our own. Prayer is
not about getting the things we want from God but
about deepening the relationship we have with God.
We listen. God listens.
As we raise two sons and do our best to teach them
the faith that we have received, I am filled daily
with gratitude for the gift of my pastor-spouse and
her attentiveness to the practices of faith. A few
weeks ago, at dinnertime, Sara suggested that,
instead of a spoken aloud prayer, we try sharing
a silent moment to listen for God’s voice together.
We made it 15 seconds. And after that prayer, she
explained that the Bible says we can speak to God
even without words. She asked the boys what they
thought that might mean.
Samuel said it was like when something is so
beautiful you can’t describe it, but you know God sees
it too. Ben, who had a challenging day, said it’s like
this: sometimes you are angry, and you want to say
something nice, but you can’t, and God knows what
you want to say. These beautiful perspectives on the
meaning of prayer. We listen. God listens.
Friends, to say prayer works has nothing to do with
measuring God’s batting average. To say prayer works
is not to suggest that we get what we ask for or the
results we’ve demanded. The work of prayer is rooted
in relationship, grounded in the trust that the God of
the universe is also our loving parent: attentive to our
struggle, aware of our deepest need, present in our
life, eager to give good gifts. The work of prayer is
about getting our priorities into alignment with God’s
priorities. The practice of prayer means becoming
more like the One to whom we pray, defined by
compassion, driven by love. Yes, the work of prayer is
coming to know God, who gives us not everything we
want, but what we most need.
Give us this day our daily bread. Grace enough for
today. Hope sufficient for tomorrow. Amen.