Prayer – Perspective From The Pulpit

J. P. Allen  |  Southwestern Journal of Theology Vol. 14 - Spring 1972

Distill prayer to its irreducible minimum and what you have is communication; God and man in touch. Preaching on the subject, therefore, ought to begin with interpreting the nature of that communication. Definitions are always on the preacher’s agenda. The people’s use of their spiritual heritage and commitment will hinge on how well they comprehend the resources they have—and their limitations.

Prayer does not just “come natural.” The terms of discipleship are the Master’s, not ours. He has showed us the Father and the way to him. We cannot simply construct prayers by our own genius. The central issue is that the nature of a communication inheres in the nature and role of the communicants! And such definitions have already been established.

It is no wonder that the largest concentration of material in the Sermon on the Mount is on prayer. Nearly twenty per cent, twenty-one out of one hundred and nine verses, deal with the subject. In those discourses Jesus declared the newly revealed purposes of God, the nature of his new men, and the new relationship between them. So, he who defined the Christian faith also defined prayer. It is not open for redefinition.

Clearly the chief act of a religious commitment ought to be compatible with the chief aim! It would be in a sales organization, or a sport, or a service agency. The end has to be in focus or the means slowly deteriorate. Even prayer can become foolish, self-deceptive, if the definitions are not safeguarded. Jesus kept warning about that.

So, since Christianity is not merely a transaction, prayer is not a periodic report or an anniversary observance. Yet those who pray infrequently or only on special occasions try to make it that.

And, since our faith is not a bargain made with the Almighty, prayer is not a process of continued bargaining. That has been tried, too.

Christianity is not a promise; thus prayer is not an attempt to collect what’s coming to us.

It is not a reformation; and praying is not offering explanations and excuses for our shortcomings.

Nor is it an ideal; else prayers could be odes to idealism.

Christianity is a vital life relationship between God and man in Christ. So prayer is, by definition, a relationship! Human conversations are illustrative. They always take the mode of the affinity of the conversants. Love declarations are too· they mean as much as the two persons mean. Intimate detail and spoken promises as well partake of the flavor of the ones involved. Prayer, highest of all intimacies, is in the relationship!

 

Prayer and the New Model

Prayer had to be remodeled because there was a new relationship. In the old model the prayer appeared to be in the words. The religionists of the day equated “much speaking” with much praying. They heaped up “vain” (empty) phrases, rhetorical, recitative—like prayers that have got to be said, and at times that had to be prescribed.

The new design was that there is now “something between” in the salvation experience. The new model therefore was not a replacement-fresh words for old words. It was a wholly new genus which Jesus outlined.

The “Lord’s Prayer” was not the Lord’s prayer. He did not pray it, he did not phrase it for our use, he did not command it verbatim. He sketched a new style of praying. He analyzed the relationship, determined its ingredients and some of its boundaries. Jesus demanded not renewal but a new order not an increase but a change.

It is almost as though the words are not important. It is, rather, what do they intend? What do they communicate? It is evident that prior understandings are presumed upon. There was an occasion when my study at the church looked out on the construction of a new wing of the building. Through the summer I heard a great deal of the conversations of the work­ me. One word in particular bothered me during the brick-laying time. From high on the scaffolding the mason would periodically call out in a sharp syllable, “Hut.” The meaning escaped me. Finally my curiosity overcame, so I observed to see what was the proper response to “hut.” It soon became evident. Shortly after the command, the hod carrier appeared with mortar from the mixer below. The word I’d been hearing was actually “mud”—their expression for mortar. They were related m such fashion that communication was simple to them, but beyond me.

This independence from words and the vitality of association illumines Paul’s doctrine in Romans 8:26. We, who are not as apt in praying as we ought to be, have the Spirit himself to articulate for us. If we are in touch with him, we can expect even our longings to be phrased in our behalf. As someone has put it, the Holy Spirit can tum our prayers into syllables, but never our syllables into prayers.

The close personal involvement is acknowledged in the model prayer. Indeed, as you work through Jesus’ analysis of praying, you discover that the relationship motif is the one unifying theme. The “something between” compels communication. So the first word is “Father.” This accounts for the vital faith factor. In preaching one must take caution lest he suggest that faith is requisite to prayer because it is a condition God arbitrarily imposes for answering us. It is, rather, the only soil out of which a prayer can originate. Faith is not like a postage stamp to insure delivery; it is more the impulse that prompted the text.

