“You can’t do this without prayer.”

Last time I wrote about prayer, I brought up the story of Jesus curing a demonized boy. When Jesus comes upon the scene, his students had been trying to exorcise the boy, with no success. Whereas when Jesus gets involved, this happens:

Mark 9.25-27 GNT

25Jesus noticed that the crowd was closing in on them, so he gave a command to the evil spirit. “Deaf and dumb spirit,” he said, “I order you to come out of the boy and never go into him again!”

26The spirit screamed, threw the boy into a bad fit, and came out. The boy looked like a corpse, and everyone said, “He is dead!” 27But Jesus took the boy by the hand and helped him rise, and he stood up.

We don’t know how long the evil spirit pitched its fit—a few seconds or a few minutes; certainly not the hours and hours we see in bad movies. But it obeyed Jesus and came out of the boy. Jesus cured him.

A bit later Jesus’s students had a question for their master:

Mark 9.28-29 GNT

28After Jesus had gone indoors, his disciples asked him privately, “Why couldn't we drive the spirit out?”

29“Only prayer can drive this kind out,” answered Jesus; “nothing else can.”

The Textus Receptus has Jesus say “This kind cannot come out except by prayer and fasting,” Mk 9.29 MEV adding the word νηστείᾳ/nisteía, “fasting,” as is found in a few fourth-century New Testaments. A lot of ancient Christians saw fasting as evidence of devotion: A wishy-washy Christian didn’t fast regularly, but a hardcore Christian did. And prayed regularly. And only hardcore Christians were formidable enough to throw out such evil spirits.

Which… is probably quite accurate. And probably just what Jesus meant when he said this. He wasn’t trying to teach his kids, “Okay, whenever you find yourself dealing when an especially ornery demon, pray. Right then. Really hard. Oh, and start fasting—don’t eat anything while you’re trying to perform an exorcism.” The more we imagine Jesus teaching such a thing to his students, the more ridiculous it sounds. That’s how we know Jesus wasn’t talking about just then, in the moment, taking up prayer and fasting. There should already be prayer—and, optionally, fasting—in the Christian’s life, before that Christian is ready to face off against evil spirits.

Wasn’t there prayer and fasting in Jesus’s students lives? Maybe a little. Certainly not enough. Pharisees had already noticed they didn’t fast, and complained to Jesus about it, and Jesus’s response was they really didn’t need to. (This is why I’m inclined to say fasting is optional, and likely not part of the original text of Mark.) As for prayer, I’ve no doubt they prayed, but none of them were at Jesus’s level; not yet. They’d get there.

How about us? Are we trying to get there? Hope so.

The “Help me have faith” prayer.

Jesus was once presented a demonized boy, whose father kinda saw Jesus as their last hope. Mark tells his story thisaway:

Mark 9.21-24 GNT

21“How long has he been like this?” Jesus asked the father.

“Ever since he was a child,” he replied. 22“Many times the evil spirit has tried to kill him by throwing him in the fire and into water. Have pity on us and help us, if you possibly can!”

23“Yes,” said Jesus, “if you yourself can! Everything is possible for the person who has faith.”

24The father at once cried out, “I do have faith, but not enough. Help me have more!”

Jesus’s response was to throw the evil spirit out of the boy, and cure him—and tell his students nothing but prayer could throw out this sort of evil spirit, which merits a whole other article on that subject. But today I wanna focus on the boy’s father’s desperate cry to Jesus: Πιστεύω, βοήθει μου τῇ ἀπιστίᾳ/pistévo, voïthei mu ti apistía, “I believe, [but] help my unbelief.” The way the Good News Translation puts it is closer to what this father meant by it: He had enough faith in Jesus to come to him and beg for help, but man alive did he need more.

And that’s always a good thing to pray. It’s humble; it recognizes we’re deficient in just how much we trust God. We gotta put more faith in him! Often we turn to him for help as a last resort—we’ve tried every other way out of our jam, but they haven’t got us anywhere, and finally we figure, “Well, there’s prayer. If nothing else, we can try prayer.” God should’ve been our first resort, but we don’t trust him enough. Sorta like Jesus should’ve been this guy’s first resort, but he figured he’d try Jesus’s saints first, and see if St. James the Less and St. Jude and St. Thomas and the other saints in the Twelve might answer his prayers instead, Mk 9.18 ’cause Jesus was busy with other stuff. (Being transfigured, actually.) Unfortunately Jesus’s students weren’t yet up to the challenge. They had their own faith deficiencies.

But since we already know we oughta be praying in faith, when we know our faith in God simply isn’t gonna be good enough, “Help my unbelief,” or “Help my unfaith,” or “Help my doubts,” or every similar cry of “Help!” is the right thing to pray. We need some of that mustard-seed-size faith which can get trees to uproot themselves and jump in the ocean. Lk 17.6 We’re not gonna pretend we totally have it when of course we don’t. Even those of us with amazing testimonies of God-experiences in which we saw for ourselves as he did miraculous things, can get wobbly in our faith sometimes. By all means we should ask for more.

Groaning in prayer.

There’s a passage my fellow Pentecostals like to quote whenever we’re trying to show biblical support for prayer in tongues. We honestly don’t need to quote this one, because there are plenty of other, better verses to support and encourage the practice. But Pentecostals love to quote this one anyway. It’s in Romans 8, and I’ll quote it in its context… and just for fun I’ll use the Modern English Version, a bible which just happens to be translated by Pentecostal linguists. Ahem:

Romans 8.18-27 MEV

18For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed to us. 19The eager expectation of the creation waits for the appearance of the sons of God. 20For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but by the will of Him who subjected it, in hope 21that the creation itself also will be set free from its slavery to corruption into the glorious freedom of the children of God.

22We know that the whole creation groans and travails in pain together until now. 23Not only that, but we also, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan within ourselves while eagerly waiting for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. 24For we are saved through hope, but hope that is seen is not hope, for why does a man still hope for what he sees? 25But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.

26Likewise, the Spirit helps us in our weaknesses, for we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words. 27He who searches the hearts knows what the mind of the Spirit is, because He intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.

The point I’m gonna zoom in on, is the bit in verse 26 where the Holy Spirit intercedes for us “with groanings too deep for words.” That right there, claim a large number of Pentecostals, is an example of praying in tongues. When we Christians pray aloud, and in our prayer we’re speaking in an unknown language which kinda sounds like moaning and groaning, that’s precisely what this verse is about.

But you read the context: It’s obviously not. Paul was writing about suffering. People suffer. Life is suffering. All of creation itself suffers, because humanity’s sinful condition has corrupted it. And we who suffer, and creation which suffers, are looking forward to Jesus making all things new.

