The National Day of Prayer.

In the United States, it’s the National Day of Prayer, held the first Thursday of May.

Various articles are gonna say the National Day of Prayer began in 1952. It didn’t really. Congress and various presidents have called for national days of prayer, starting with the first Continental Congress in 1775. They just haven’t been consistent. Ten presidents never bothered to call for any such days.

What did happen in 1952, was Billy Graham held a rally on the steps of the Capitol, which spurred Congress to unanimously pass Public Law 82-324, signed into law by Harry Truman. It says,

Resolved by the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States of America in Congress assembled, That the President shall set aside and proclaim a suitable day each year, other than a Sunday, as a National Day of Prayer, on which the people of the United States may turn to God in prayer and meditation at churches, in groups, and as individuals.

Truman scheduled the first National Day of Prayer for 4 July 1952, and next year Dwight Eisenhower scheduled it for the same day, 4 July 1953. Then it started moving round the calendar. Mostly it happened Wednesdays in late October. In 1972 there were two.

PRESIDENT	DATES
Harry Truman	4 July 1952
Dwight Eisenhower	4 July 1953 26 October 1955 2 October 1957 7 October 1959	22 September 1954 12 September 1956 2 October 1958 5 October 1960
John Kennedy	4 October 1961 16 October 1963	17 October 1962
Lyndon Johnson	21 October 1964 19 October 1966 16 October 1968	20 October 1965 18 October 1967
Richard Nixon	22 October 1969 20 October 1971 18 October 1972	21 October 1970 16 February 1972 17 October 1973
Gerald Ford	18 December 1974 14 May 1976	24 July 1975
Jimmy Carter	15 December 1977 3 October 1979	7 October 1978 6 October 1980
Ronald Reagan	19 March 1981 5 May 1983 2 May 1985 7 May 1987	6 May 1982 3 May 1984 1 May 1986 5 May 1988

In 1988, Public Law 100-307 fixed it to the first Thursday in May, and that’s what it’s been ever since. (In fact, as I was looking up the dates for the previous National Days of Prayer, my search engine kept insisting it took place the first Thursday of May of that year. Nope. Bad search engine.)

Largely the National Days of Prayer were left up to the presidents until the 1980s. In 1974 the International Congress on World Evangelization was held in Lausanne, Switzerland, and on their return to the States, the American delegation decided to create Mission America to enact some of the plans they’d made in Lausanne. Part of Mission America was the National Prayer Committee, founded in 1979 and headed by Vonette Bright, one of the founders of Campus Crusade for Christ International (now Cru). They met in Washington D.C., started coordinating with the White House about National Day of Prayer events, and held their first joint event in 1983 in Constitution Hall.

What does the event look like? Well, y’know: Speeches from politicians and clergy. Prayers. Sometimes presidents let the National Day of Prayer Task Force take the lead; sometimes not. Sometimes they’re good reminders about the importance of talking with God; sometimes they’re a bunch of platitudes which say little. Some politicians have no prayer life at all, and it shows when they talk about it. (Disturbingly, some clergy members are the very same way.)

But what does this National Day of Prayer thing do? Well, it’s a reminder to pray for our homeland, which is something we oughta be doing regularly. A reminder to pray for our leaders; something we oughta also be doing.

And for Christian nationalists, it’s a not-subtle-at-all way to remind people of the political strength of Christian voters. We are legion, and we vote, so get in line. But I’m not gonna discuss the nationalists today; their godless motives aren’t about prayer anyway.

Jesus’s mission to the world.

John 17.6-8.

In Jesus’s John 17 prayer, after he asks his Father to glorify him, he tells his Father he’s been doing the job the Father sent him to do: He’s been collecting followers.

As I said in my previous article on this chapter, this isn’t a prayer we pray along with Jesus, like the Lord’s Prayer. This is a prayer Jesus uniquely prayed to his Father. We’re just agreeing with him as best we can; we’re asking that Jesus’s will be done, same as he wanted his Father’s will to be done.

John 17.6-8 KWL

6“I make your¹ name known to the world’s people,

whom you give me.

They’re yours¹ and mine; you¹ give them.

They kept your word.

7They now recognize everything you¹ gave me

is from you,¹

8for the words which you¹ give me,

I give them.

They accept the words

and truly know I come from you.¹

They believe you¹ send me.”

’Cause we do believe the Father sent Jesus, and how all Jesus’s teachings originate with the Father. Right?

