Praying for others

Jesus compared praying for the needs of others to a man coming to a friend's house at midnight. After waking the whole household with his knocking, he pleads for the loan of three loaves of bread to feed the visitor who has just arrived at his house. (Luke 11:5-8) If such audacity and persistence gets results on earth, says Jesus, you can be assured that it will be just as effective in heaven.

Our 'visitor' need not be aware of our midnight door-knocking. For instance, we might pray silently for the physical and spiritual needs of the people around us as we travel to work, as we meet people during our day, as we watch the news on television or read the newspaper. Such prayers can strengthen our faith when we see answers to our private prayers that can only come from God himself since no-one else knows about them. Even if we never get to know, this side of heaven, how our prayers were answered, bringing others' needs to God in prayer is a wonderful way of ministering to people. (Obviously, if we have the means to provide for their needs out of what God has already provided to us, we should do that too.)

Sometimes, though, we might let our 'visitor' know that we're off to get some bread for them. In other words, we will offer to pray for them. Saying "I'll pray for you" can sometimes be a cop-out from actually doing what's needed, whether that's providing a meal, spending time listening or whatever. But knowing that someone is praying for them is often a great encouragement to the person who is struggling. Even some non-believers appreciate such an offer, though we need to be aware that there are others who will be offended. (We can still pray privately for such people, of course.)

When should we invite our hungry 'visitor' to come with us to our generous friend's house to get bread? That is, when should we offer to pray with someone? In my experience, people are much more eager to have someone pray with them than we are to offer. If the other person is a Christian, asking "Would you like me to pray with you?" is unlikely to cause offense, even if the answer is "No, thanks." We need to be sensitive to the situation - not everyone wants their most intimate problems aired aloud in prayer in public. Some Christians are happy to be prayed for, but are not comfortable about praying out loud themselves. It's probably better not to offer to pray with a non-believer until we know them reasonably well, unless we're prompted by the Holy Spirit to do so.

The advantage of praying aloud with someone is that they hear what we're praying, and can then see how our prayer is answered. The words we use in prayer can be an encouragement, if they remind the person we're praying for of the goodness and faithfulness of God. The disadvantage is that we can slip into the temptation to move from genuine prayer to words as therapy or a form of intimacy. For this reason, it is better in some situations to invite another person to join you in praying for the person in need.

The more we're aware of our own dependence on God, the better we will be at praying for others. The man in Jesus story knew he had nothing to offer his visitor, but he knew he could depend on his friend to provide it. Jesus tells us to keep on knocking on God's door because it will be opened.

Falling short

"All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God" writes Paul in Romans 3.23. But what does it mean to "fall short of the glory of God"?

The analogy often used is of people attempting to swim the Atlantic Ocean (or perhaps the Indian Ocean for those of us who live on Australia's west coast). Some will barely make it past the surf. Others will swim a few hundred yards. The great heroes of the faith may struggle for several kilometers (out to Rottnest Island perhaps). But no-one will come anywhere near reaching the other side of the ocean, which represents the standard which God requires of us.

Another analogy (used by Gordon Cheng, author of the The Free Gift of Life study guide to Romans 1-5) is of an exam. Everyone knows what's in the exam and has access to the material they need to pass. Some (the Jews) have been given extra tuition by the examiner. But in the end everyone fails. No-one pays enough attention or puts in enough effort to pass.

The problem with these analogies is that they make the standard which God sets seem rather arbitrary and impersonal. Who would ask us to swim across the ocean and what would that achieve? They could suggest that God is unreasonable or even cruel in the standards he demands. If every student fails an exam, it's usually the teacher who has some explaining to do. It seems to me that we need another way of explaining what God requires.

As Gordon Cheng points out, it is "the faithfulnesss of Jesus Christ" rather than "faith in Jesus Christ" which reveals God's righteousness, despite how most modern translations translate Romans 3:22. In Jesus we have not an analogy but a living demonstration of sinless obedience. He has literally "fleshed out" what it means to live life in such a way that humanity doesn't fall short of the glory of God.

I'm not suggesting that the primary purpose of Jesus' incarnation was to show us how to live. His primary purpose was to die for us so that we could be reconciled to God despite our failure to live his way. But Jesus death could only be effective for us because he was both human and sinless. His death was the ultimate expression of living in perfect obedience to God. We can point to his life and say "Look, this is what pleases God."