A relationship with the Father insures conformity to “thy name.” This well-known Hebrew synonym for “nature or character” affirms that the petitioner is ready to assume the demands and purposes of God’s nature as revealed in Christ. This is further authenticated by the concept of “thy kingdom. . . thy will.” Clearly, whoever wants to talk with the Father had better get on a subject God is interested in. No mortal has warrant to come to the presence of God with the incessant chatter, “I want to talk to you about me.”

This does not diminish human worth, nor deny the concern of God for his child. It is, instead, a matter of priorities. Settle the prior claims of the relationship and God’s permissiveness is magnificent. Indeed, you can tell your congregation how to ask for anything. They must see to it that any good thing that happens to them happens simultaneously for the good of God’s kingdom and the well-being of his family.

The continuing kinship thus established runs through the second segment of the model—the “us” section. “Daily bread” is the material resources required to accomplish the work one is assigned to do. The amount of the supply must be in ratio to the demand of the labor. It is not the bread of comfort or idleness petitioned for, it is for the energy to be expended in kingdom tasks. It is likely that the expression originally referred to the ration of food issued to a slave, determined by the work that was demanded of him. It is important to note that the bread and the job related to each other.

Dr. Ray Summers has keenly illustrated the point by likening the principle to an expense account. If your travel is on company or church business, then you are expected to submit expenses for lodging, food and required costs to accomplish the mission. The business manager accepts these items and issues the check. But if an entry should appear, “new coat for wife,” then another sound would issue from the treasurer’s office. That expenditure was not in keeping with the job undertaken, so no reimbursement can be allowed.

The prayer even for daily supply of food and necessities is vitally related to the purposes of the Kingdom of Heaven. Prayer is still in the relationship!

Jesus’ construct of prayer closes on the same note. The dread of temptation finds expression because man knows he is not immune to evil. So he pleads for deliverance because sin breaches the rapport with the Father to which the sons of God are committed.

Clearly the words of the model prayer in Matthew are not meant merely to be mouthed. It is neither wrong nor improper to repeat the verses in public worship. Indeed, in Luke’s context (11:1, 2) a different introduction appears that seems to suggest repetition of the words. Yet, the text differs from the Matthean version, and thus eliminates the probability of an “authorized” prayer.

It is more that if used as a prayer text these remarkable insights into prayer would be inadequate. Jesus’ word in Matthew 6:9 is that his disciples should “pray then in this manner

. . . in the way described.” Such is the force of the term “like this.” It is a blueprint for the construction of prayers, but not a finished product. It is a recipe but not food. It points to communication, but is not of itself a guarantee of the relationship between God and his kingdom man.

 

Prayer and the Radical Design

Any way you look at it, Jesus was a radical. He gave that kind of significance to motive, and that was a dramatic new direction for religion. Almost universally, pre-Christian systems conceived righteousness in terms of conformity to a standard from without. Jesus turned it inward!

Nowhere is this inwardness more crucial than in prayer. And nowhere does it present more difficulty than in preaching on the subject. The reason lies in the dilemma of mixed motives. Everyone must live with them; few come to terms with them. Sensitive consciences, sometimes belabored by extravagant pronouncements from the pulpit, yearn for pure motives which are rare in our complex personalities. When aspirations are high, and the achievement level low, discouragement and loss of motivation are inevitable.

Our Lord had no intention of putting prayer beyond our reach. He understood our natures, he knows the processes of growth, discipline and maturity. But in a faith where relationships are primal he turned the searchlight on the intent of the heart-and it must remain. The minister can keep both sides of the equation before his people and help them live with its perplexity. Fellowship between man and the eternal God is never going to be simplex.

Tennyson has spoken of “the fierce light that beats about a throne.” He was referring to the exposure of royalty to the scrutiny of the public eye. He could as well have applied it to the “glare of prayer.” The inward direction of Jesus’ judgments on praying puts the prayer altar in the piercing light of “why?” That is the ultimate interrogative, more penetrating than “what, when or where?” It goes to the roots of relationships. Indeed, the more vital the contact the more the right to “why” is granted. Ask a girl for a date and she has cause to ask you when and where, not much more. Ask her to marry you and she has right to question every motive. Break a traffic regulation and the questions are usually limited to “what?” In cases of manslaughter, the prime consideration is “why?” The motive may mean life or death.

Jesus defined righteousness in relation to a standard within. What he seeks in his subjects is conformity to the nature and will of God created in men by the miracle of his grace. The new nature cannot look to requirements imposed by code or custom or taboo.