So that, in turn, is what we oughta likewise pray. We belong to Jesus—and our Father. Our Father gave us to Jesus; he’s our Lord now. We accept him.

I should point out in verse 8, when Jesus says his followers ἔλαβον/élavon, “take, receive, choose, accept,” is properly interpreted “They accept the words,” like I have it, or “They accepted them,” like the NIV and most other bible translations have it. Problem is, every so often some preacher with a shaky handle on Greek will notice there’s no actual pronoun there after élavon. Context makes it obvious Jesus is talking about his teachings, but some of these guys will insist Jesus is really talking about himself—“They accept me.” If you ever catch someone preaching that, feel free to ignore them, and go with the way most bible translators have put it.

Glorifying Jesus.

John 17.1-5.

After the Last Supper, Jesus taught his students a number of things, and capped off his teachings with a prayer we find in John 17. Some Christians call it his “high priestly prayer,” since Jesus is Christianity’s head priest; others just call it “the prayer of Jesus.” Whatever you care to call it, it expresses his will—and since he always pursued his Father’s will, it expresses his Father’s will too.

It wasn’t really meant for us to pray as well, like the Lord’s Prayer. But there’s no reason we can’t pray portions of it, or borrow ideas from it. This is all stuff Jesus wants, after all.

John 17.1-5 KWL

1Jesus speaks these things,

and lifting his eyes to heaven, says,

“Father, the hour came.

Glorify your¹ son

so {your¹} son can glorify you.¹

2Just as you¹ give him authority over all flesh,

so he might give everyone whom you¹ gave him

life in the age to come.

3This is life in the age to come:

They can know you,¹ the only true God,

and the one you send, Christ Jesus.

4I glorify you¹ on the earth,

completing the work you¹ gave me so I may do.

5Now glorify me, Father, by yourself¹

with the glory I had before the world came to be,

with you.¹”

This is the part of the prayer many bibles title, “Jesus prays for himself,” because he asks his Father to glorify him—the verb δοξάζω/doxádzo meaning “magnify, extol, hold in honor, hold a high opinion of, esteem.” The Father had said more than once he does hold a high opinion of his Son, but Jesus wants him to make it obvious because Jesus’s purpose on earth is to explain the Father to us, Jn 1.18 and the more Jesus is honored, Jesus’s exposition of his Father is likewise honored. And you notice how many a pagan, who’s had it up to here with Christians and our churches, nonetheless like and respect Jesus. They may not know him or what he teaches; they might’ve been filled to the brim with Historical Jesus rubbish. But they do glorify him, somewhat—and that’s the route by which the Holy Spirit can get through to them and lead them to Jesus, and Jesus can lead them towards actually knowing his Father.

And this, Jesus says, is life in the age to come. They’ll know the Father, and Christ Jesus whom he sent. And live with them forever; the age to come never ends, which is why so many bibles automatically translate αἰώνιον/eónion, “age [to come],” as “eternal.” Life in the age to come is eternal life. Wanna live forever? Get to know Jesus.

Needlessly long and wild prayers.

As I’ve written previously, ain’t nothing wrong with praying short prayers. Y’might remember the Lord’s Prayer is a short prayer. I remind Christians of this and they respond, “Oh! Yeah, that’s true.” Somehow it never occurred to them. Obviously Jesus had no problem keeping it brief, and has no problem with us keeping it brief. His example shows us it’s okay.

Problem is, we don’t follow Jesus’s example. We follow those of other Christians who blather on, and on, and on.

The usual justification I’ve heard, is these long prayers are following Jesus’s example. Remember when he’d go off and pray for hours?—seriously, hours. One evening he sent his students off ahead of him, climbed a hill to pray, Mt 14.22-23 and by the time he caught up with them (walking across the water, but still), it was “the fourth watch of the night,” Mt 14.25 KJV meaning between 3 and 6 a.m. Even if we generously figure Jesus stopped praying and started walking two hours before the fourth watch began (so, about 1-ish), this means he prayed from sundown till 1 a.m. Easily six or seven hours.

Okay, there’s nothing wrong with aspiring to be able to pray that long. But it needs to come naturally, like it does to Jesus. Can you talk six or seven hours with your best friend, or a beloved family member? Well some of us can. Others of us simply don’t talk that much, to anyone. Yet so many Christians have this unrealistic idea we’ve gotta engage God in prayer marathons every single time.