Meanwhile we suffer. And groan. And the Holy Spirit groans too. Sometimes we’re so miserable we don’t have words to describe it, not even to God. But that’s okay. The Holy Spirit is not unfamiliar with the “language,” so to speak, of groaning. But this does not mean groaning is a literal language. Including a literal prayer language.

This means when we’re miserable—we’re sad, we’re depressed, we’re in agony, we’re terrified, we’re anxious, we’re upset, we’re feeling any which way, and we wanna call out to God but words have failed us: It’s okay. The Holy Spirit understands. Go ahead and pray in groans.

And the Holy Spirit will intercede: He’ll pray to the Father right along with us. In groans too, when appropriate. The Father likewise understands.

The prayers of a jerk.

Last week I wrote about Jesus’s Pharisee and Taxman Story, in which he compared the prayers of two guys in temple—a self-righteous Pharisee, and a taxman begging for mercy. The taxman, said Jesus, went home righteous. Lk 18.14

The Pharisee, on the other hand… well, it really depends on how you translate the Greek preposition παρ’/par’. Properly, it’s “besides,” but Christian tradition has been to interpret it as “against, contrary to,” and claim the Pharisee was not righteous.

Why’s this? Well, his works. His prayer makes him sound like a real jerk. Jerks aren’t righteous, are they?

Luke 18.11-12 NASB

11“The Pharisee stood and began praying this in regard to himself: ‘God, I thank You that I am not like other people: swindlers, crooked, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. 12I fast twice a week; I pay tithes of all that I get.’ ”

“I don’t swindle. I don’t connive. I don’t cheat. I’m not like this collaborator with our Roman oppressors. I voluntarily give up food so I can concentrate on you. I give away a tenth of absolutely everything.” What a braggart.

Thing is, once you think about it, plenty of devout God-followers oughta be able to say the very same thing, and honestly mean it. Hopefully not with this Pharisee’s attitude, but still, as far as good works are concerned, dude was doing ’em.

The part which makes us unsympathetic to the Pharisee’s prayer is of course the very first part of it. “God, I’m so happy you didn’t make me one of the lowlifes who don’t do as I do. Thank you that I was born into this race, and for making me one of the good ones.” Yep, it’s his crappy, fruitless Pharisee-supremacist attitude. How dare he. (And hopefully our offense isn’t because we figure only we are permitted to think that way, as Christian supremacists will.)

Still, does the Pharisee’s bad attitude undo his righteousness? What does makes us righteous or unrighteous? What justifies us before God?

Hopefully we’ve not forgotten basic Christian doctrine: It’s faith. We don’t merit justification and salvation by fasting and tithing. Neither do we unearn it by disparaging others in our petty, selfish prayers. When we believe and trust God, he accounts it to us as righteousness, same as he did with Abraham. Ge 15.6, Ro 4.3 Does the Pharisee in Jesus’s story not trust God? Clearly he does—and he’s totally thanking God for making him the way he is. And yes, he’s a great big jerk about it. But he does believe God. Like it or not, this means he’s not unrighteous, no matter how your favorite bible translates Luke 18.14.

Okay, maybe he’s less righteous, as William Tyndale put it:

Luke 18.14 Tyndale

14AI tell you: this ma departed hoe to his housse iustified moore then the other.

But again: If our righteousness comes from faith not works, it bad theology to say this Pharisee isn’t righteous. Jesus does rebuke his hypothetical Pharisee for being a dick, but he never does declare him outside of God’s kingdom. For he’s not.

This oughta be some comfort to those Christians who slip up, mirror this Pharisee’s attitude, and start thinking of ourselves more highly than we ought. And even start praying that way too. We shouldn’t do that; we should certainly know better; the Christian walk should reflect humility not pride. Remember no matter how many good deeds we do, it never wholly cancels out our sins; we don’t deserve salvation. But God is gracious, so we have his salvation anyway. So be gracious as well. Be better than this Pharisee.

The Pharisee and Taxman Story.

Luke 18.9-14.

Immediately after the Persistent Widow Story, Jesus tells this one. It likewise touches upon prayer… but it’s more about people who consider themselves devout, yet are jerks. Sometimes it’s called the Pharisee and Publican story, ’cause “publican” is how the KJV translates τελώνης/telónis, “collector of tolls, customs, or taxes.” But “publican” is an anachronism at this point in history.

Yep, it’s history lesson time, kids. Before the Cæsars took over, Rome was a republic. Not a democracy; it was an oligarchy run by patricians, the Roman upper caste. At some uncertain point in their past, the patricians overthrew their king and ran Rome collectively. Every year, patricians elected two consuls to run things; the consuls selected senators, and these senators ruled for life. But senators weren’t permitted to collect taxes, so they hired lower-rank patricians to do it for ’em. These tax-gatherers were from the publicani rank, and over time, publicani became synonymous with taxmen.

These publicans practiced tax farming: Different companies applied for the job of collecting taxes in a certain town or county, by offering the government an advance—say, x10,000. (The x stands for denarii; it’s like our dollar sign.) If they outbid everyone they got the contract, and had to pay the government the x10,000 advance. Now they had to make the money back: Collect rent, charge tolls, demand a percentage of merchants’ profits. They shook everybody down to make back that x10,000.

Everything they made beyond that x10,000, they got to keep. So the more unscrupulous the publican, the higher taxes would be, and the richer they got. Richer, and corrupt. They’d bribe government officials to get their contracts, bribe their way out of trouble if they were charged with over-taxing, and bribe their way out of trouble for any other crimes.

When Cæsar Augustus took over the senate in 30BC—that’d be about 60 years before Jesus tells this story—he took tax-gathering away from the publicans and put government officials in charge of it. He figured it’d lower taxes and reduce bribery. The publicans switched careers, and got into banking and money-lending. So, like I said, “publican” is an anachronism: Publicans weren’t taxmen anymore.

But Cæsar’s reforms didn’t fix the problem. Lazy government officials simply hired tax farmers to collect for them. Any wealthy person could bid for the job and get it. That’s what we see in first-century Israel: Wealthy Jews became tax farmers, and did the Romans’ dirty work for them. Their fellow Jews saw them as traitors—as greedy, exploitative sellouts. Which, to be fair, they totally were.

So to Jesus’s audience, a Pharisee—a devout follower of the Law of Moses—would be the good guy; and a taxman would be an utter scumbag. And now, the story.

Luke 18.9-14 KWL

9Jesus also says this parable

to certain hearers who imagine themelves fair-minded

and despise everyone else.

10“Two people go up to temple to pray.

One’s a Pharisee, and the other a taxman.

11The Pharisee, standing off by himself, is praying this:

‘God, thank you¹ that I’m not like every other person!

Greedy capitalists, totally unfair, totally unfaithful!

Or even like this taxman!

12I fast twice a week.

I tithe whatever I get.’