Righteousness by regimentation had perfect proponents in Jesus’ day—the Pharisees. So when he talked of righteousness his hearers had the picture immediately. Imagine, therefore, how startled they must have been at his declaration that their righteousness must exceed that of the Pharisee! Obviously he spoke of a different kind, not degree; quality, not quantity. Jewish law touched only actions, Christ involved thoughts and feelings. Thenceforth, in Christians, conduct was to be measured not by the projection forward of effects on others, but backward into individual character. How does it conform to the standard of God’s nature written there? That is the ultimate test.

In the early days when motion pictures first came to the west, cowboys crowded into the crude theaters still wearing their six-guns. When the climactic scene of the chase arrived they would sometimes shoot into the screen in instinctive de­ sire to aid the hero or impede the villain. But that was not the way. It might have been had they aimed back at the projector. There was the direction of change; that was where the action originated.

It is no surprise, then, that the motive for prayer is brought under examination. It must be measured by the kind of character Christ is aiming to create. Whether one is seen to pray, or known to pray well, or at right times and places, or in volume—all these are not criteria for divine approval. No wonder Jesus said, “Beware of practicing your piety before men in order to be seen by them” (Matt. 6:1 RSV). The restriction is not on public prayers but on publicity prayers. It is not the manner but the motive.

The rewards of righteousness are subjected to the same stringent standards; what was the intent? The word in Matthew 6 translated, “they have their reward,” is heavy with imagery. It is the experience of the receipted bill, a transaction understood in every era. The customer charges an account, promises to pay, receives the statement, pays the bill. It is marked “paid in full.” That ends all claims. Take it back to the buyer and there’s no way to collect a second time. Now apply it. A man prays so he has claims. What he deeply desires is to be seen of others as devout. They see him, they tab him as devout. He got what he wanted, he collected in full. Then, he takes his prayer back to the Father and asks payment. Again? But no, it has already been settled. The inner desire was the prayer; what he said counted not at all.

Just as radical is the matter of unforgiveness. The most solemn phrase of these passages is that we ask God for pardon for our wrongdoing in exact proportion (“as we forgive”) as we grant pardon for those who do us wrong. This is a fearful modifying clause. It is so because forgiveness can be implored only if forgiveness is experienced. Otherwise it is an unknown commodity. Pardoning is granted only as pardon is given. He who cannot forgive another destroys the bridge over which he himself must pass.

Forgiveness forever sets the climate of the soul—something like sympathy does. It is difficult to genuinely share in another’s grief unless one has himself endured bereavement. If you’ve received it, you have it to share. To refuse to grant reconciliation is to manifest evidence that such an event has not taken place inside.

There’s always that conformity to the standard within!

 

Prayer and the Elusive Answer

There is yet a more formidable issue as the preacher counsels his people on prayer. It springs from that tantalizing adjective “answered”! The words just seem to go together, “answered prayer.” Anything else and there’s something wrong with the prayer—or with God. Our emotional climate is that way.

It would be healthier if we could divorce the words. It is not so much that the subtle modifier risks presumption, or sets God on our time table, or tests him. All these are likely. The chief danger is in definition. Prayer becomes petition. There are answered petitions. God delights to do that when the situation permits; but prayer is not petition. It is almost equivalent to inquiring of a man who has just had a satisfying conversation with his best friend, “Well, did he answer your conversation?” It is a contradiction of terms and can only do violence to the relationship.

Christians would do well to major on prayers which have no answers. As authority for this, regard again the model which Jesus taught. Where are the answers? Go through it line by line. How would God proceed to “answer” a prayer constructed on that model? We might do well to challenge people to call a moratorium on petitions for a period of time. Not eliminate them, just suspend them temporarily and get “caught up” on long overdue prayers of praise, thanksgiving, self-searching and commitment. At the conclusion of the experiment, most would find they had learned a great deal about “real praying.” As an added bonus, the requests would become more bona fide—and very likely some answers more evident.

A part of the difficulty stems from the fact that in the narrative passages of the scriptures we get rather less help for checking ourselves than we receive on other issues. The examples in the New Testament are chiefly supplication. Especially in the four gospels, those who made petitions were usually those who had come to the Lord with burdens and implored his aid for their relief. These were usually granted. But for the most part we do not face our days under the threat of a son sick unto death or a daughter vexed with demons.

