My
Read Psalm 22:1-15.
There is a myth that often floats around the Christian community, and it goes something like this: if I can get enough people to pray for X, then God will have to do it. We act like there is a magic number, and once we cross the line and get "enough," God will give us what we ask for. If we don't get what we asked for, though we don't usually say it, we often feel like, "Well, I should have asked one more. One more person. I just didn't get enough. It's my fault."
There are many problems with that thinking, which is part of the thinking that lies at the root of most "prayer chains," not the least of which is this: it isn't Biblical. In the supreme instance, we don't see Jesus running around Gethsemane asking the disciples to pray for this specific request. If Judas would have just prayed, maybe... And we don't find Jesus building up support to "get more prayer people on board" in order to talk God the Father out of the cross. We simply see Jesus, praying alone, begging the Father to "let this cup pass." And, without audible words, we hear God the Father saying no.
Wouldn't you think that, if anyone would, Jesus should have had enough influence to get his prayers answered the way he wanted? This was no sham prayer in Gethsemane. I would think Jesus would have been at least as "powerful" as my high school band teacher, who, whenever we were threatening to vote on something, would say, "I have one more vote than the total number of people in this room, so go ahead." Shouldn't Jesus have had one more vote than the population of the world? His prayer in Gethsemane puts the lie to the belief that prayer is somehow a popularity contest or a voting system. The Father said no.
And that "no" answer leads to Jesus praying this psalm from the top of a Roman cross. A psalm he would have known from his youth comes to his heart and mind and out his lips as he hangs in agony. "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" As Max Lucado points out, the only explanation for such a prayer is that Jesus, in some way we can't understand, really was abandoned by his heavenly Father. But what I love about this prayer, having come from both David and from Jesus, is that the pray-er is staying in the conversation. He still calls God "my" God. He stays in relationship with the Father.
When God doesn't answer our prayers the way we want or hope, do we give up on God, or do we stay in the conversation, trusting that there is something better in store for us? When life gets difficult, is God still "my" God or do I give up when comfort seems far away? That little two-letter word is more important than any "magic number," and it makes all the difference in the world.
There is a myth that often floats around the Christian community, and it goes something like this: if I can get enough people to pray for X, then God will have to do it. We act like there is a magic number, and once we cross the line and get "enough," God will give us what we ask for. If we don't get what we asked for, though we don't usually say it, we often feel like, "Well, I should have asked one more. One more person. I just didn't get enough. It's my fault."
There are many problems with that thinking, which is part of the thinking that lies at the root of most "prayer chains," not the least of which is this: it isn't Biblical. In the supreme instance, we don't see Jesus running around Gethsemane asking the disciples to pray for this specific request. If Judas would have just prayed, maybe... And we don't find Jesus building up support to "get more prayer people on board" in order to talk God the Father out of the cross. We simply see Jesus, praying alone, begging the Father to "let this cup pass." And, without audible words, we hear God the Father saying no.
Wouldn't you think that, if anyone would, Jesus should have had enough influence to get his prayers answered the way he wanted? This was no sham prayer in Gethsemane. I would think Jesus would have been at least as "powerful" as my high school band teacher, who, whenever we were threatening to vote on something, would say, "I have one more vote than the total number of people in this room, so go ahead." Shouldn't Jesus have had one more vote than the population of the world? His prayer in Gethsemane puts the lie to the belief that prayer is somehow a popularity contest or a voting system. The Father said no.
And that "no" answer leads to Jesus praying this psalm from the top of a Roman cross. A psalm he would have known from his youth comes to his heart and mind and out his lips as he hangs in agony. "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" As Max Lucado points out, the only explanation for such a prayer is that Jesus, in some way we can't understand, really was abandoned by his heavenly Father. But what I love about this prayer, having come from both David and from Jesus, is that the pray-er is staying in the conversation. He still calls God "my" God. He stays in relationship with the Father.
When God doesn't answer our prayers the way we want or hope, do we give up on God, or do we stay in the conversation, trusting that there is something better in store for us? When life gets difficult, is God still "my" God or do I give up when comfort seems far away? That little two-letter word is more important than any "magic number," and it makes all the difference in the world.
I've never heard that myth. It's scary.
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