What we see in Jesus is not rigid adherence to a set of rules, but loving obedience to a person. That included obedience to what was revealed of God's will in scripture, but also obedience to God's moment-by-moment directions for his life. The Pharisees were scrupulous to obey God's written instructions, but deaf to his present word. Jesus lived constantly listening.

Jesus shows us that a life of sinless obedience doesn't mean a life of impassivity. He experienced and expressed all the human emotions but in a way that was attuned to God's view of things. He wept over the things that grieved his Father, he was angry at those things that angered his Father, he loved as his Father loved.

Jesus shows us that the life God call us to is an active life in which obedience will sometimes bring us into conflict with others. Sometimes it will require getting our hands and feet dirty and mixing with 'sinners'. God doesn't call us to be nice, but to be truly good. It is a life lived courageously.

Jesus shows us that weakness is not sin. He knew hunger and tiredness. At times he grew weary and needed to withdraw from the crowds to be alone with his Father. He knew what it was to be tempted, and to feel hesitant, even resistant, to obeying God's will for him. His perfect sinlessness came through overcoming rather than spurning weakness.

In Jesus we see sinless obedience expressed in a life that was attractive and winsome to those who were seeking God. When we look at him and how he lived we immediately recognise that we are not like him. We all fall well short of what is pleasing to God. But we long to be like him. He is "the glory of God" revealed.

God of all comfort?

Richard Beck, author of the Experimental Theology blog, recently ran a fascinating series of essays on why people believe in God, evaluating the theories of Sigmund Freud and William James.

Freud, in his book "The Future of an Illusion" described faith as a sort of psychological narcotic, a way that some people deal with the pain and futility of existence. James, on the other hand, argued in "The Varieties of Religious Experience" that not all those who have faith find it a comfort. For some, faith creates as many problems as it solves, and yet they continue to believe. Thus faith cannot simply be the product of wishful thinking.

Since I can't do justice to Beck's arguments, I recommend you read the articles for yourself (or at least the conclusion, which summarises the whole series.) I'd like to pick up on just one aspect of his essays. In what way is knowing God a comfort and consolation? While not in any way denying that evil and suffering are the direct result of human sinfulness and the work of Satan, I've often struggled with the question "But didn't God himself create human beings and Satan?"

God is good. I know this from scripture and from experience. But he is also the all-knowing creator of everything, including human beings and Satan. So isn't he ultimately responsible for the existence of suffering and evil? Didn't he know, before he began the work of creation, what human beings and Satan would become? Didn't he know in advance about every war, every famine, every disease, every disaster that would happen throughout history?

If he knew David and Jeremiah before they were even conceived, didn't he also know Hitler and Pol Pot? Didn't he see Auschwitz and the Cambodian killing fields before time began? Surely he must have known in advance about every unkind word, every abuse, every mean-spirited action of ours that would add to the store of evil and suffering in the world.

Yet he still chose to create this world. Which seems to leave me with three options. I can choose to ignore such questions and have a neat and tidy faith that says " Satan and sin are the source of all evil, God is the source of all goodness and comfort." This can lead to a form of dualism that glosses over many uncomfortable verses of the Bible about God's involvement in suffering and catastrophe.

Secondly, I can reject the whole idea of God and, like Freud, decide that faith is just a form of wishful thinking. Read Richard Beck if you want to see why this doesn't work.

Or I can try to come to terms with the fact that the God whom I know as good is nevertheless the one who permits the existence of evil and suffering. God is light, but he created a world which would become full of darkness. Such a God is not always a comfort and a consolation. Sometimes he's frighteningly unknowable, dreadfully distant.

When I read the Bible, and the Old Testament in particular, I encounter this God almost as often as the God of grace and peace. Think of Job. Think of Jeremiah and the other prophets. Think of Jesus in Gethsemane.

But perhaps there's another way to look at this, using my own experience as an analogy. When I chose to have children, I knew that no matter how good a parent I tried to be, those children would inevitably experience suffering, pain, grief, loss, and all the other evils that are common to human life. Sometimes I would even be the cause of their pain. How do you explain to a child the need for discipline? How do you explain that some painful medical procedure is being done for their good?

