I suspect that when we think
about prayer, it’s usually in the context of what we do or, more precisely, in
what we should do but we don’t. We think about our obligations to pray as
Christ taught us. Pray without ceasing, the Scriptures say, but often our prayers
are slap-dash, hit and miss. Let my prayers rise before you as incense, the
lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice, the Psalmist prays, but our
prayers are rarely so sweet and our hands are often lifted in frustration or in
demand. Cast all your cares upon Him, St. Paul wrote, for He cares for you, but
frankly our prayers are often spoken with more than a little fear, wondering –
given the circumstances surrounding us – if He really does care, and if He
really does listen, and if He really will answer. And, our Christian conscience
knows this, it is troubled by this, and our prayer life – we use the word
somewhat loosely – leaves us troubled. For the record, this is true for me as
well. So, when the texts discuss prayer, it strikes closer to home for you and
for me.
We know we ought to pray. We know
we are called to pray. We know we are invited and encouraged to pray. Most of
us would like to be people of prayer, faithful in our petitions that ascend in
regular, ardent, and sometimes spontaneous moments, not just in times of crisis
or need but in times of joy, and thanksgiving and praise.
One of our problems is that we
are Americans, most of us of the generations that grew up being taught about
hard work, pulling ourselves up by our own bootstraps, and taking care of
things ourselves. We don’t like asking anyone for help – and this includes God.
Rather, we prefer to manage, hit or miss, sink or swim, on our own.
And our Lord does this to cause
us to return to Him. He allows us, in our foolish selfishness, to try to pray
on our own, and He allows us, in our arrogance, to fail. That failure turns us
away from ourselves and turn back to Jesus. It’s ironic – our success in prayer
is in our failure in prayer. When we get out of the way and let Jesus take
over, then “our” prayers – and I am using “our” in quotation marks, because
it’s not really ours at all, but Jesus at work through us and in us – then our
prayers become effective.
I have lost track of the number
of times that well-intended Christians, people in the pew just like you, have
asked me for a Bible study or a sermon on prayer. Usually what they mean is
this: Pastor, teach us how to pray. Give us the right techniques so our
prayers are answered by God in the way we want them answered. Tell us what to
pray for, tell us the words to use so the prayer is pleasing to God and He
hears them. This is nothing new. The disciples make the same request of Jesus
in this morning’s Gospel lesson.
Now, put this in the context of
the last two weeks’ readings from Luke 10. Two weeks ago, we heard the lawyer’s
request, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” Through the parable of the
Good Samaritan, Jesus taught that you don’t earn God’s grace anymore than the
beaten traveler could rescue himself. The Good Samaritan is like Jesus, who
stops and rescues each of us sin-beaten travelers when we cannot help
ourselves. Then, last week, we heard the narration of Mary and Martha. Jesus,
who comes to serve and not be served, reminds us that when it comes to our
justification, He does it all. Don’t just do something, sit there.
What Jesus has emphasized repeatedly
and forcefully in these two stories is the importance of faith in Him as Lord
and Savior, and man’s inability to rescue and save him- or her-self. It’s about
the Word of God in flesh, not our confidence in our own flesh. Jesus takes that
same truth and applies it to prayer. God pleasing prayer depends on Him, not
the person at prayer.
Jesus is the true prayer expert. Jesus
whole ministry was one of prayer, interceding for sinners on earth. He stands
before God and represents us in the Father’s presence, as a priest stood before
the altar in the Temple. Time and time again, through the Gospels, you see
Jesus prays – often by Himself, sometimes with the disciples, occasionally in
public. Jesus takes over for us and
fulfills God’s call to be praying people. And, having ascended into heaven,
until the day Christ returns, He continues to intercede for us. Yet, in a
remarkable way, because He is also present among us on earth, He continues to
connect with us.
So, Jesus takes prayer out of our
hands, so to speak, and leaves it in His perfect hands and in His Word. It’s
worth noting that the Disciples, in their request, are offering a prayer to
Jesus. It’s simple, just a few words long. It’s humble, confessing they know
not now to pray. It’s a confession of faith, that He is Lord and He will
answer. They can’t do prayer, see? They trust Jesus will do it.
We pray the Lord’s Prayer so
often that I suspect we have lost the awe and wonder of what Jesus teaches. In
these few words, we are given a great insight into the compassionate heart of
our Savior.
Father: You see an
intimate conversation of a Son to His Father. But, it’s not just any son and
any father – this is Jesus the Son speaking directly to His Heavenly Father.
