“Help When We Pray”

August 2, 2009

I Kings 3:3-9

Romans 8:26‑30

When the Constitutional Convention was meeting in 1787, the delegates found themselves hardened in disagreement. Benjamin Franklin suggested that they open their sessions with prayer and seek the guidance of God. The delegates rejected his proposal, not because they did not believe in prayer, but because they did not have enough money to hire a chaplain. No prayers were offered because no one felt sufficiently fluent in the foreign language of prayer.[i]

Prayer often seems strange and confusing—a foreign language. Or at least it does to me. I know German, Greek, and Hebrew. But the language of prayer? Sometimes I think I decided to become a minister because I have less understanding of it than most people—and therefore I need to spend more time on it than most in order to “get it.”

So, I, for one, am glad to hear those words of Paul: “We don’t know how to pray as we ought.” These are words that I can understand. They speak to my experience. And I imagine that they speak for you as well—at least some of the time.

Prayer gives us a wonderful opportunity. We mortal creatures might speak with and listen for our eternal Creator. As sisters and brothers of Jesus we speak not to a distant god but to one who loves us as a mother who will not abandon her children, as a father who waits patiently for our return.

So why aren’t we praying more often?

Prayer is the heart of our corporate worship of God. Not speech about God, but speech to God is central to what we do as the gathered body of Christ. No renewal of a congregation can be expected until we seek to renew ourselves individually and corporately through prayer.

So why are our prayers so weak, so devoid of life? Why do we mumble through worship as though we lack all interest?

Could it be that Paul does speak for all of us? “We do not know how to pray as we ought.”

Prayer is God’s gift to us. That’s the good news.

The bad news is that prayer often seems like a gift that we don't know how to use.

Nathaniel recently received an iPod Touch as a graduation present. That meant that I got his old iPod Nano. And I didn’t have the slightest idea of how to use it. I wasn’t even quite sure what a “nano” was. Children—even teenagers—can be remarkably patient with us ancients, however, and with Nat’s help I slowly learned how to turn the thing on, download music, and even reset it when the darn thing freezes up. Still I need to come to him occasionally saying: “How do I …”

We learn slowly. But we learn. We learn to pray by praying—even if we’re not quite sure how to start or what to do when we “freeze up.”

Prayer is God's gift to us. And it is a gift that we can learn to use at any age.

Prayer is God's desire for us.

Christianity announces the wonderful news that the Creator of the universe is not distant and aloof, unmoved by human beings. Rather, the God revealed in Jesus wants to communicate with us. Indeed, when that communication is broken, it is God who takes the first step to restore contact.

We don't seem to know how to use the gift that God has given. But maybe together we could explore the gift, share what we know, and learn.

Which makes me think that we all need to lighten up about prayer.

Why is it so hard to pray?

Mostly because we make it hard. People worry about “getting it right”—using the right words, asking for the right things, sounding religious. It’s as though we try to pray from a position of strength.

What if we found the source of prayer someplace other than our strength?

What if we discovered prayer growing from our weakness?

The Old Testament lesson tells of the wonderful prayer of Solomon. “I am only a little child; I do not know how to go out or come in,” he prayed. In other words, “I don’t have a clue.” So he continues: “Give your servant therefore an understanding mind to govern your people, able to discern between good and evil; for who can govern this your great people?”

This was, remember, a “dream prayer.” Had Solomon been awake, he might have prayed differently, seeking power, seeking wealth. Instead, he started from his weakness.

“We do not know how to pray as we ought . . .”

Prayer is not a matter of having all the right words. Prayer requires no special language. If we know how to speak to one another, we have all the language we need to speak to God. We do not need to pretty-up our prayers or make them sound more “prayerful”—whatever that might mean.[ii]

Prayer is not a matter of having all the right words. In fact, it is not really about words at all. Beyond all our words the Spirit of God meets us in silence.

When all you can do is cry . . .

When you slump into a chair and sigh at the end of a long week of hard work…

            When all you can do is laugh from the sheer joy of living . . .

When you are left in silent awe in the face of beauty or love or the sheer vastness of nature . . .

You are praying.

And the Spirit of God is praying with you and for you.

If the words are to come at all, spoken prayer will grow out of silence:

silence as you sit alone for a few minutes before the busy day begins, perhaps even before the sun is up;

silence as you prepare for worship;

silence in the late night.

In our weakness, since we do not know how to pray as we ought, the Spirit of God meets us and sustains us.

In discussing Paul’s letter to the Romans, Karl Barth put it this way:

“We wait, but because we wait upon God, our waiting is not in vain.

We look out, but because we have first been observed [by God], we do not look out into the void.

We speak, but because there emerges in our speech that which cannot be uttered, we do not idly prattle.

And so also we pray, but because the Spirit intercedes for us our prayers and groanings are distinct from that groaning which is weakness and nothing else.[iii]

No wonder then, that Paul could write something as outrageous as: “We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to God's purpose.”

Such a statement should either be greeted as absolute foolishness or profound faith.

But if the Spirit of God lifts us up when we are weak,

if the Spirit leads us to hope even in the midst of suffering,

if the Spirit convinces us that we are the children of God, the sisters and brothers of Jesus

then it becomes possible to say “all things work together for good.”

It's not a matter of all things being good—for they certainly are not. The violence in Congo and Sudan, the ongoing warfare in Afghanistan and Iraq, the devastation that the current economic unrest has brought to so many in our own country—none of these can in any way be called good.

Still, a faith that looks toward the future that God is bringing about can be confident in the present.

And when confidence fades,

when we tire from praying for Iraq and Afghanistan,

for some glimmer of hope in the midst of economic chaos,

for strength in the face of disaster,

when we give up in exhaustion—God is still there, holding us—and all creation—in arms of love.

We don’t know how to pray as we ought.

And so—always—we are invited to pray as we can, in our human weakness, trusting in the sustaining love of God.