I also knew before they were born that they would surely cause me pain and suffering at some time, through their words and actions. Being a parent would be costly in many ways. Despite my best intentions, they might turn away from me and ignore me. They might even turn around and curse me for having given them birth.

Yet knowing all this, I still chose to become a parent because it was worth it. And perhaps in that is a hint at why God chose to create this world, despite knowing exactly how much evil and darkness would be mingled with goodness and light. Because, for some reason, it was worth it.

There's another aspect to being a parent that tells me a lot about God. Before I had children, I knew that if and when they suffered, I would suffer too, because love is like that. But knowing this wasn't enough to prevent me from wanting to share my love and the good things of my life with children of my own. Fortunately my children have been relatively healthy and happy, and have caused me little grief. Even so, I've come to know what it is to be in anguish with them and for them when they've been sick or distressed, disappointed or misused.

As a created being I don't and can't know why God created the world with all its attendant evil. But I know enough about him to know that his reasons were good and the cost to him was great. Faith is not denying the reality of evil, but trusting that God has his reasons for allowing evil to exist for a time and he will not let us be overcome by it. Faith is believing that one day we too will be able to say "It was worth it."

Questions about unanswered prayer

What should we do when our prayers seem to go unanswered? Sadly, we often just shrug our shoulders and get on with life. We forget about this prayer and move on to the next one. Our response suggests either that we didn't really care about what we were praying for, or that we don't really expect God to answer our prayers. Either way, we're not praying with the sort of faith that cries "Why, O LORD, do you stand far off?" (Psalm 10.1) or "How long, O LORD, must I call for help, but you do not listen? (Habakkuk 1.2) . Unanswered prayer ought to raise questions in our minds.

Another unhelpful response is to try to conjure up more faith in ourselves when we pray. We try to put ourselves into some state of mind where we're "just believin' that it's gonna happen." This isn't faith in God, it's faith in faith.

A third response is to rationalise. A while ago I read a piece by an atheist mocking Christian's who say "God's answer to prayer may be 'Yes', 'No' or 'Wait'." As he pointed out, you could pray to a bottle of milk and expect to get the same responses. If what you prayed for happened immediately, the bottle's answer is 'yes', if it happened later the bottle's answer is 'wait', and if it never happens, the bottle has answered 'no'. You haven't left any option for saying 'the bottle hasn't answered my prayer'. While there was a major flaw in his argument (no bottle has ever spoken and promised to hear and answer prayer) it has some truth in it.

Of course God does sometimes answer 'no' to our prayers. Sometimes we do have to wait. But I think we should only conclude that the answer is 'no' or 'wait' if God gives us some clear indication to that effect. Other rationalizations include "I'm not a good enough Christian" and "God must be testing me". Again, I think unanswered prayers should raise questions in our minds, but we rationalise when we think out answers to our own questions (or those of other Christians) rather than bringing our questions to God.

Asking "Why, O Lord, do you stand far off?" is not impertinent, if we're prepared to listen to the answer. So along with "Why?", we might prayerfully ask:

Is what I'm praying in line with God's will as he has revealed it in scripture?
Can I really say "In Jesus' name" after this prayer?
Am I doing anything that might be preventing God from answering my prayer? (Of course we're all doing things that are not what God desires, but let the Holy Spirit show you if there is anything specific.)
Is there anything I should be doing? (Again, be guided by the Holy Spirit. This has nothing to do with trying to think up ways to impress God.)
Do I trust that God loves me and has my best interest at heart, even if my prayer is never answered the way I'd like it to be?

The last question is probably the most difficult to answer, and ironically, one that becomes easier to answer positively as our experience of unanswered prayer increases.

The benefits of praying together

Most of what I've written on this site about personal prayer has been applicable to corporate prayer, but I've assumed that we need a healthy personal prayer life before we can pray effectively with others. Yet the reverse is also true. If we're not spending time praying with other Christians, our own prayer life is likely to suffer.

Praying with other Christians, whether in twos and threes or with a larger group, has many benefits. I've already mentioned one - it helps us to be disciplined in prayer. It would be sad if the only time we prayed was when we were together with other people, but being in a group does mean that we have a commitment to pray for which we are accountable to others.