And okay, we can’t pray (especially aloud) for six hours. But we figure we can do six minutes. Sounds reasonable, right? Except most of us really aren’t able to talk for six minutes; we have two minutes’ worth of material. Two minutes altogether, of praise, thanksgiving, and requests. Followed by four minutes of repetitive, meaningless fluff to stretch the prayer out for a bit. Two minutes of authenticity, four minutes of hypocrisy.

Yes, hypocrisy. Who are we trying to impress? God? He didn’t ask us for long prayers. Others? Ourselves? Well, yeah.

“Prayer’s about changing us.”

From time to time I hear people claim, “Prayer’s not about prayer requests; not about getting what we want from God. Prayer’s about changing our attitudes. About learning to accept, and be content with, our circumstances. About learning to trust God’s will.”

Okay. I don’t disagree that prayer’s gonna change us. I don’t disagree that it’s a good thing for us to develop better, less greedy, less covetous attitudes; that a lot of things we pray for, aren’t really things we should pray for. Like Jesus’s brother James said,

James 4.3 NLT

And even when you ask, you don’t get it because your motives are all wrong—you want only what will give you pleasure.

Obviously that’s not true of our prayer requests in every instance; sometimes we are selfless in our requests. Sometimes we are interceding for others, or are asking for God’s help to be more fruitful and to follow Jesus better.

This changing of our attitudes is a good and noble thing. It’s gonna come as the result of praying God’s will be done. Growing to be more content in our circumstances, or even despite our circumstances, is also gonna come as a result of seeking God’s will. And hopefully we do seek God’s will in every prayer we pray, ’cause that’s how Jesus taught us in the Lord’s Prayer.

However. Most of the time when someone’s teaching us “Prayer’s not about prayer requests,” it’s not about encouraging us to become more selfless, nor to seek God’s will more often, nor to develop good fruit. It’s about discouraging us from expecting results.

Nine times out of ten, the person teaching it does not believe God answers prayer anymore. Either they’re full-on cessationist, and think God stopped doing miracles back in bible times, and because you’re asking for a miracle—because you’re asking for something so improbable it’d take a direct, personal act of God’s intervention, and these people are dead certain God doesn’t do that anymore—get ready for disappointment. He’s not gonna do that. Get used to him not doing that. Get used to an absent God.

Or they’re full-on determinist: They think God’s already got a plan in mind, and things are gonna unfold exactly according to plan. And our prayers, for the most part, violate that plan—and how dare we expect God to deviate from his good and perfect plan for our convenience—or worse, our selfish, fleshly motives? Nope; God’s never gonna change his mind, nor his plan, for us. We have to change our plans for him. Get with the program, and stop asking for stuff.

Or, let’s be blunt, it’s because they don’t really believe in God. They’re not Christian because they seek a personal relationship with our Creator and Savior. They’re Christian because they find it personally useful to be Christian. They like the culture, like the interaction with other Christians, don’t wanna alienate Christian family members, don’t wanna be ostracized from their predominantly Christian culture, don’t wanna outrage Christian nationalists, find they can make more money or gain political ground when they identify as Christian—any other reason than that personal relationship with Jesus. They don’t want that personal relationship with Jesus; not really. They’d have to change far more than they care to. And like I said, they don’t really believe in him anyway.

So when any of these groups talk about prayer, they’re absolutely not talking about any personal interaction with our Lord. It’s ritual. They’re making declarations into the heavens because that’s what Christians do—but they don’t believe anyone’s listening, and certainly don’t believe anyone’s gonna respond. And because all you’re really doing is talking to a heavenly brass wall, you need to adjust your expectations accordingly… and have none.

Nope; don’t expect to get any of your prayers answered. God doesn’t do that. Instead, focus on you. Focus on the attitudes you oughta have, as you pretend you’re actually talking to your heavenly Father. How would he want you to posture? What feelings would he expect you to have? Humility?—yeah, that’s a good one. Submission?—yeah that’s good too. Despair?—well let’s not call it despair; that sounds horrible. How about “surrender”?

Other than the pure faithlessness of it all, the reason I object most to this teaching about prayer is because Jesus clearly tells us to ask the Father for stuff. And to not despair. Persistent Widow Story, anyone?

Luke 18.6-8 NLT

6Then the Lord said, “Learn a lesson from this unjust judge. 7Even he rendered a just decision in the end. So don’t you think God will surely give justice to his chosen people who cry out to him day and night? Will he keep putting them off? 8I tell you, he will grant justice to them quickly! But when the Son of Man returns, how many will he find on the earth who have faith?”