13The taxman, who’d been standing way back,

didn’t even want to raise his eyes to heaven,

but beat his chest, saying,

‘God have mercy on me, a sinner!’

14I tell you² this taxman goes back to his house

declared right in God’s eyes

—same as the other man!

For everyone who raises themselves will be lowered.

And those who lower themselves will be raised.”

The Daniel fast.

Daniel 1.8-16, 10.2-4.

Every January, the people in my church go on a diet. Most years for three weeks, although individuals might opt to only do this for one. Generally we cut back on the carbohydrates, sugar, meat, and oils; we instead eat lots of fruits and vegetables. Considering all the binging we did between Thanksgiving and Christmas, it makes sense to practice a little more moderation, doesn’t it?

What does this practice have to do with prayer? Well y’see, the people don’t call it a diet. They call it a “Daniel fast.”

It’s an Evangelical practice which has taken off in the past 25 years. It’s loosely based on a few lines from Daniel 10. At the beginning of the Hebrew year, Daniel went three weeks—that’d be 21 days—depriving himself.

Daniel 10.2-3 KWL

2In those days I, Daniel, went into mourning three weeks.

3I ate none of the bread I coveted.

Meat and wine didn’t enter my mouth.

I didn’t oil my hair for all of three weeks.

That’s how the Daniel fast is meant to work. At the beginning of the year—for westerners, either the Gregorian or New Julian calendar—we likewise go three weeks depriving ourselves. Daniel went without bread, meat, wine, and oil; so do we. True, by ס֣וֹךְ לֹא סָ֑כְתִּי/sokh lo-sakhtí, “I oiled myself no oil,” Daniel was referring to how the ancients cleaned their hair. (Perfumed oil conditions it, and keeps bugs away.) But look at the approved foods of your average Daniel fast, and you’ll notice Evangelicals take no chances. Nothing fried, no oils, no butter, nothing tasty.

Though the lists of approved foods aren’t consistent across Evangelicalism. The list below permits quality oils. Including grapeseed… even though Daniel went without wine during his three weeks. Not entirely sure how they came up with their list.

This list permits oils… but no solid fats. ’Cause Daniel denied himself Crisco, y’know. The Daniel Fast

In fact when you look at these menus, you gotta wonder how any of it was extrapolated from Daniel’s experience. I mean, it generally sounds like Daniel was denying himself nice food. And yet there are such things as cookbooks for how to make “Daniel fast” desserts. No I’m not kidding. Cookbooks which say, right on the cover, they’re full of delicious recipes—so even though Daniel kept away from delicious food, who says you have to do likewise?

This is a fast, right?

The rosary: Meditation… oh, and prayers to Mary.

Some years ago a reader asked me about rosaries.

I gotta admit I don’t have a lot of experience with ’em. Rosaries are a Roman Catholic tradition, and I grew up Fundamentalist—and Fundies are hugely anti-Catholic, so any Catholic traditions are looked upon with suspicion and fear. Many Evangelical Protestants are likewise wary of Catholic practices. Very few do rosaries.

Evangelicals assume a rosary is a string of prayer beads. Actually it’s not. The rosary is the super-long string of rote prayers you recite, and how you keep track of which prayer you’re on, and how many you have left, is with the rosary beads—which yeah, people will just call a rosary, for short. Each rosary bead represents one prayer.

And most of these prayers are the Ave Maria/“Hail Mary.” It’s prayed from 50 to 150 times. Goes like so.

Hail Mary, full of grace; the Lord is with thee. Lk 1.28

Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Lk 1.42

Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.

Amen.

Yep, it’s not a prayer addressed to God; it’s to his mom. You’re mostly praying to his mom. (And yes she is his mom. Jesus is God; therefore Mary is God’s mother. No she didn’t create God, but she did birth him. If the idea still weirds you out… well that’s fine; incarnation is admittedly weird.)

As for praying to his mom: Very few Evangelicals pray to saints. Okay yeah, some of us talk to our dead loved ones, like a deceased parent or spouse or child or friend, and hope God passes along those messages to that loved one, whom we hope is in paradise. But passing such messages along to anyone else, if that‘s not your tradition, admittedly feels weird and wrong. Praying to Jesus is one thing; praying to his family members Mary, Joseph, James, and Jude, seems strange. (Do we really know these people?) As is praying to his apostles, to medieval saints, to famous dead Christians like C.S. Lewis or Martin Luther King Jr.… I mean, at least those last two guys spoke English, but most other saints died before English even evolved into what we speak nowadays. Pretty sure Mary of Nazareth only knew Syriac and Greek.

But Roman Catholics believe when saints die, they go to heaven, where they’re resurrected. So they’re not dead; they’re alive. Ain’t nothing wrong with talking to living people. That’s what we do when we pray; we talk—and talking to Mary, if she’s alive, is totally fine. Hailing her and calling her blessed is biblical. And asking her to pray to her Son on our behalf is fine too.

But most of the reason people pray a rosary (apart from those who incorrectly think it earns ’em salvation points with God) is meditation. We don’t just recite rote prayers while our minds remain unfruitful: We think about Jesus. Think about the scriptures. Pray silently with our minds, like we do when we pray in tongues.

That’s why some Catholics won’t just pray one rosary in a stretch: They’ll pray two. Or five. They wanna spend significant time meditating on God, and to help ’em focus, they keep their bodies busy with reciting prayer after prayer after prayer, and fix their minds on Jesus. And, if they’re huge fans of his mom, Mary. But if that bothers you, you don’t have to meditate on Mary, or even pray to her. The prayers in one’s rosary are optional, as are all rote prayers.

Does God listen to pagans’ prayers?

I’ll answer the question in the title right away: Yes. God listens to pagans when they pray.

And, well, duh. Of course he listens to them! He listens to everyone. He knows what everyone’s saying, what everyone’s thinking, and whether what we’re saying and what we’re thinking line up. (And when they aren’t, he knows we’re being hypocrites.)

He knows what our needs are; he hears us express ’em to him; he knows whether we’re sincere. True of everybody. Not just Christians.

Why’s this even a question? Because of course there are Christians who claim he doesn’t. Only we get access to the Almighty; only the true believers; only the elect.

And maybe Jews, depending on whether these Christians like Jews. If they do, they always manage to find an exception to the “no non-Christians, no unbelievers” rule. They’re God’s chosen people, so they’re kinda believers, so he has to listen to them, doesn’t he? Now, if these Christians are antisemites, either Jews are simply another type of pagan whom God refuses to hear, or (as claim these antisemites) God’s rejected and cursed them for not accepting Jesus, so of course he won’t hear them; he can’t abide them. Neither of these views are based on biblical, reasoned-out theology.