Praying with others helps to move our focus away from our own needs and onto a wider perspective. It will depend on the size and nature of the group whether that means praying for local issues or the work of God worldwide. It can be helpful to pray with groups of different sizes - a prayer triplet with a couple of close friends, and the church prayer group, for instance.

In corporate prayer, we learn more about how to pray from others. I was intending to write "younger Christians learn from more mature Christians" but the reverse is just as true. None of us knows everything there is to know about prayer. We can observe and learn much about styles of praying from those who are from a different background or temperment from ourselves. We can also learn about how others deal with problems in prayer, such as prayers that seem to go unanswered.

Praying together helps to create and preserve unity amongst people. One of Satan's purposes is to divide and destroy the church. When we pray together, agreeing on what we pray in the name of Jesus, we thwart his purposes. It may take quite an effort to find this unity. Prayer groups aren't always harmonious. But the necessity of coming to agreement on what to pray can help to overcome other differences.

We tend instinctively to ask others to pray with us when we have some urgent need - a critical illness, for instance, or an important up-coming event. Perhaps sometimes this is motivated by the (wrong) idea that God will be moved by numbers. God can hear and answer the prayer of just one person. But the unity created by many people praying in Jesus' name for the same thing is important.

When we pray together, we are able to remind each other of answered prayers. We can share our hopes and longings, our disappointments and difficulties in prayer. Other people's prayers may become the vehicle for God speaking to us about something we need to hear.

When we're struggling to pray, just being with others praying can help to keep us faithful, even if we don't add our own prayers to theirs. For those who are isolated by geography, ill health or imprisonment, knowing that others are meeting together to pray for them is a great encouragement.

Your temptations and mine

Temptation is a peculiarly personal thing. What seems enticing to one person can be quite neutral or even repulsive to another. Some temptations are common to everyone. But our genetics, upbringing, education, experience and culture all have an impact on what temptations we will find most difficult to deal with.

For example, I like a glass of wine with dinner. Maybe even a couple of glasses sometimes. But the idea of drinking the whole bottle in one sitting never enters my head. In fact, I so dislike the feeling of being intoxicated that the idea seems quite repugnant. I don't have to fight the temptation. It just doesn't exist for me.

Yet I know people who can't have one drink without being tempted to go on drinking until they're unconscious. The temptation is all but irresistible. The only way to overcome it is to avoid drinking alcohol altogether, which is not an easy thing to do in our society.

On the other hand, failing to speak up when I should is an ever-present temptation for me. Being naturally timid, and brought up not to say anything that might cause offense, I have to fight against this temptation every day. I wonder sometimes what it would be like to be one of those people who say whatever is on their mind without fear.

That is not to say that we can excuse certain sins because we are particularly prone to some temptations. Each of us still has to resist temptation when it occurs. But we need to be careful in how we judge others when they're struggling against temptations that we ourselves do not face. What do I know of how it feels to resist drinking alcohol to excess?

I've been thinking about this recently in relation to the attitude prevalent amongst some Christians towards homosexuality. Those who teach have a duty to explore what the Bible says about homosexual activity. But I've never heard a speaker confess that they have struggled with this temptation themselves. Usually no help is offered to people who are trying to deal with the temptation. It is simply condemned.

What's more, it's often not just the activity that is condemned, but being gay per se. I suspect this is sometimes just a careless choice of words. How can we condemn someone for being attracted to people of the same sex? None of us chooses what we find attractive. ("Let's see - yesterday I chose to find red cars attractive, so today I think I'll be attracted to green ones instead.") It's only in what we do with our attractions that we have a choice.

The Bible is quite clear that it is giving way to temptation, not being tempted, that is the problem. Jesus himself was tempted, yet did not sin. And notice that Satan chose temptations that were particularly potent for Jesus but probably quite meaningless to most of us. The writer to Hebrews tells us that because Jesus has faced the anguish of being tempted, he is able to help those who are tempted and deals gently and sympathetically with them (Hebrews 2:18, Heb 4:15).

