This sermon on Prayer was written by the Rev’d M. Ashely Grant of the United Church of Christ in Connecticut.
On the sixth and final morning of my recent trek in Maine, I sat beside Pierce Pond as the sun rose and painted the sky and mountains a thousand shades of dawn. Used to the quiet, I puzzled over this knocking that came from some mysterious patch of pines. Then, silence. Then, more rapping. Not echoing. Responding in Morse Code fashion. Woodpeckers. Spotted woodpeckers, all through the woods, hidden from view, knocked to their own rhythms. The mist rolled over the pond and the chorus of tapping and pounding brought to mind the prayerful knocking that Jesus talked about. There I was, overhearing a mysterious conversation among a dozen woodpeckers, some faint and distant, others near and strong.
Could this be God’s ideal congregation: all of us knocking away, entering into conversation with God, entering into prayer? That seems to be Jesus’ hope, here in Luke’s Gospel.
The scripture is clear that we should pray. The Psalmists say give thanks and ask for God’s help. In Matthew, we learn not to put on airs when we pray. Paul tells us to pray without ceasing and that it doesn’t always involve words.
But, prayer is like a foreign language for some of us. Some believe our prayers lack that holy essence, the right words that please God. Some of us are turned off by the whole idea that God will actually listen. Some get caught up in the whirlpool of global social disorder and violence, and if this is God’s will, then “I’ll have none of it—No thank you.” Others just don’t know where or how to start.
Why?
Because prayer has an air of mystery about it. Prayer connects the created with the Creator, which makes it transcendent communication. It calls for spiritual attentiveness to the relationship where one member, namely God, knows more than the other member, namely, you or me. One member sees the cosmic whole and the other sees a thin slice of life. Factor in the situations we would pray about, our hopes and disappointments, our feelings of inadequacy in encountering the divine, our tendencies toward immediate satisfaction, our obscured understanding of want versus need, and our short attention spans, and the mystery of prayer becomes more evident, more daunting. How on earth ought we pray, under the shadow of all this unknown, this confusion, this mystery?
In this passage from Luke, Jesus unpacks the mystery in a beautiful and pastoral way for his disciples who want a beginning place, a jumping off point. (I am actually surprised by his straightforwardness.) First, he tells them what to pray; then, in a parable, he teaches them about persistence, about how to pray: that glorious asking, searching, and knocking; and finally, Jesus lets his disciples in on the nature of God, assuring them of God’s fidelity to all God’s children.
Jesus is deep in prayer when his disciple notices him. As soon as he finishes, settling back to earth, the disciple approaches him with a request, “Teach us to pray.” Ahh, we have to learn to pray, like we learn music, hatred, math, or prejudice. When Jesus prays, his disciples see that they are missing something in their own lives. They want to communicate with God, if not the way Jesus is able to, at least like John’s disciples, who were known for their pious fasting and prayer while Jesus’ followers were known for their feasting at banquets and drinking. They have a lot to learn.
We know the prayer Jesus taught them, by heart and habit. It is a corporate prayer, arising from Jewish Tradition, which has been used in Christian worship since believers started gathering. In praying this prayer together, something powerful happens through voicing our praise and needs in unison. The prayer sets us on common ground. If we were to walk into another congregation this Sunday, we would hear only slight differences in what others pray. Our Catholic brothers and sisters would stick close to the scripture. Most Protestants would add this power-filled, God is sovereign ending—“for thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, forever and ever.” As diverse as Christian interpretation has become, this prayer remains one of our few universal, identifying marks.
So, Jesus teaches them (and us) to call on God, who is Holy. In a spiritual sense, we take our shoes off when we recognize God’s holiness, as Moses did before the burning bush. Then, Jesus says we ought to pray for the coming of God’s kingdom and for God’s will to be done. Right off the bat, the prayer orients us toward God, toward the restoration of all that is broken, toward new creation in God’s coming kingdom…God’s will covers the rest: that we will be satisfied each day with what we need; that we will forgive others and accept God’s forgiveness; that we would avoid temptations and evil that harm us. The prayer focuses on God’s holy will, satisfying our need and anticipating the future.
C.S. Lewis describes (in Christian Reflections) two patterns of prayer from the Bible. The first is rooted in the Lord’s prayer, particularly sensitive to “Thy will be done.” Everything we pray runs through that filter, that God’s will and wisdom take precedence. God’s will—a touchy subject for us who are waiting on God to make change in our lives and bring about peace for all, waiting for God to respond in a godly way to our prayers. Jesus is saying, Don’t give up! Know that God’s will continues to be revealed. Know that God’s will includes journeying with us, come what may. At Gethsemane, Jesus prays for the cup to pass from him, but submits, “nevertheless, not my will but thine.” With that, Lewis says, “We are directed by both our Lord’s command (to pray) and (his) example.”