Well he won’t find faith in the folks who think prayer’s not about prayer requests. Only in the people who, like the widow, keep praying and never give up. That’s the attitude Jesus expects of us. Lk 18.1 Yes humility, yes submission—and yes, determination. Don’t give up!

Sanctus.

The name Sanctus comes from the first word of the Latin translation of this prayer. The first three lines come from Isaiah 6.3, where the seraphs are shouting in praise of the LORD; the last three come from Matthew 21.9, where the people shout in praise as Jesus entered Jerusalem on a donkey.

Holy holy holy Lord

God of power and might

Heaven and earth are full of your glory

Hosanna in the highest

Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord

Hosanna in the highest

The form comes from St. John Chrysostom. Earlier English translations, as found in the Book of Common Prayer, have for the second line, “God of Sabaoth.” The Roman Missal has “God of hosts.” These are all translations of the Hebrew יְהוָ֨ה צְבָא֜וֹת/YHWH Chavaót, “LORD of vast numbers” (KJV “LORD of hosts”). Christians have variously translated chavaót as hosts, armies, “power and might,” troops, “angel armies” if you’re gonna make assumptions about what his armies consist of (and why can’t God mobilize his billions of human followers?), or “Sabaoth” Ro 9.29 if, like Paul, you don’t care to translate it. Me, I tend to go with “LORD of War,” because whenever YHWH Chavaót appears in the bible, the author usually expects God to kick some ass.

Most people nowadays assume hosanna (Syriac ܐܽܘܫܰܥܢܳܐ/wošánna) either means “rejoice,” or is a word used to rejoice. It’s not. It means “Oh, save [us].” Saying “Hosanna in the highest” properly means, “By the Most High”—either in his power or his name—“save us.” There’s some expectation Jesus has come to save—which is true, though they might’ve been expecting Jesus to save them from the Romans, not so much from sin and death. But yeah, this isn’t a praise word like people imagine. It’s a prayer request.

Musical bonus: A song by a friend of mine, James Thomas La Brie. Big instrumental first part; and of course his version of the Sanctus in the “Hosanna in the Highest” part. YouTube

Many of these ancient prayers have of course been set to music. That’s the way most Protestants know of them: When I first wrote about the Sanctus years ago, one of the more common responses I got was, “I thought this was a worship song.” Well it is. But first it was a rote prayer. Musicians rediscover rote prayers all the time, and set ’em to music. If they don’t rhyme, chances are they began their existence as a prayer.

And like many a rote prayer, we can use this prayer to help us meditate. You wanna get your mind off the things around you, and concentrate on God? You tap those rote prayers. Repeat them to yourself, focus on the words, focus on the Lord, and praise him.

The “Not what I want” prayer.

The “Not what I want” prayer isn’t a popular prayer. Downright rare sometimes. Because when we pray, we’re intentionally asking God for what we want. Why would we tell him to not give us what we want? Did we suddenly forget the point of prayer?

Why pray “Not what I want”? ’Cause we’re mimicking Jesus. When he has us pray in the Lord’s Prayer, “Thy will be done,” Mt 6.10 and when he himself prayed this at Gethsemane:

Mark 14.35-36 KWL

35Going a little further,

Jesus is falling to the ground and is praying

that the hour might pass him by,

if it’s possible.

36Jesus is saying, “Abba! Father!

For you¹, everything is possible!

Take this cup away from me!

But it’s not what I will,

but what you¹ will.”

Y’notice Jesus did tell the Father what he wanted: He didn’t want to suffer. He wanted “the cup” to pass him by. He didn’t wanna be crucified; what kind of madman would wanna be crucified? Yet at the same time he knew his purpose in this world was to do as the Father sent him to do. Jn 5.19, 8.28 At the time his will didn’t match the Father’s, but he determined he would make his will match the Father’s. Even if it meant suffering.

There’s our example.

That’s why it’s not a popular prayer. Few of us Christians are willing to commit ourselves to God so radically. Of the few who do, we’re totally willing to die for God… not realizing when it really does come time to die for him, perfect fear will cast out zeal. Note Simon Peter. At 9 p.m., totally ready to die for Jesus; Lk 22.23 and 3 a.m., totally lying about him to slave girls. Lk 22.56 Who, as slaves and as girls in that culture, couldn’t even testify against him in court! A few hours can change an awful lot.

But this is why our willingness to follow God absolutely anywhere, can’t be based on zeal. It’s gotta be based on our regular surrender and submission to God’s will. We gotta regularly pray, along with Jesus, “Not what I want. Not my desires, wishes, and will. Your will.”

“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.