Really anyone who claims God rejects a people-group based on race or creed, is basing it on personal bias. It’s always bigotry and chauvanism. And you’ll notice how often antisemites likewise figure God rejects the prayers of Muslims, Mormons, Roman Catholics, anybody in the opposition party… basically anyone they hate. They claim it’s based on bible—

Isaiah 1.15 KJV

And when ye spread forth your hands, I will hide mine eyes from you: yea, when ye make many prayers, I will not hear: your hands are full of blood.

Micah 3.4 KJV

Then shall they cry unto the LORD, but he will not hear them: he will even hide his face from them at that time, as they have behaved themselves ill in their doings.

—and of course they’re not reading these verses in their proper context. Both Isaiah and Micah referred to unrepentant sinners. These were the prophets’ fellow Israelis—people whose ancestors were in covenant with God, who should therefore already be in conversation with God. But they didn’t care to follow his commands, didn’t believe he’d follow through on his warnings about willful sinners, and frankly weren’t gonna turn down some hot pagan sex. They chose sin. God warned ’em, and had his prophets warn ’em, there’d be consequences, and when those consequences came, he wasn’t gonna respond, in the very same way they weren’t responding to him.

No, this doesn’t sound very gracious of God. Which is why a number of Christians who like to preach grace, often like to skip these verses, pretend they don’t exist, or pretend they can’t mean what they clearly do. In the case of liberal theologians, they’ll even claim the prophets were wrong, and Jesus came to earth to rebuke and correct them. I won’t go there; I can’t, because there are plenty of New Testament verses which indicate Jesus agrees this is how his Father treats unrepentant sinners.

Matthew 18.34-35 KWL

34And his lord was wroth, and delivered him to the tormentors, till he should pay all that was due unto him. 35So likewise shall my heavenly Father do also unto you, if ye from your hearts forgive not every one his brother their trespasses.

I believe the prophets were accurately relaying what God told ’em. God has infinite grace, and offers us infinite chances. But he also sets deadlines, and if we resist his grace all the way up to the deadline and beyond, he’s gotta follow through with his entirely fair judgments. When these people beg him to not follow through… what’s he gonna do, cave in like the parents of a spoiled child, let people go right back to doing evil, and allow evildoers to inherit his kingdom? They’d turn heaven into hell. Nope. He’s gotta ignore their shrieks of indignation, and stop the evil.

That’s what the verses mean when they state God sometimes won’t hear people. The rest of the time, of course he will.

Psalm 145.18-19 KJV

18The LORD is nigh unto all them that call upon him, to all that call upon him in truth. 19He will fulfil the desire of them that fear him: he also will hear their cry, and will save them.

Romans 10.12-13 KJV

12For there is no difference between the Jew and the Greek: for the same Lord over all is rich unto all that call upon him. 13For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved. Jl 2.32

If God didn’t heed the prayers of pagans, it’d be impossible for pagans to call upon him to save them! Even the most hardcore cases of people who claim “God doesn’t hear pagans” have to admit this is true. It’s just they claim every other prayer these pagans make, every other thing they request, God ignores… ’cause he’s waiting for the sinner’s prayer, and only after he hears that will he move his hand.

But nope, God hears pagans when they pray. Even if their prayers are weird, ridiculous, warped, selfish, or evil. Same as our prayers, ’cause we can get just as weird, ridiculous, warped, selfish, and evil. God hears everyone.

Thanksgiving. The prayer, not the day.

In the United States, on November’s fourth Thursday, we celebrate a national day of thanksgiving. Today I’m not talking about the day itself though. I’m talking about the act.

Americans don’t always remember there’s such a thing as an act of thanksgiving. Our fixation is usually on the food, football, maybe the parade, maybe the dog show. If you’re pagan, you seldom even think to thank God… or anyone. Instead you conjure up some feeling of gratitude. You have a nice life, a decent job, good health, some loved ones, and got some stuff you’ve always wanted. Or you don’t have these things, but you’re grateful for the few things you do have. Or you’re not grateful at all, and bitter… and in a few minutes, drunk.

But this feeling of gratitude isn’t directed anywhere. Shouldn’t you be grateful to someone or something? Shouldn’t there be some being to thank?

And that’s a question many a pagan never asks themselves. I know of one family who thanks one other. Civic idolaters might be grateful to America or the president, as if they consciously gave ’em anythng. Those who love their jobs might be grateful to their bosses and customers. But pagans generally suppress the question by drowning it with food and drink. Maybe thanking the person who prepared the food—but just as often, not.

Even among the Christians who remember, “Oh yeah—we’re thanking God,” a lot of the thanking is limited to saying grace before the meal: “Good bread, good meat, good God let’s eat.” Although every once in a while somebody in the family might say, “And now let’s go round the table, and everybody say one thing you’re thankful for.” A game nobody enjoys but them… although I myself have come up with a lot of outrageous answers to that question, which amuse me at least.

But enough about Thanksgiving Day and its not-so-religious customs and behavior. The practice of thanksgiving isn’t limited to just this one day. If you wanna practice more actual, authentic thanksgiving in your relationship with God, great! I’m all for that. So’s God. But it means way more than thanking God only once a year, on the government-approved day set aside for it.

Are our prayers consistent with the scriptures?

There are many reasons to read our bibles. One, obviously, is so we know God hears our prayers and answers prayer requests—sometimes with “no,” but that’s an answer!—and another is so we know God’s character and intentions, and know why he’d answer yes or no.

And another is so we know we’re not praying for something God forbids. ’Cause that’ll happen. God spells out what he approves of, and what he doesn’t, in the scriptures… but immature Christians don’t know the scriptures, and will pray for all the stuff God condemns. They’ll pray for evil things, immoral things, deceptive things, idolatrous things.

We’ll ask God for money—and we’re not even hiding how we worship money instead of Jesus, and we’re not even asking God to fund our daily provisions; we’re asking for conveniences, comforts, and luxuries.

We’ll ask God to smite our enemies. Not because our enemies are evil; sometimes they’re actually not! But they’re competition, and we wanna win. I’ve heard a lot of prayers before sporting events, both when I played in school, and among fans when professional teams play nowadays. A lot of vituperative prayers are made against the opposing team. Do the players and managers of those teams deserve any of the curses called down upon them? Not in the least. You think God appreciates any of this behavior? Not in the least. But fans do it anyway. Partisans do too.

We’ll ask God to hide our sins. Nevermind the fact God specializes in exposing hidden sins—if we don’t know our bibles, we won’t realize this, and actually think God might help us in our coverup. And he won’t. At all. He’ll tell on you. Ac 5.3 God’s our refuge in times of trouble, Ps 46.1 but not when we created and deserve the trouble, and definitely not when God’s empowering our prosecution.

