Let us Pray.

Ok. I know I have this whole missionary thing going on, and I’m married to a pastor, and I sincerely love Jesus, but, despite all that, somehow I found myself living a life without prayer. I mean, I still pray occasionally, like before dinner when we have company, but lately it hasn’t been often, and it hasn’t been very sincere.
I used to pray earnestly, with a deep sense of longing and appreciation to a God I thought listened. I used to pray daily, habitually, one might even say religiously, as an act of obedient worship and supplication to a God I thought cared. I used to pray intentionally, with a heart full of gratitude and wonder for a God I thought loved me.
I used to pray.
I used to pray and listen, listen and pray. I used to hear God, and He used to hear me, because I used to think prayer mattered, and that maybe when I prayed it actually made a difference in the world. Like many of the things that used to define and direct my faith, I used to think prayer was important to my spiritual formation. And like many of the things that used to define and direct my faith, eventually I started to question its value.
As I questioned and wondered and prodded for understanding, my prayer life went from being a rich, meaningful experience to a tool I use to fight insomnia. Prayer became the kind of mindless activity that is so boring and un-engaging, it practically induces a coma. Like counting sheep, or taking slow breaths — if I can’t sleep, I pray.
Initially, I was turned off by seeing so many flippant promises of prayer from people I knew wouldn’t actually follow though. And by “people” I mean me. I used to do this all the time. Requests would be uttered, needs would be shared, sad stories were told, and I promised I would pray for them, but I rarely made good on my commitment. I almost never actually prayed for people after I told them I would. For me, “I’ll pray for you” became like the Christian equivalent of “Take care.” It was simply a means for me to end a conversation with another person and walk away from them without assuming any personal responsibility for their future. Or their needs. Or their pain.
It was like a spiritual easy out.
Once I realize I was doing it, I knew something had to change. But instead of deciding to be a decent human being pray for people when I said I would, I just decided to stop saying “I’ll pray for you.” Problem solved. … And then? Because I’m an embarrassment to society and my brain doesn’t know how to control my mouth, sometimes I would not only notsay “I’ll pray for you”, but I would go so far as to replace it with something else. Something worse. Something like,“I’m not going to tell you ‘I’ll pray for you’ because I probably won’t, but sorry for your loss.” Or “…but I think you’ll do great on your test.” Or “….but cancer totally sucks. I hope you live.”
Because that’s SO MUCH BETTER. Right? ….*sigh*… Ugh! I’m a douche, you guys.
The downfall of my prayer life didn’t end there, because then I started to feel weird about the things I prayed about. I was told to bring all my cares to God, no matter how trivial or small, because He wants to hear all of it. Right? But it felt weird to pray to God for a sunny vacation and, also? War and famine and orphans. It felt wrong to ask God to #Bless me in my fluffy suburban life, while I was acutely aware of the greater suffering of others. I thought it was kind of icky to call for God’s favor over t-ball games and car repairs and vet bills…. and, oh yeah, my friend whose husband is dying in hospice.
So my downward prayer spiral continued.
I didn’t like the way Christians like to congratulate ourselves for “answered prayers” when we get what we want, but quickly shrug off things that don’t go our way as “God’s will”. The more I thought about it, the more I had a hard time believing that, first, we could somehow bend God’s favor for our own benefit, and second that “His perfect will” included things like advanced leukemia, and starving babies, and dead Mama’s, and, you know, like, crimes against humanity and stuff.
It’s just that I happen to think super shitty things aren’t God’s will.
I think bad things happen because we live in a broken place filled with messed up people who have terrible ideas, and because the Earth is covered in all kinds of other unpredictable living things, and also because weather. I could be wrong, but I think “God’s perfect will” for the mess we call life is that we would love and be loved by Him, but also that you and I would love one another through the inevitable pain and turmoil and tragedy that comes with living in this beautiful, dynamic, damaged world.
So that became kind of a problem, too, because if you believe in God’s will, but you also believe in Shit Happens, how then should you pray?
Or I guess maybe the real question is: Why should you pray?
I’ve seriously struggled with this question for like ever. Why pray? IfI don’t see God as a cosmic wish granter whose magical genie powers can be conjured by the fervent prayers of men, then why should I bother to pray at all?
But, as much as I’ve managed to cheapen it over the years, I’ve never been able to fully shed prayer as a core value. For a while, it’s just been sort of lingering in the background of my Faith, hoping to be picked up, longing to be embraced once again. More recently, though, I’ve dusted off the practice of prayer by actively, intentionally entering into conversations with God – and not as a sleep aid. I still can’t say I understand it, I still have no idea how it works, but I think I can honestly say I’ve returned to prayer.
Over the past few months, I’ve had good reasons to pray – not for myself, but for others – through grief and heartache, through loss and through gain, and through celebration, through ups and downs and a bunch of WTF’s, through gratitude and grace, through life and through death… I prayed for them. No, actually? I prayed with them…
And that’s when I remembered why we pray.

