Hosea 1:2–10; Psalm 85; Colossians 2:6–19; Luke 11:1–13

When I was in seminary, I had a Ghanaian friend whose name was Robert. Robert was a delightful person, fiercely intelligent, with a wicked sense of humour and a very gentle heart. There was a lot about Christianity that we did not agree on, and yet we always managed to talk about it with mutual respect and deep civility.

Robert was not an Anglican, but a Pentecostal. Each class at seminary would open with prayer, and as we prayed, he would respond quietly and spontaneously to the prayers of the professor. I loved it – his beautiful deep voice whispering, “Yes, Lord,” “Yes, Lord,” from the back of the room is one of the things I miss most about seminary.

I also loved how, despite the fact that he and the professors often did not subscribe to the same scriptural interpretations, despite the fact that he was just as passionate and steadfast in his vastly different beliefs as they, he fervently believed in the efficacy of their prayers.

Prayer is funny. It’s one of those weird things we do that can be hard to explain to secular people. I know I’ve experienced an undercurrent of discomfort, even frustration from my nonreligious friends when I’ve mentioned prayer. The subtext seems to be, “Well, what can prayer do? Why don’t you actually do something?” Some militant anti-theists have even referred to prayer as “talking to an imaginary friend.” Prayer is the kind of thing that I think we can all agree changes us, but in ways that may be hard to describe, because they are often invisible.

There are as many ways to pray as there are to communicate with another person. You can shout and jump and sing and wave your arms, or sit in utter silence, for hours on end. You can stick with tried and true words out of the Book of Common Prayer, or from the mouth or the pen of a saint, or you can fill the space with your own words. You can sit completely still, or you can pray with your whole body in liturgical dance, or in the Anglican practice of choreographed sitting and standing which my United and Presbyterian friends refer to as “pew acrobatics.” You can say the two prayers which writer Ann Lamott claims are the only prayers: “Help me, help me, help me,” and “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” You can wail and scream and curse. As the writer of the popular webcomic “Coffee with Jesus” put it, “Ugh is a prayer sometimes.”

I feel like I’ve been praying that one a lot lately.

Coups, attacks, shooting, anger, and hatred abound, and we pray.

Deaths, illness, broken families and friends, addiction, and every ism you could possibly think of run rampant, and we pray.

Fear, overconsumption, climate change, apathy, rock-throwing politics dominate the airwaves, and we pray.

A fat lot of good it does.

No, really.

All of us, every single person that comes into the world – every colour, every gender, every orientation, every age, every ability, every station, every creed – is called to live a life of service for the good of all. There are a million ways to do it, a million ways to succeed, and a million ways to fail. Sometimes it takes every drop of energy, and sometimes it happens without your knowledge. Sometimes it’s instinct. That is the greatest gift of all.

All of us are called to service: the deeply devout and the wholeheartedly unbelieving.

But not all of us are called to pray.

Every Christian, by virtue of being a citizen of the world, and by virtue of being a disciple of the one who gave up his life so that all might live, is called to radical self-emptying service.

But that is only one piece of who we are.

We are called to pray.

We can say this because we have a prayer from the mouth of our Beloved. We have a prayer which is at once meticulously composed and incredibly simple.

Let’s explore line by line, and for the purposes of deeper learning, we’ll use a paraphrase of the Greek rather than the literal word order and structure:

“Our Father in heaven.” Our parent, one who has made us, who raises us, who feeds us, who keeps us safe, who teaches us, who loves us beyond measure.

“Your name is holy.” You are the power of sacred love, creating and saving the world, once made incarnate for all.

“Let your kingdom come.” Let your love and justice pour down like living streams upon the earth. Let it be born as you were born – on the margins, to and for the lost and the lonely, and growing up to spread over the whole earth.

“Let your will be done, as in heaven, so also upon the earth.” There is a place beyond us where your will of love and communion is lived freely. Let it be with us as with your angels.

“Our daily bread give to us each day.” We ask you to provide us with the things we need for each day. We do not ask you to give us more than that. We try to be careful stewards, to live gently and gratefully. This is one of the ways we are committed to working with you to bring about your kingdom.

“Forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us.” We fall short, every day, in every life. But we so often forgive the ones we deeply love. If we broken ones can forgive, how much more can the one who is perfect love forgive us.

“And do not lead us into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one.” Having named ourselves as broken, we ask you to spare us from the tests and temptations that so often find us. Help us to follow you, and if we should find ourselves walking down that road, deliver us from the evil and harm that awaits us there, as you have always promised to do.

Simple, and yet rich.

It seems like a lot to ask. How dare we ask this of the one who already gives us so much?

We dare because we have encouragement to do so, encouragement from the same lips that gave us this prayer.

“Ask and it will be given. Seek and you will find. Knock, and the door will be opened.”

Ask. Seek. Knock. Jesus is so insistent that he gets a little wry. “No matter how much you wanted to stay in bed, you would get up for a friend knocking at your door – even if it’s just to make him shut up.”

No questions asked. No explanation needed.

Such certainty. “Everyone will be answered.” Everyone. That’s the kind of place this kingdom is.

Granted we might not always like the answer. Even the Israelites complained about the high cost of their freedom from slavery.

There was still an answer.

You know and love enough to give your family and friends what they need. You know and love enough to keep harmful things from your family and friends as best as you are able. You know and love enough to help strangers who need it.

Every single day, people serve the good of all. Every single day, people pray for the good of all.

God hears those prayers just as surely as my friend Robert heard and believed in the prayers of those who were so different from him, whom God was calling to walk a different path. Robert had faith that those who walked that path would walk it with integrity. Although the two of us disagreed on many things, he was one of the many friends I made who wholeheartedly supported my own journey, and celebrated me and my gifts as I celebrated and supported him.

God has faith that we will ask for the things we need, and give our lives in service.

God has faith in our prayers.

Have faith in your own. Have faith in you.

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