After hearing today’s interesting
readings—with Hosea’s rather bizarre talk of whoredom, Jesus calling his
disciples evil, and his unexpected sayings about giving children snakes and
scorpions instead of fish and eggs—you can maybe see why we had scheduled a
hymn sing for this morning. But God clearly had other plans. And behind the
somewhat strange language at the end, this morning’s gospel reading is focused
on an important subject for Christians and people of faith: prayer, both how we pray and what we are to pray for. It is an especially
useful and timely topic, I think, given the state of the world, and the intense
realities of our lives. Lately, it seems that we—collectively, and some of us
individually—are being inundated with trials, tribulations, and concerns.
All you need do is turn on the TV or open
the newspaper to find stories of shootings or worse. I watched Friday’s
news of the shooting spree in Munich with particular horror, as I was just
there two weeks ago. It’s both saddening and frightening to think of the places
I saw and the people I met under siege, being told by the police that they need
to shelter at home and not go out on a beautiful Friday night. It leads us to
wonder just what has happened to the world. What has happened to human life?
Some of us may even wonder—at least some of
the time—whether there is any point to prayer, whether God listens at all, let
alone answers our prayers, at least in any of kind of recognizable way. I
confess that I have pondered these questions myself from time to time. And yet at other
times, we may well believe that maintaining a life of prayer is the only way to
find the strength we need to make it from one day and one trial to another. For many, prayer is a
source of comfort and hope and perseverance.
Now, when it comes to the subject prayer I can’t claim
to be an expert. Just yesterday I was saying to Dave Sullivan, after the Rev. David
Prentice’s priesthood ordination celebration, that for the 20 years that Tom
Shaw was our bishop I always had this inner feeling of unworthiness when it came
to prayer, since unlike Bishop Shaw I wasn’t able to spend two or three hours
every morning in prayer. Then, again, Bishop Shaw was a monk. Prayer is their
expertise. And I don’t think monks would expect everyone to adopt prayer lives
like that. In fact, I think they know that most of us won’t be able to share in
that same prayer focus, and so they pray for us, on our behalf. Bishop Gates,
by the way, is a less intimidating to me that way, though I am sure he has a
rich and full prayer life as well. He loves to sing, and I suspect
that singing is prayer for him, as it is for me as well.
Interestingly, 20 years ago, in the spring
of 1996, I took a seminary class called “The Life of Prayer,” which was very
popular—not only with seminarians, but people from the wider community. I think
it was the highest enrolled seminary course at that point. We met in the chapel and each week there would be an initial lecture by the professor, and then we
would try on different prayer models—usually types quiet contemplative
prayer—for at least an hour or more. Unfortunately, at age 23 I found it really
hard to settle into that life or style of prayer—either on my own or in the
classroom. Thoughts were so busy bouncing around in my mind that it was hard to
quiet things down and move into a quieter and more contemplative space. And often, once I
started to get into that mental state, the professor would say something and I’d
lose it again, ending up more frustrated than prayerful. So, developing that deeper personal prayer practice is something
that has come later in life, on my own, as I have sought a deeper connection
with God. I kind of wish I could go back and retake that “Life of
Prayer” class now. I think I would appreciate it far more.
In any case, what I do know about prayer is
that when it comes to intercessory prayer—when we pray for certain intentions, as we often do—I don’t subscribe to the idea that God is a giant supernatural Pez
Dispenser or Santa Claus up in the sky, who just gives us what we ask for
at any particular moment. While Jesus does say in today’s gospel, “Ask, and it
will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be
opened for you,” I have to imagine that he was not focused on the attainment of
material goods or even the fulfilling of wishes.
Perhaps like many of you, I was disabused
of that idea when I was a kid. As you know, I was brought up in a religious
family, so prayer was part of our lives—not necessarily always in a deep way,
but it was there. We prayed before dinner, every night before bed and if we
were struggling with something. I remember in particular, when I was maybe 5 or
6, standing outside on a very clear and starry night, praying and praying with
great fervency. And what, you may wonder, was I praying for?
Wizard of Oz toys.
Wizard of Oz toys.
I wanted them so badly. The Wizard of Oz
was my favorite movie, and of course it was only on TV once a year in those
days—with no VCRs or DVD players, no Netflix or youtube, so these toys were, I
suppose, a way to keep those wonderful characters with me all the time. So I
prayed and prayed, not just once, but night after night after night—I prayed for my
birthday. But nothing came. Then I prayed for Christmas, but sadly again nothing came. And
then I prayed just because. Still nothing. I couldn't have prayed harder. But somehow those much longed for toys just never showed up. This leads me to believe that either God either must not care too much about Wizard of Oz
toys. Or maybe, prayer just doesn’t work that way.