We pray because the God who knows us and sees us also connectsus.

When we pray for one another, we are acknowledging that we are connected, not just to God, but to each other. Your pain matters, not just to God, but to me. Your joy is delightful, not just to God, but to me. The suffering of this broken world must be addressed, not just by God, but by me.
When Jesus shows us how to pray, He draws us into community, first with God, and then with each other:

Our Father who art in heaven,

hallowed be thy name.

Thy kingdom come.

Thy will be done

on earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread,

and forgive us our trespasses,

as we forgive those who trespass against us,

and lead us not into temptation,

but deliver us from evil.

My Father, who art in Heaven…
Give me this day my daily bread…
Forgive me?
Lead me?
Deliver me?
Nope. Sorry. We’re all in this together.
Among other things, prayer is an amazing reminder that through God we are all connected; He is with you, I tell you that all the time… but what if he also made me to be with you? So that you, Beloved of the Lord, know you are never alone. 
I think I had part of it right in the beginning; God does listen. God hears, God cares, God loves, and though I can’t explain it, I believe God responds to our prayers. But what I didn’t get was that to pray for another person is the opposite of taking an easy spiritual out. Whether they live down the hall, or across the street, or on the other side of the world, whether they are our friend or our enemy, when we pray for others, we should probably be open to the possibility that God’s love, His justice, His grace, His mercy may need to flow through us in other, more tangible, ways. You know what I mean? Like, maybe God’s perfect will is that we LOVE ONE ANOTHER,for real, because life is hard and the world is screwed up and while we may know we need God… God knows we also need each other.
God IS, and shit happens, and prayer works – That’s where I’m at. I understand how prayer brings you and me and God close about as well as I understand how I’m wirelessly connected to you right now through internet-magic. But I’m pretty sure that all of Creation is woven together in a tangled web of community, fully united by God, because we were never meant to be alone.
So let us honor our Father together. Let us work hand in hand to usher in the kingdom of Heaven on Earth. Let us pass our daily bread to one another. Let us forgive together. Let us hold each other up to receive forgiveness. Let us walk side by side as we seek paths of righteousness and encourage one another in our victories.
Let us pray.

 Can I pray for you? Or, better yet, with you? …. No. I mean it this time!



  1. Christine on April 10, 2018 at 12:40 pm

    I have chills reading this, because every single thing you are talking about, I have felt and thought. And I’ve expressed it before, most of the time to be met with cliché advice I’ve heard a million times or worried looks like I’m probably going to hell. Not very reassuring, to say the least. I learned of your new book and blog last week from Jen Hatmaker’s Facebook, and every. single. post. I’ve read has resonated with me and made me think. But I had to comment on this one, because I am so – there’s no other word for it – blessed by the notion that there is someone out there who feels the same way I do. In fact, several weeks ago, I wrote a similar post on the very same topic on my own blog. http://christinejoachims.blogspot.com/2018/01/prayer-warrior.html
    Thank-you so much for being open and honest and transparent about your faith, even when it may make you look “bad.” The world needs more people like you. I will be purchasing your book very soon (I’m a state employee in OK so I have about $0 until payday lol). Love and God bless you.

  2. Darra on May 8, 2018 at 8:57 am

    I pinned this so that I can come back to it again. I have found myself in the same quandary that you describe here. And I fell back on just saying the Lord’s Prayer at night. Your thoughts on this are really helping me make it through a lonely place. Thanks.

  3. B.S.B. on June 28, 2018 at 5:21 am

    You described me perfectly !
    This article says what I have felt many times. I almost felt false when I said I would pray for people. It was cliche to do so.
    Thank you for your honesty because I am guilty of the same.
    I know I can do better.

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