We’ll even ask God for sin. We’ll ask him for idols; I already brought up money, but there are plenty of other things we prioritize over God. We’ll ask him for the things we covet—nevermind the fact we’re forbidden to covet. Ex 20.17 We’ll ask him to aid and abet us while we lie, cheat, and steal. While we abuse enemies and strangers. While we deliberately overlook the needy. We’ll justify all that lying, cheating, and stealing to ourselves, and presume that might be good enough for God too, and of course it’s not. Doesn’t matter what “righteous cause” you think you have which justifies evil.

I already brought up partisans; some of ’em are far more familiar with what their party proclaims than what the scriptures do. They naïvely presume their party is God’s party, and always does the right and godly thing, and that’s why they pray for their party’s wishes and success. Now, what if the party’s gone wrong?—what if it’s actually in opposition to God? Well, they can’t abide that idea; don’t you dare even say such a thing. They’ll persecute you like the pagan kings of Israel persecuted the prophets who dared rebuke the king on the LORD’s behalf. But obviously if the party’s gone wrong, God’s not gonna grant its members’ unrighteous prayer requests.

I could go on, but you get the gist. If you know God—if you know how your bibles describe God—there are plenty of things you won’t pray. Or you might pray ’em anyway, without thinking, but you do know better, and need to stop it.

Too guilty to pray.

There’s two kinds of guilt: The emotion, and the legal status. Today I’m talking about the emotion.

Not that there aren’t people who don’t bother to pray because of the legal status—because, they say, they’re far too evil to talk to God. Rubbish; the only thing really stopping ’em from talking to their Father, is their emotion, and probably their pride—they’re just so bad, God can’t abide them. That’s rubbish too.

’Cause if the devil, which is probably as pure evil as beings can get (though there are definitely some humans who give it solid competition) had no trouble talking with God, Jb 1.6-7 we all know God isn’t so holy he can’t interact with evil creatures. Jesus ate with sinners, remember? So much so, it bugged snobs.

So yeah, I’m writing about the emotion of guilt—that feeling you’ve done wrong and deserve chastisement for it. Tied together with it is the irrational fear God’s gonna chastise you, when you approach him: “How durst thou stand before me and speak unto me, thou filthy sinner? Half a mind have I to smite thee with shingles.” And visions of this angry KJV-speaking cosmic hairy thunderer dance through our fearful brains.

’Cause we completely forgot God is Jesus. Was Jesus this way towards people who approached him? No. (Well okay, he acted a bit racist towards this one Syrian, but that was likely a test. Mt 15.21-28) When we turn to God in prayer, he doesn’t blast us with wrath and anger. He confronts us like the father in the Prodigal Son Story:

Luke 15.20-24 The Message

20“He got right up and went home to his father.

“When he was still a long way off, his father saw him. His heart pounding, he ran out, embraced him, and kissed him. 21The son started his speech: ‘Father, I’ve sinned against God, I’ve sinned before you; I don’t deserve to be called your son ever again.’

22“But the father wasn’t listening. He was calling to the servants, ‘Quick. Bring a clean set of clothes and dress him. Put the family ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. 23Then get a grain-fed heifer and roast it. We’re going to feast! We’re going to have a wonderful time! 24My son is here—given up for dead and now alive! Given up for lost and now found!’ And they began to have a wonderful time.”

The son was feeling mighty guilty—but his father’s response was, “I have my boy back! Let’s party!” In a healthy relationship with a healthy father, your dad’s not gonna smack you around for screwing up; life will already do that aplenty. He’s just gonna love you, and be there for you. That’s God. That hairy thunderer?—that’s not a healthy father, ergo that’s not God. Stop letting that false image obstruct your relationship with God. Jesus describes his Father in his parable. That’s what we should expect—no matter how guilty we might feel.

Too stressed to pray.

Since I was asked to write about being too stressed to pray, I’m gonna… but I admit my advice may be inadequate, because I don’t personally suffer from this problem. Whenever I’m stressed, my knee-jerk reaction is to pray.

Not hit things, not flee, definitely not drink or get stoned—pray. Whenever they’re in a jam, plenty of people immediately call out to God; even atheists will do this, even though they absolutely don’t wanna, even though they’re pretty sure nobody’s listening, because they were raised to do this. When I was growing up, the people around me were predominately Christian; when they were in a jam, they prayed. I mimicked them; I prayed too. And still do.

And I’m aware not everybody was raised Christian like me, so they didn’t develop this knee-jerk reaction. When they get stressed out, their first response is to do the other things I just listed. Punch the wall—but ideally some other, healthier form of physical expression, like going for a run; like going to the gym and hitting the heavy bag. I got a lot of alcoholics in the family, and I know they immediately turn to drink. I have coworkers who are stoned most of the time, and marijuana is how they deal with stress too. I had a friend in college who handled her stress by having lots of sex with her boyfriend. If you grew up with unhealthy methods of stress relief, stands to reason you’d turn to them in a crisis.

But once you become Christian, you gotta unlearn the unhealthy methods, and learn to turn to God.

So my recommendation? Practice turning to God whenever you’re dealing with small stressors. When little things bug you, remind yourself to pray. Pray like that regularly enough, and when the bigger things wallop you, prayer won’t be the last thing on your mind. It may not be the first—you’re working on it—but your reaction certainly won’t be, “Prayer? Who has the time? I’m dealing with a crisis here.”

(Oh, and go to the gym too. That actually works a lot better than you’d think.)

Can we really ask God for anything we want?

Matthew 7.7-11, Luke 11.9-13, John 14.13-14, 15.7, 16.4.

These passages are found in the middle of Jesus’s Sermon on the Mount, in Jesus’s teaching on prayer requests in Luke, and as part of Jesus’s Last Supper lesson in John. Obviously the Matthew and Luke bits line up more neatly than the John bits, but the same idea is found in the John verses.

I tend to summarize this idea as “If you don’t ask, you don’t get.” If we want something from Jesus, ask! It’s okay for us to do that. He does take prayer requests.

Matthew 7.7-11 KWL

7“Ask!—it’ll be given you².

Look!—you’ll² find it.

Knock!—it’ll be unlocked for you².

8For all who ask receive,

who seek find,

who knock God’ll unlock for.

9Same as any of you².

Your² child will ask you² for bread;

you² won’t give them¹ a cobblestone.

10Or they’ll¹ ask you² for fish;

you² won’t give them¹ a snake.

11So if you’re² evil,

yet knew to give good gifts to your children,

how much more will your² heavenly Father

give good things to those who ask him?”

Luke 11.9-13 KWL

9 “And I tell you²: Ask!—it’ll be given you².

Look!—you’ll² find it.

Knock!—it’ll be unlocked for you².

10For all who ask receive,

who seek find,

who knock God’ll unlock for.

11Any parent from among you²:

Your² child will ask for fish,

and instead of fish do you² give them¹ a snake?