Maybe, prayer is not so much about asking
for things, or getting things, but instead maybe it is about communicating our
concerns with God. Even communicating ourselves with God. Maybe, and I suspect
this is true, maybe prayer is about keeping the lines of communication open between us and God,
and offering the deepest and truest concerns of our hearts to God, in as open
and vulnerable a way as possible. That can be frightening, of course. Vulnerability is not
easy, even when it is just between you and God. It can be tremendously hard to
explore and name the deepest questions and concerns, and also the hopes and
desires, of our hearts and souls. It requires that we grapple with and confront some hidden aspects of ourselves.
We contend with health scares or ongoing,
chronic conditions; some of us struggle with job and money insecurity; others
with loneliness, depression, or questions of meaning; some of us fight
addictions that weigh us down and prevent us from living freely and fully; and
of course, eventually all of us are forced to deal with the deaths of those
dearest to us, leading us to ponder questions of eternity. Just this week, two
members of our parish family lost those closest to them—Colleen Moran’s father
died while out for a swim, and Bernie Hutchens lost his brother after a plane
crash. And, of course, on the societal or global scale nearly every day we hear of
shootings, of cities and nations at war, of people fearing for their lives.
There is so much to pray for, and sometimes it can be so hard to find the
words, or the openness or vulnerability necessary to communicate with
God, to truly commune with God.
That’s why Jesus offers us a guide, a road
map, really. When you pray, he says, try praying like this:
Father, hallowed be your name.
Your kingdom come.
Give us each day our daily bread.
And forgive us our sins,
for we ourselves forgive everyone
indebted to us.
And do not bring us to the time of
trial.
I do not think Jesus means that we have to
use these words exactly, though Christians pretty much have for 2000 years.
But, I think, he means that these are the concerns that we should have at the
forefront of our minds and hearts and souls—when we come to God in prayer and
probably at all times.
We pray for the coming kingdom of God—in
contrast with the kingdoms of the world. We pray for the place and the time in
which all people will be free, in which all people are reconciled, and in which
war and pain, conflict, death, and illness are ended. Pray for that, he says.
And pray for daily bread—the food we need to survive, though probably not the
excess that we are so accustomed to in the west and especially in the United
States. And pray that others have enough to eat as well.
We pray to be forgiven for our sins, for
our faults, for the things we do and the things we say that hurt others and
that hurt ourselves. Of course, to receive this forgiveness we have to
acknowledge to God, to ourselves, and to others, that we are not perfect. We
are compelled to search our hearts and souls and lay them open, to become
vulnerable, so that we can freed, so that we can be liberated really, from all
that weighs us down. Of course, this also means that we likewise have to forgive
others—of their debts, whether financial, spiritual, or moral. For our own good
we can’t go on carrying our baggage forever—dragging garbage bags full of hurts
and mistakes, frustrations and disappointments behind us. And neither can we go
on dragging others’ baggage behind us either, holding onto old hurts and
grudges and debts, sometimes for years and years. Instead, Jesus tells us, when
we forgive and when accept forgiveness, we experience liberation. We experience
resurrection life. Pray for that liberation, he says. Pray for that resurrection life.
In fact, when you think about it, prayer—as
offered to us by Jesus—is all about liberation. It’s all about real, abundant,
resurrection life. Sometimes we may use words when we pray, since that’s largely how we communicate. But then again, sometimes
words are completely inadequate, and all we have is our breath, our touch, or
the beating of our hearts. Because really prayer, however, wherever, and
whenever it happens, is about opening ourselves and opening our hearts to God—so
that we allow God in, so that we allow God to take root in us, so that we allow God to live and grow in us and through us and among us. That’s why we pray.
At its deepest and most profound, in prayer
we invite God to bring God’s kingdom to life in us—whether that prayer happens
at home at the dinner table or before bed; in a hospital nursery at the joyous
birth of a baby, or gathered around a bed in the ICU, even
after life support systems have been shut down. It happens here in church, in
words and in song and in quiet moments of solitude. And it also happens before
a job interview and maybe even sometimes before a first date. Prayer can be
hard. And it can also be a source of life.
Too often in church we feel rushed and we
don’t allow ourselves enough time to pray. So, as I close today, I invite you
to take a few moments to pray. With words or in silence, offering the concerns
of your heart, or maybe quietly opening yourself to what God may be want to say
to you now. After a few moments, I will gather us back together. So, let us
pray….
Lord in your mercy, hear our prayer. And may God’s kingdom live and grow in you
and those you love, now and always. Amen.
© The Rev. Matthew P. Cadwell, PhD
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