What would be instructive for us would be specimens of the disciples’ prayers. They were related to Jesus as we are, but we have almost no records of the way they prayed. The same hold true for Paul and the other writers. The outsiders in the scripture stories looked upon Christ as a miracle worker, and they knew no other petitions. For us he is a friend. He can, and does, work miracles, but they usually appear more slowly as he works in us.

We are left, therefore, with only Christ’s example; and his prayers are not too high for us. He sought the Father, his name, his will, his Kingdom. He prayed for daily strength; for deliverance from temptation, for forgiveness for others. We are under precisely those instructions. Praying is one of the few things we can do exactly as our Lord did.

But, of course, if one persists and asks, “Doesn’t God answer prayer?” the answer is “yes.”

I have found several approaches useful. One is novel, almost shocking. It adds another word which throws the question into a new frame of reference: “What if God answered back?”

If God answered back, if he answered you more than the prayer, it would help clarify the relationship. And it would be using a pedagogical method frequently employed by parents. Every child has made absurd requests and, if he had a wise mother, heard her respond, “Now you really don’t want that, do you?” The dialogue refined the situation, set things in perspective. One can almost hear the eternal Father doing something of the same thing in, “Come, let us reason together.” Moreover, the Psalmist affirms that God “will not always chide.” But he implies that he will for a while. It is a reasonable part our disciplines as sons. Suppose he did answer back!!

Prayer: “O Father . . .” God: “Stop right there; do you really mean that?” Sort of startling, of course. All he would want to do would be to keep us from mouthing a word and missing the relationship. Fathers are real to us. They have strong individual characteristics, they like some things and dislike others, they make demands on us, they offer us their security and fellowship. God, as a Father, ought to be as real when we address him. Too many people offer general addresses to an “oblong blur” and call it prayer to the Heavenly Father. His retort could cause us to commune with him in real presence. It might be an excellent answer to prayer.

Prayer: “Bless me . . .” God: “By whose definition?” Not much need to go further to see the point. I request the blessing of God, but suppose I’m thinking of one definition of blessing, and God another? Israel did not think of the wilderness or the exile as blessing; but they were. Nor did Simon Peter consider his denial as learning. It was. Our experience with “blessings in disguise” are inevitably profitable, but they appear more desirable after the disguise has been removed. No one should be asked to suffer, but when suffering comes it must be a teacher.

It is presumptuous to petition God for his power but not his wisdom. He will not be partitioned. If I want him to act in me or for me, then I’ll have to subscribe to his wise definition of what a blessing is.

Prayer: “Bless the missionaries . . .” God: Name one.”

Prayer: “Help me to . . .” God: “Will you help me?” Talking with the Almighty is not like a long distance telephone call—with the charges reversed! In the fellowship of the Kingdom men the chief concern is that each one do the Father’s will, perform his tasks, be in his character. Consider how many legitimate prayers wait on us for the answer! And for some there is no other answer at all.

Prayer: “Show me thy will . . .” God: “Why?” The whole purpose here is the discipline of remembering that the Lord never submits his will to any man for his consideration or approval. It can be seen only by acceptance and performance! The “yes” factor is to be in advance; the desire to do in advance of knowing. A word from the Master in John 7:17 (RSV) speaks pointedly to this truth: “If any man’s will is to do his will, he shall know . . . ” Observe that it is not if anyone wishes to know God’s will; it is if he wants to do it. Otherwise he need not ask.

What kinds of answers can be expected? Besides “no,” that is! A negative is a legitimate response to a petition, frequently the only one possible for a loving God.

There are automatic answers. The asking is the answering. Thanksgiving, praise, fellowship, submission—are all thus answerable. To request God to accept praise and gratitude is to have it accepted. As to say to a friend, “I am glad to be here with you” is sufficient; to declare it to the Father is to have his nearness and to have it immediately. Indeed, it is possible to assert that you sought because you had already found it.

There are answers of conviction and impression. The delicate instruments of intuition in man are the entryways of the Spirit. Deep purposes expressed in praying are something like radar guidance systems. The impulse goes out from an aircraft, strikes an object, bounces back to the transmitter—and the beam becomes a pathway for the pilot. An earnest desire from the soul encounters God’s Spirit and reflects back as a strengthened signal for guiding one’s life. And the more the prayer the stronger the signal.

Answers of opportunity are still answers. Paul considered open doors as divinely ordained disclosures. When he couldn’t go in the direction he planned, he went where he could—and found that to be the hand of God. The point was, he was determined to go. To one in a reclining position the door ajar is no sign. What’s needed then is a prod. But to the disciple anxious to do his Master’s bidding, the opportunity afforded is often a mandate to move.