Whatever our own particular weakness, we all know what it feels like to be tempted, and how difficult it can be to resist. If we've never faced the temptation to get into a sexual relationship with someone of the same gender, we need to be very careful in how we talk to, and about, those who have. Who knows, there may even be Christians struggling with homosexual temptation in our own congregations. Does what we say encourage them to go on resisting, and keep seeking forgiveness and grace when they fail, or does it drive them away?

Finding time to pray

There have been times in our married life when my husband and I have been so busy that we've barely seen each other. When we were both working on rosters that included night shifts, we sometimes didn't even spend the nights together. At such times, every spare moment we got together was precious, and we looked forward eagerly to spending a decent amount of time with each other.

But there have also been times when, despite being home together evening after evening, one or both of us have been so engrossed in our own activities and interests that we've hardly spoken to each other. Conversations haven't gone much beyond 'how was your day?' We've taken each other for granted. When such times have gone on for too long, we've started to feel ourselves drifting apart.

One of the things that has helped to bring us back together (apart from recognising what was going on) has been to set aside a time each week when we're committed to actively spending time together. Nothing short of major family events or crises take precedence over that time.

Drawing analogies between marriage and our relationship with God is nothing novel. (It's even biblical!) And there are some weaknesses in the analogy (e.g. God is never unfaithful or unavailable). But still, I find it helpful to look at my prayer life and compare it with my married life. When I genuinely can't find time to spend alone in prayer, I look forward to the time when it will be possible again. But there are also times when, quite frankly, I don't make the effort to pray despite having plenty of time. Other things become more engrossing. I find myself starting to drift away from God.

It's then that I recognise the value in having a regular prayer time - not necessarily daily, but at a set time - which takes precedence over everything else. It's also helpful to have a committment to praying with others regularly (but more of that later.)

Returning to prayer

As a deer pants for flowing streams,
so pants my soul for you, O God.
My soul thirsts for God,
for the living God.
When shall I come and appear before God?

(Psalm 42 verses 1-2)

How do you feel when you haven't prayed for a while? Perhaps you've been exceptionally busy, or had no privacy to pray. You've said 'amen' to the prayers at church and murmured a few quick "arrow prayers", but you haven't spent significant time alone with God in prayer for days. And then, finally, you have the time and the space to get away and pray.

Do you feel like the psalmist, longing and thirsting to come before God and fill the emptiness within? Or do you feel guilty and distant and unsure of where to start? Perhaps, like me, you experience a mixture of both, as the new self in Christ battles with the old, fearful self. Part of me desperately wants to pray, but another part of me wallows in self-condemnation and I wonder how to approach the God I've been neglecting for so long.

Ironically, I find this sense of condemnation that comes with lack of prayer is one of the greatest barriers to prayer. But where does it come from? Why does our image of God start to change from that of our heavenly Father to something more like an irritable elderly relative waiting for a late Christmas card from us? Or worse?

Some of it comes from not understanding (or reminding ourselves) of the difference between real guilt and false guilt. Real guilt arises from something we've done that is not consistent with who we are as children of God. It causes us to feel concern for the person we've wronged, whether another human being or God. It produces what Paul called 'godly sorrow' and leads to repentance, both of which drive us towards God.

If we have been deliberately avoiding prayer, the Holy Spirit will keep prompting us to return and seek forgiveness from the God who grieves at our hardness of heart but does not condemn those who are in Christ Jesus (Romans 8.1).

False guilt, on the other hand, is based on fear. It arises because we're afraid of what others think of us and produces feelings of shame. It may be that we've done something which is actually sinful, but our concern is not that we've grieved God or another person. Instead we're afraid that we've done something for which God or others will condemn us. This fear then opens us up to the accusations of 'the great accuser'.

So, in the context of prayer, we'll experience shame that we're not living up to some human notion of how much time a 'good' Christian ought to spend in prayer. We'll then find all sorts of reasons provided to avoid praying. We're not good enough. It's too difficult. We'll never pray like this or that Christian, so we're a failure. We're not comfortable approaching a God who is surely angry and condemning towards us.

Instead we should thumb our nose at the accuser and approach God with the confidence of a child returning home after a busy day. Our confidence is not in our willingness or ability to pray, but in his willingness to accept us and make us welcome.