The second pattern centers on uncompromising faith that moves mountains, praying and believing that the particular things we ask for will come about because God promised. Lewis concludes that until God gives him the faith for such prayer, he must pray by the earlier pattern, contingent on God’s will and God’s discretion. He leaves room for uncertainty and doubt, for the presence of self to know that he doesn’t always know what is best or what he needs or what he should do, which is where most of us are in our own prayer lives. The question that he ends with and that we must continue to ask, is “How am I to pray this very night?” Or this morning? Even, now?
The first disciples needed a way to begin their conversation with God, a way to meet God in any situation, at any time, in need or in joy. Jesus gave them that.
Beyond the words, Jesus taught his disciples how to pray. To understand his parable, think back to a time before 24 hour per day conveniences. A surprise guest arrives, but your cupboards lay empty. Wanting to be hospitable, you figure your best bet is your friend who lives down the street. The clock just struck mid-night, but you go over anyway and rap lightly on the door, avoiding the doorbell…No Answer…You press your finger into the doorbell, feeling like a telemarketer who calls precisely at dinnertime. You know your friend is home, his car sits in the driveway…Again you press…A light flicks on inside. Footsteps. “What do you want?” says the voice from behind the door. “Its too late. Go home.”
“I need something,” you say.
“Not now.”
“Please. A guest arrived, and I have to offer her something.” Argh. Grumble. Grumble. From inside.
Jesus says that because of the person’s persistence, not because of their friendship, the man will get what he asks. Frederick Buechner claims that “the most important thing Jesus says about prayer is that we should keep at it.”
Persistence takes a certain mix of risk and clarity of desire. On my 3rd night on the trail last week, a man in his mid fifties rolled into the shelter at about 7pm. He stood quietly at his trim pack, pulling out his sleeping pad and bag. My friends and I watched him as we interrogated a young fellow who had been hiking for two weeks. I noticed the quiet hiker pull out a big slice of pizza wadded up in waxed paper. Smiling, he nodded, “I passed the 2000 mile mark today.” Wow! He proceeded to munch madly on a box of Hostess donuts and a package of Keebler Elf cookies, washing it down with orange juice, calorie hungry. “What has your hike been like?” we asked. “Something always hurts,” he chuckled. “I actually didn’t think I could make it, but I have wanted to hike the trail since I was 17, so I just started.” His celebration soon dissipated, and his thoughts turned to the next day. Five months of persistence and 2000 miles worth of daily decisions to “press on” have taken him from Georgia to Maine, and will carry him to the northern terminus of the Appalachian Trail, perhaps today or tomorrow. He was gone before we got up the next morning.
Persistence, day in, day out.
Annie Dillard reflects on an odd circumstance of persistence on the little island where she lived. She writes that a youngish man “lives alone with a stone he is trying to teach to talk.” Absurd, was my first inclination. He keeps it on a shelf, covered by a swatch of leather, which he removes for their lessons. “No one knows what goes on at these sessions,” writes Dillard. “I assume that like any other meaningful effort, the ritual involves sacrifice, the suppression of self-consciousness, and a certain precise tilt of the will, so that the will becomes transparent and hollow, a channel for the work.” Not so absurd, anymore.
Persistence like this cuts grand canyons; builds towering stalagmites; chips away at oppressive institutions; fosters deep, trusting relationships; bores holes into mighty tree trunks. Jesus gives us permission to strive after God’s own heart in this way, to bend the ear of God with our prayers. And Jesus assures: “Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. For everyone who asks receives, everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened.” Here is the blessed assurance that we need through Jesus’ demystifying insight into the nature of God: God hears and acts on our prayers because God is committed to us, choosing to come near.
The ancient Greek Philosopher, Aristotle believed God to be detached from the world, solely transcendent, the “unmoved mover,” who created then stepped back to let creation happen, like a clock maker who sets the gears in motion and lets time tick, tick, tick. This is not the nature of the God whom Jesus calls, Abba, “Father.” That name carries a strong sense of trust. Fidelity. A loving parent does not give her child stones when he asks for cereal. Be assured, if you can give good gifts, how much more will God give! God responds, sometimes not in accord with our timing or want, but according to our need. Jesus teaches the disciples that God is approachable, generous, and loving.
And this is the God who invites us to pray. All through the Gospels, the disciples see Jesus praying, retreating to the mountains or to the recesses of a garden, to be alone with God. He prays in their presence for God to heal; he gives thanks to God; he prays for God to bless the bread they eat; he prays that God will send the Holy Spirit! He lets them see his struggle to understand God’s will, and then tilts his own will, so that God might work through him. We come to know this God as a parent and sustainer--as our God--by following Christ’s example.
If the prayer you pray today marks the beginning and end of your conversation with God for the week, then, my friends, you are experiencing what C.S. Lewis would call an “impoverished prayer life.” The way we grow to understand God’s will and our own need is through prayer; which is not limited to words or Sunday worship rituals. It is the “day in and day out” conversation, which brings us into a closer relationship with God. I am interested in how each of us can use the Lord’s prayer as the beginning of our conversation with God. Let this be our challenge. This week, PRAY. When you’re joyful, give thanks. When you need guidance: ask. When you hurt; seek God’s comfort. When the door is closed; keep knocking, and knocking. It will be like God having a conversation with woodpeckers.