Answers which we provide are among the best answers. It has been said often, but well—God does not so much change things; he changes us and we change things. We are his change-agents; his fellow workers.

Direct intervention is always a possibility with God. But exercise caution. Miracles are not formidable when viewed from the Creator’s perspective. The Scriptures force us, however, to note the severe economy of miracles in the Bible narratives. They were used sparingly, not lavishly; and only when natural phenomena were not obviously at hand and when the purposes of revelation were paramount.

God shows a distinct preference for the design of a moral­ spiritual universe which operates under his own laws. He retains the right to intrude when there is reason. But I must not ask him to do it on whim or on any schedule dictated by my shortsighted purposes.

He intervenes still, but uses less spectacular channels normally. He comes to act for us through the subtle forces of faith which are operative on the flesh. The experiences of psycho­somatic phenomena are sufficient to illustrate how spiritual powers can dominate the physical. He answers our pleas by the play of mysterious impressions on others which we could not have arranged. There are miraculous combinations of circumstances which need not be explained any other way than as di­ vine action on our behalf. And there is always his patient providence which we encounter when we petition him in our deep need.

These may appear as spectacular as walking on water, but the child of God knows that the Master has come.

What answer do you want? Here’s a profitable question. Ill-defined expectancy is a major cause of disenchantment with prayer. A constant discipline ought to be imposed, “Just what do I want or expect of this prayer anyway?” The pointed purpose expressed in Matthew 6:33 would keep us on the beam if we set our instruments by its direction.

One primary goal in prayer is immediately achieved by using the communication with God to define who you are and whose you are! A prime purpose is to induce awareness of the nature of things—you in relation to your whole environment as it actually is. We stumble more often because we forget than for any other cause. It’s not so much, “I didn’t care,” as “I didn’t think.” Prayer makes you think! That may not appear to be a noble motive at first glance, but it is fundamental and vital.

The aircraft pilot makes contact with the ground frequently. He knows he is not self-sufficient; with all his scientific resources he still is not at home in the sky. So he is always aware of who and what he is. The salesman calls in regularly to the home office. He knows very well he does not represent himself. He needs the reminders of whose he is. The Christian belongs to Another and is on his mission in an alien world. Not to keep in touch is fatal.

This has something to say about prayer frequency. Ask what is the right amount of time for a Christian to pray per day and there is no response. Change the question to, “How many times a day should you pray?” and I’ll hazard an answer-“about 35!” Granted, that’s arbitrary. But I’m not concerned about the arithmetic but the awareness. It’s based on the normal sixteen-hour waking day, twice per hour—in addition to the two or three longer or more formal devotional periods. These would be short, usually joyous, prayers. They would be prayed while at work or rest, in recreation or involvement, alone or in an animated conversation. Another in your company would not necessarily be aware that you had briefly “called in” to headquarters or “checked the beam” with control central. But you had; the instant you called to the Father you had reaffirmed you were his son. You were aware, and there­ fore in proper condition to “seek first his kingdom,” and to wisely use “all these things.”

Can you think of any other way to “pray without ceasing?”

What “answer” do you want? You covet his fellowship. Prayer was not designed as an emergency measure, a survival kit. It is a communication, a conversation, between those of a like mind. In a time of crisis the relationship is readily usable, and God does hear us when we call out from the pit. But that

is the result, not the cause, of an established relationship.

Yet the prayers of desperation have usually received the accolade of “real prayers.” The title is not deserved. If you should have to call on the Governor of your state to implore his clemency to spare your son from execution, it would require a dramatic approach. Tears and agony would be in or­ der. But should you be invited to the executive mansion to chat with the Governor over lunch about the spiritual welfare of the state and your Christian views on capital punishment, another demeanor would prevail. Could anyone suggest that the former would be any less “real” conversation with the chief executive? The second instance is far more suggestive of the Christian’s relation with his Lord.

What do you expect from prayer? You deliberately cultivate formative experiences. The fabric of love and oneness between husband and wife is woven from ten thousand small strands of experience between the two of them. No single thread sustains the relationship. It is the sheer mass of them, the overwhelming numbers of words and greetings exchanged, the shared moments, the common goals, the unashamed commitments to each other. Something new has come into being. Basically it came from communication.

From just some such communication we become sons of the Kingdom of God.

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