12Or they’ll¹ ask for an egg;

do you² give them¹ a scorpion?

13So if you² evildoers

knew to give good gifts to your² children,

how much more will your heavenly Father

give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him?”

John 14.13-14 KWL

13“You² can ask whatever in my name.

I’ll do it so, in the Son, the Father can be thought well of.

14When what you² ask me is in my name,

I’ll do it.”

John 15.7 KWL

“When you² stay in me

and my words stay in you²,

whenever you² want, ask!

It’ll happen for you².”

John 16.24 KWL

“Till now you’ve² never asked anything in my name.

Ask!—and you’ll² receive,

so your² joy can be fulfilled.”

This needs to be said, ’cause some folks don’t entirely believe it is okay to ask God for stuff.

When I was a kid, I’d ask my parents for stuff, sorta like the kids in Jesus’s examples. Except those kids asked for bread, fish, and eggs; and I’d ask for a Commodore 64. Sometimes my parents gave me what I asked for. Other times, not so much. Computers weren’t cheap.

When I got persistent—when I wouldn’t take no for an answer, and kept right on asking, seeking, knocking—they’d respond, “Would you stop asking?” Not always because they didn’t want me to have these things. Sometimes they did, but they wanted me to earn money and buy it myself.

And sometimes they’d pull this sort of evil stunt: Say yes, just so I’d suffer the consequences.

Calvin and Hobbes, 25 May 1986. Calvin’s mom teaches him an unnecessary “little lesson.” GoComics

The punchline—“Trusting parents can be hazardous to your health”—is exactly right. Calvin’s mom thought she was teaching him a valuable lesson. She was… but she didn’t do it in a kind way. She did it in a cruel way: She didn’t warn him away from the consequences. She let him suffer them, and suffer ’em even more by surprise. And because humans will do this, sometimes we wonder whether God’ll do likewise: God says yes, and we ironically find out we didn’t want this at all. Meanwhile, up in heaven, he chuckles at our hubris. Ps 2.4

No. That is not how God works. If our flawed plans have unintended consequences, he warns us of those consequences, like he did when Israel demanded a king. He’s not a dick. He’s not secretly evil, plotting our downfall for his amusement or entertainment. Read the Prophets: Why suffer when you don’t have to? Ek 33.11 Turn to God and live!

God wants to give good things to his children, Mt 7.11 and for us to experience the joy of getting what we ask for. Jn 16.24 He wants to give us his kingdom. Lk 12.32 Starting with answered prayer requests.

Sucking up to God.

All my life I’ve heard Christian prayer leaders instruct me that before we start asking God for things, it’s only proper to begin with praise. Tell God how great he is. How mighty. How awesome. Supposedly that’s how Jesus demonstrated we’re to start in the Lord’s Prayer, with “Hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done…” Because we wanna make his name holy and embrace his will.

This attitude reminds me way too much of the sycophantic prayer we find in Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life:

CHAPLAIN. “Let us praise God. Oh Lord…”

CONGREGATION. [ritually repeating] “Oh Lord…”

CHAPLAIN. “Oooh you are so big!”

CONGREGATION. “Oooh you are so big.”

CHAPLAIN. “So absolutely huge!”

CONGREGATION. “So absolutely huge.”

CHAPLAIN. “Gosh, we’re all really impressed down here, I can tell you!”

CONGREGATION. “Gosh, we're all really impressed down here, I can tell you.”

CHAPLAIN. “Forgive us, O Lord, for this dreadful toadying.”

CONGREGATION. “And bare-faced flattery.”

CHAPLAIN. “But you are so strong and, well, just so super!”

CONGREGATION. “Fantastic.”

The problem with it? It’s not what the Lord’s Prayer means… and to a large degree it’s hypocrisy. When we come to God with legitimate prayer requests, small or serious, and begin with the fawning adulation, how is this significantly different from a teenager telling her dad “I love you so much” before she asks him for money? I kiss God’s boots; I earn his favor. Now he owes me. Right?

Of course it’s wrong. Yet it’s what we see: Christians figuring the more we praise God, the better he thinks of us. Or as pagans would put it, the more karma they’re generating. The more apt he is to give us what we ask, even when we really shouldn’t ask for such things ’cause our ulterior motives are bad. Jm 4.3 But we’ve deluded ourselves into thinking this is how prayer should be done. It’s not honest praise; it’s a quid pro quo.

In reality prayer requests are about grace. They’re about God giving us what he wants to give us, only because he loves us, and not because we merit or earned it.

Likewise praise is about appreciating God, about reminding ourselves of his greatness. If you wanna do a lot of that, I direct you to Psalms. But the Lord’s Prayer doesn’t actually include praise—unless you’re using the Didache version which includes, “For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory.”

And in that case it follows the examples shown in Psalms: The psalmists tended to pour out their heart to God first. Express their woes, state their problem, ask for help. Then—after God talked ’em down, or told them he’d take care of it—then they ended their prayers with praise and gratitude. Honest gratitude.

The prayer of faith. Or, y’know, not.

There’s a blog I used to follow. He’s a pastor who likes to talk about politics. Over time he’s allowed his politics to corrupt his interpretation of Christianity… although it might be more accurate to say his interpretations were always compromised, and he’s just publicly admitting it. Anyway, once I realized what he was doing, I stopped reading.

One of the articles which made me say, “Whoa, waitaminnit,” was on how he stopped believing in prayer. That is, he doesn’t believe it cures the sick. He tried to cure the sick; as a pastor he’s in thousands of situations where somebody asked Pastor to pray for the sick and dying. He’s led prayer vigils and prayer chains, and begged God time and again to cure people or let ’em live. But he didn’t get the results he asked for. Either God didn’t cure them (or didn’t cure them enough), or didn’t let them live.

So he’s concluded prayer must not work that way. It’s not, he says, about making our petitions known to God, hoping God might intervene in human history and do us a miracle. It’s only about being God-mindful, and letting that mindset transform us and our attitudes.

He’s not the first Christian to claim this. I grew up in cessationist churches, and heard it all the time from Christians who likewise don’t believe God does miracles anymore, so there’s no point in asking for one. To cessationists, the best God will do for you is grant you wise doctors, or keep other things from interfering with the body’s natural healing processes. But praying for miracles is just the act of desperate people who can’t accept reality. You just gotta accept the fact God’s allowing this to happen, and slog it out. Hey, suffering builds character.

I might be inclined to believe this too… but then again I read the bible. Specifically James.

James 5.13-18 NIV

13Is anyone among you in trouble? Let them pray. Is anyone happy? Let them sing songs of praise. 14Is anyone among you sick? Let them call the elders of the church to pray over them and anoint them with oil in the name of the Lord. 15And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise them up. If they have sinned, they will be forgiven. 16Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.