It’s unique, something that only Jesus can say. Yet, Jesus invites us to pray
that with Him. But it’s not just a casual invitation for you to tag along as a
third wheel, an extra who doesn’t really fit in. He shares His Sonship with
you. By virtue of your baptism into Christ, you are united to Christ in both
death and resurrection, in life and death. Joined to Christ, you are therefore
also a child of God. God the Father sees you just as He saw Jesus at His
baptism: You are my beloved Son; you are my beloved daughter. By giving you this invitation to pray to His Father,
He is including you in His relationship with the Father. You are able to act as
if you were Christ, entering – through prayer – into the presence of God
because you are dressed up with Christ and clothed with His righteousness.
Hallowed be your name, your
kingdom come. Because you are in Christ, connected with Christ and clothed
with Christ, and He is in and with you, you have His identity. You are
Christian – little Christ. And, sharing His identity, you also share His
vocation. We live in a strange age when
people talk about identity, as if it’s something you can pick up on the shelf
at the mega-mart and change like t-shirts and shorts. Your identity, who you
are, is grounded in whose you are: God’s. And, because you are God’s beloved
Son and Daughter, your prayer is Christ’s: that the name of God is made holy in
all that is said and done, and that it is holy-ed in our service to our
neighbor in the name of Christ. In other
words, He is teaching us to identify with Him as God’s only beloved and to
serve in His mission to the church and to those outside the church. We pray
with Jesus that the Father’s Kingdom comes through Christ and with us.
Give us each day our daily
bread. Forgive us our sins, for we also forgive everyone who sins against us. And
lead us not into temptation. I want
you to notice something here – repeat these three petitions in your head, and
pay attention to the pronouns. In the first two petitions, Christ joins us with
Himself. Now, in these petitions, Christ joins Himself to us as He prays. Think
of it: Jesus doesn’t need daily bread. He certainly doesn’t need forgiveness of
any of His sins, nor does He need protection from temptation. Where before, we gain our identity in Christ,
in these petitions Jesus identifies with us and our needs, our worries, our
sins, and our temptations. Jesus stands with us – not just in solidarity, but
in perfect place of us. Jesus stands for
us.
Earlier I said that want to do
things ourselves. But, what do you do when you can’t do anything about it –
whatever “it” might be? You get help. God teaches us to pray by placing people
in our lives who make demands that we can’t fulfill and with needs we can’t
meet from our own resources. This could be a difficult child, a terrible boss,
a worse employee, a problematic neighbor, an ever depleting bank account,
unending medical tests, whatever “it” is.
Luther said, “People must feel their distress, and such distress presses
them and compels that they call and cry out. Then prayer will be made willingly
as it ought to be. People will need no teaching, then, how to prepare for it…
(Large Catechism III, 26-27).
A couple years ago, a family at
church imploded. One barely-legal child ran away from home. I made a bad
judgement call and sinned ethically against the parents – maybe I’ll tell you
about that another time. When I tried to confess and ask their forgiveness, I
was told in no uncertain terms to never show my face again at that house, or
else...and the else was clearly articulated. Let me be clear: I don’t blame
them that they left the congregation or that that message was given to me. A
couple years later, their daughter – still at home – got pregnant. She married
the baby’s father. It was, by all accounts, a happy if difficult marriage.
Gradually, the daughter’s parents warmed to their son-in-law. All was good.
Then, one wet, rainy night, the daughter was killed in a traffic accident. I
had confirmed these kids – both the one that ran away and the one who was
killed. I watched, first up close and then from afar, as the parents were
emotionally destroyed, once and then twice. I wanted to go to the funeral, I
wanted to call, I wanted to go see the parents and offer my condolences, but I
didn’t want to add even greater pain to what was already nearly unbearable for
the parents. And, the echos of the “or else” still echoed in my head. I called
my pastor. I cried, asking “What do I do?” I’ll never forget his answer: “Pray
– it is the priestly thing to do, and it is effective and efficacious. God will
hear, and He will answer, and He will provide for the family.” So, I knelt in
our church while the family gathered in a funeral home twenty miles away. With
my own heart breaking for them, and with nothing to give, I simply prayed: for
peace, for hope, for grace, forgive us our trespasses…and thy kingdom come.
When we have nothing to offer,
when we feel the weakest and have no strength in ourselves to do anything, that
is when prayer become powerful. That is the prayer of faith that commends all
things to the Father’s ears through Christ. Like the grumpy neighbor, we borrow
from Jesus by praying for those people. In those moments, Jesus teaches us to
pray – not with the right technique, nor with the right words – but with faith,
faith that trusts that through our identity in Christ, God will see and hear
us, and He will answer us for those people whom He alone can help.
[1]
Great portions of this sermon are borrowed liberally, either directly or in
paraphrase, from Rev. John Kleinig’s work on prayer.
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