17Elijah was a human being, even as we are. He prayed earnestly that it would not rain, and it did not rain on the land for three and a half years. 18Again he prayed, and the heavens gave rain, and the earth produced its crops.

Sure sounds like James bar Joseph, brother of Christ Jesus, believed prayers can cure the sick.

Based on what? Duh; based on personal experience—read Acts. In James’s day, Christians prayed for one another and for strangers, and got straight-up cured. Cured like when Jesus cured the sick, ’cause it’s the very same Holy Spirit who empowers the curing. James recommended elders of the church, the mature believers among them. When newbies make these prayers, sometimes they lack the maturity and faith for effective prayer. They’ll learn; give ’em time.

Cured like people got cured back in bible times. For James, “bible times” was Old Testament times—when Elijah performed miracles, which is why he pointed to Elijah in verses 17-18. Well, the same Holy Spirit who empowered Elijah, empowered Christians of his day, and empowers Christians of our day. God never turned off the miracles. They still happen.

I’ve had this same personal experience. I’ve seen sick people get cured, right in front of me. Prayed for them, and the Holy Spirit cured them. They prayed for me, and the Holy Spirit cured me. No I didn’t psyche myself into thinking the Spirit cured me; I was honestly skeptical he’d do anything, and he graciously cured me anyway. Wasn’t my faith that cured me; it was the person praying for me. That’s all the Spirit wants to see.

So why do I have experiences which jibe with the bible, and this blogger doesn’t?

Saying grace.

The most common type of prayer—the one we see most often, and probably the type taken the least seriously—is the prayer before meals. We call it “grace.” Not to be confused with God’s generous, forgiving attitude.

Why don’t people take these prayers seriously? Bluntly, it’s a type of dead religion.

Living religion is what we do to further an authentic, healthy relationship with God. And we can do that when we pray for meals: We can be authentically grateful to God for providing us food. We can ask that he bless the food and keep it healthy, bless the cooks who made it, maybe bless the restaurant which serves it and keep ’em profitable. (I really don’t know why Christians don’t think to pray for the restaurants they’re in.) But more often, Christians say grace before meals because that’s just what Christians do in our culture. It’s custom. It’s tradition. It’s habit. That’s all.

Nope, it’s not said out of gratitude. Nor love. Nor devotion. Nor even as a reminder of these things. We say grace because if we didn’t say grace, Grandma would slap the food out of our hands and say, “You didn’t say grace!” We say grace because Dad would take his seat at the table, fold his hands like you’d do for prayer, and give us kids dirty looks until we stopped eating, noticed what he was doing, and mimicked his behavior. We say grace because it’s how people wait for everyone to be ready before the meal starts. Beyond a minor acknowledgment, God has nothing to do with it.

Y’notice in these scenarios, it’s because Grandma or Dad insisted upon saying grace. Not because anybody else did, or thought to, or even cared. It’s enforced religion: Everybody’s gotta participate in Grandma or Dad’s spiritual practice, which might be a valid part of their relationships with God, but not ours. And probably wasn’t even a valid part: They did it because they were likewise raised to do it. They felt it wasn’t proper to eat before a ritual prayer. So it’s just a formality.

And in many cases it’s a superstition: If you don’t bless the food, it’s not blessed; it’s cursed. Eat it you’ll get sick. Supposedly God is spiteful like that. (But really the superstitious Christians are spiteful like that.)

As a result of all this Christianist junk behind saying grace, we wind up with people who treat it as an annoyance. Or even passive-aggressively mock it with silly rote prayers.

Good bread, good meat.

Good God, let’s eat.

Rub a dub dub

Thanks for the grub

Yea, God!

At one children’s ministry I worked with, we had a rote prayer we used for grace. Actually it was an old hymn, suitable for thanking God for food. And since each line was eight syllables long, it meant it perfectly fit a whole lot of tunes. Old TV show theme songs were popular, like The Flintstones and The Addams Family. The adult leaders would have the children sing the prayer to these silly songs… then wonder why the kids didn’t take grace all that seriously. Well duh: They weren’t being taught to! Obviously.

Okay, so let’s take a more serious look at saying grace. And, believe it or not, whether we oughta drop the practice. Yeah, you read right.

When you fast, keep it private.

Matthew 6.16-18.

Believe it or don’t, some Evangelicals have no tradition of fasting. I run into ’em from time to time. When I talk fasting, they’re quick to reject it with “That’s an Old Testament thing” and “Jesus never told us to fast.”

True to both. In all of scripture, the LORD never commanded fasting; anyone who claims otherwise is taking the verses out of context. Fasting has always been voluntary; nobody has to fast. But certain churches do promote it. Might be a Daniel fast at the beginning of the year, a Lenten fast before Easter, an Advent fast before Christmas, a partisan fast before Election Day. But regardless of peer pressure, nobody has to fast. They’re voluntary customs. You can opt out. Don’t even need special permission from your clergy… although every year when St. Patrick’s Day falls in mid-Lent, many a Catholic who wants to get plowed will beg their bishop for a one-day pass.

The way Jesus talks in his Sermon on the Mount, he totally expects his followers to fast. Because his audience was full of Pharisees, whose custom was to fast twice a week. Jesus may not have expected them to keep fasting at that same rate—although according to the Didache, ancient Christians totally did. Didache 8.1 Either way Jesus did expect them—and us—to fast every once in a while.

Jesus himself fasted in the desert. While he was notorious for ignoring customary Pharisee fast days, he never did ban fasting. Never declared it a done-away-with custom. It’s in the Sermon on the Mount, remember? “When you fast” means you’re gonna fast. Sometimes.

If you don’t—if you never engage in any hardcore prayer practices, which is precisely what fasting is—don’t expect your relationship with God to grow as quickly as it does among Christians who do fast.

I know, I know: “But some of those ‘hardcore Christians’ are really hypocrites.” Yes they are. Jesus definitely forbids that sort of behavior. Really it’s his only rule about fasting: Don’t show off; don’t do it to look extra pious. Do it for real, and do it only for God.

Matthew 6.16-18

16“When you² fast, don’t be

like the sad-looking hypocrites who conceal their faces

so they look to people like they’re fasting.

Amen! I promise you² this

is the compensation they receive.

17You¹ who fast:

Fix your¹ hair and wash your¹ face,

18so you¹ don’t look to people like you’re¹ fasting,

except to your¹ Father in private.

And your Father, who sees what’s done in private,

will pay you¹ back {in the open}.”

“In the open” in verse 18, same as verse 4, was added to the text in the fourth century, and found in the Codex Washingtonianus and the Textus Receptus. It’s not in the oldest copies. Yet since Jesus is described as bringing us our compensation at his return, Rv 22.12 he may very well repay us in the open.

Sad to say, a lot of fasting Christians don’t follow this rule; they totally let everyone know we’re fasting. Like our families and fellow Christians. And sometimes pagans, like coworkers and waiters and anybody whom we tell, “Oh I can’t eat that; I’m on a fast.” Well aren’t you the holy one.

Jesus wants us to keep our mouths shut about this. It’s nobody’s business we’re fasting. It’s a private matter, between us and God, and that’s it. Keep it as confidential as if you just soiled your pants: Tell nobody unless you absolutely have to. Got it?

Prayer’s one prerequisite: Forgiveness.

Mark 11.25, Matthew 5.23-24, 6.14-15, 18.21-22.

Jesus tells us in the Lord’s Prayer we gotta pray, “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.” (Or “Forgive us our debtors”; either way.) He elaborates on this in his Sermon on the Mount:

Matthew 6.14-15 KWL

14“For when you² forgive people their trespasses,

your² heavenly Father will also forgive you².

15When you² don’t forgive people {their trespasses},

neither will your² Father forgive your² trespasses.”

And in Mark’s variant of the same teaching:

Mark 11.25 KWL

“Whenever you² stand to pray,

forgive whatever you² have against anyone

so that your² Father who’s in the heavens

might forgive you² your² trespasses.”

Jesus elaborates on it further when Simon Peter asked him how often he has to forgive:

Matthew 18.21-22 KWL

21Then Simon Peter comes to tell Jesus,

“Master, how often will my fellow Christian sin against me,

and I’ll have to forgive them¹?

As many as seven times?

22Jesus tells him, “I don’t tell you¹ ‘as many as seven times,’

but as many as seven by seventy times.”

Followed by Jesus’s Unforgiving Debtor Story, in which a hypothetical king forgave a man who owned 260 million grams silver; the forgiven debtor then turned round and threw a man who owed him 390 grams into debtors prison; the king found this out and unforgave his debtor. Then handed him over to torturers. Mt 18.23-35

The bit about the torturers makes various Christians nervous, and some of us have invented all sorts of iffy teachings about devils and curses and hell. As if our heavenly Father plans to hand us over to torturers. No; he’s gonna do as he’s always done, and leave us to our own devices—and without his protection it’s gonna feel like torture. But fixating on the torture misses the point. God shows us infinite mercy. What kind of ingrates are we when we won’t pay his mercy forward?

For thine is the kingdom…

Matthew 6.13, Daniel 7.14.

At the end of the Lord’s Prayer, in both the well-known Book of Common Prayer version and the King James Version, it ends with this line:

For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory,

for ever and ever. Amen.

You’ll find other bibles don’t include it, because it’s not in the original text. In my translation I have to put it in braces, to indicate it comes from the Textus Receptus, not Matthew.

Matthew 6.13 KWL

“Don’t bring us into tribulation

but rescue us from the time of evil,

{because the kingdom, power, and glory

belong to you¹ in the age to come. Amen.}”

It comes from the Didache, an instruction manual for new Christians written in the first century. Yep, around the same time the New Testament was written. Its version of the Lord’s Prayer includes that line, whereas the oldest copies of Matthew do not. But because a lot of ancient Christians used the Didache to instruct new Christians, a lot of ’em were taught the Didache version of the Lord’s Prayer… and that last line gradually worked its way into ancient copies of Matthew. And from there into the Vulgate, the Textus, the Lutherbibel, the Geneva Bible, the Book of Common Prayer, and the King James Version.

So it’s not from the bible? No it actually is from the bible. But it’s from Daniel, not Jesus. Comes from this verse:

Daniel 7.14 KWL

The Ancient gave the Son authority,

honor, and the kingdom,

and every people, nation, and language,

who’ll bow to his authority.

His authority is permanent:

It never passes away.

His kingdom will never be destroyed.

Jesus didn’t end his prayer with “Amen,” which quickly became a Christian custom, so the authors of the Didache wanted to include it. And while they were at it, a nice worshipful closing. ’Cause the Ancient of Days is gonna grant the Son his kingdom, and authority (i.e. power), and honor (i.e. glory), forever and ever. It’s all true, so there’s nothing at all wrong with saying and praying it.

But no, Jesus didn’t tell us to say it. So it’s optional.

So if you wanna get all literalist—and a little bit legalist—fine; pray the Lord’s Prayer without the added-on line. But it’s not gonna hurt you, at all, to say it. In fact it’s a useful reminder Jesus is coming back to establish his kingdom on earth—which’ll be awesome!—and he’s gonna have authority and honor, and his kingdom is gonna last a mighty long time… and even outlast the earth itself.

And hopefully the people who prefer the Book of Common Prayer version don’t clash with the KJV fans, because the KJV only has “for ever” instead of “forever and ever.” Y’all need to make accommodations for one another, instead of demanding uniformity. We’re all saying the Lord’s Prayer here; the intent, not the translation, is what matters.

Deliver us from evil.

Matthew 6.13.

In the Lord’s Prayer, Jesus has us pray not to be led to temptation—properly, not put to the test, whether such tests tempt us or not. Instead, in contrast, we should pray we be delivered from evil.

Matthew 6.13 KJV

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen.

The original text is ἀλλὰ ῥῦσαι ἡμᾶς ἀπὸ τοῦ πονηροῦ/allá rýsë imás apó tu ponirú, “but rescue us from the evil.”

The Greek tu is what grammarians call a determiner, although I’m pretty sure your English teachers called it a definite article, ’cause that’s what English determiners usually do: This noun is a particular noun. When you refer to “the bus,” you don’t mean a bus, any ol’ generic interchangeable bus. You mean the bus, this bus, a specific bus, a definite bus. So when people translate tu ponirú, they assume the Greek determiner is a definite article: Jesus is saying, “Rescue us from the evil.” Not evil in general; not all the evil we’ll come across in life. No no no. This is a definite evil. It’s the evil.

So they figure we gotta personify it, and that’s what many recent bible translations have chosen to do.

ASV. “…but deliver us from the evil one.”

CSB, ISV, LEB, NET, NIV, WEB. “…but deliver us from the evil one.”

GNT. “…but keep us safe from the Evil One.”

ICB, NCV. “…but save us from the Evil One.”

NLT, NRSV. “…but rescue us from the evil one.”

Of course Christians figure “the evil one” would be the evilest one, i.e. Satan. So that’s kinda how we interpret the Lord’s Prayer:

Matthew 6.13 Message

“Keep us safe from ourselves and the Devil.”

We even extrapolate this backwards into the bit about temptation: The reason we gotta ask not to be led into temptation, is because Satan wants us led there, so it can hack away at us. From time to time it’s probably appearing before God himself, asking permission to crap all over us like it did Job. Tempting God himself to remove his hedge of protection from us, and let Satan have its evil, evil way with us. And no, none of this is true. Jesus isn’t talking about Satan.