I cannot do this alone

From time to time I'd like to provide examples that seem to capture the 'trust and necessity' of prayer. Here's one from Dietrich Bonhoeffer, written while he was imprisoned in Nazi Germany. 

O God, early in the morning I cry to you.
Help me to pray
And to concentrate my thoughts on you:
I cannot do this alone.
In me there is darkness,
But with you there is light;
I am lonely, but you do not leave me;
I am feeble in heart, but with you there is help;
I am restless, but with you there is peace.
In me there is bitterness, but with you there is patience;
I do not understand your ways,
But you know the way for me…
Restore me to liberty,
And enable me to live now
That I may answer before you and before me.
Lord, whatever this day may bring,
Your name be praised.

The role of the Holy Spirit in prayer

We've seen how prayer involves our relationship to the first two persons of the Trinity. We address our prayers (generally) to the Father, and we pray 'in the name of Jesus', the Son, with all that is implied in that phrase. But what is the role of the Holy Spirit in our praying?

We would have no relationship with God if it were not for the witness of the Holy Spirit to what God has done for us (John 15:26). It's the Holy Spirit who brings us to repentance and faith (Titus 3:4-7). This is fundamental to our communication with God in prayer. The Holy Spirit's presence in our life then becomes the pledge and seal of our place in God's kingdom life (1 John 4:13).

In our new relationship with God, it's the Holy Spirit who enables us to experience the love of God (Rom 5:5) and to address him as Father (Gal 4:6). Sometimes this seems so natural to those who have been Christians for a while that we forget just how strange it really is, and how privileged we are to be in such a position. The Spirit also helps us to know what it means to be a child of God, in all its wonder (1 Cor 2:9-12). It is a good practice to ask the Holy Spirit to remind us of who we are in Christ and what God has done for us before we pray.

It's also good to ask the Holy Spirit to show us what and how to pray, so that we are truly praying 'in Jesus name' and in step with God's will. One of the roles of the Holy Spirit is to show us what to pray. But the Spirit also prays for us, particularly at times where we are unable to shape our thoughts into words (Rom 8:26-27). When our desire to pray far outweighs our ability to pray, our relationship with God is not severed, but kept alive by the Holy Spirit.

Sometimes the Holy Spirit conveys messages from God to those who are praying. In Acts 13:2, for instance Luke records that 'while they were worshiping the Lord and fasting, the Holy Spirit said, “Set apart for me Barnabas and Saul for the work to which I have called them.” ' Sometimes he equips people for the work that God has provided for them to do through prayer (Acts 4:31). Often he reminds us of God's words in scripture as we pray.

Our prayers and the work of the Holy Spirit in the world appear to have a complementary role. Paul tells the Philippians that 'through your prayers and the help of the Spirit of Jesus Christ this will turn out for my deliverance' (Phil 1:19).

As the Holy Spirit is active in our life, we become more like Jesus. He produces in us the 'fruit of the Spirit' - love, joy, peace, patience and so on (Gal 5:22). These qualities then affect the way we relate to God and to other people and influence the way we pray. Clearly, then, the Holy Spirit plays a vital role in our prayers, and our life in relationship to the triune God.

Praying for God's glory or praying for our needs?

In a previous post I said that one of the essential elements of prayer was a sense of our own or others' need, the 'necessity' of prayer. Yet recently I've been writing about praying in Jesus name in order to do God's will and bring him glory. Aren't these contradictory? Aren't we being selfish or at least human-centred rather than God-centred if we pray for the things we need in our own lives? If we want to glorify God and pray according to his will, shouldn't we focus our prayers on things like evangelism and mission, rather than bothering God with our anxiety over an exam, or the health of our Auntie June?

This sense that our prayers aren't acceptable unless we're constantly praying about great, "spiritual" issues can be crippling to our prayer life. It leads to all sorts of less-than-Christian attitudes to prayer. We might bring our own apparently petty needs to God and then try to parcel them up with some prayers for outreach and missions, in an effort to make them seem more acceptable. In effect we try to strike a bargain with God - if you give me what I want, I'll pray for what you want.

Or we might ignore our own needs altogether and pray only for the big issues. But that leads to self-sufficiency and pride. "Look at all those silly souls praying for their own trivial needs, while I co-operate with God in changing the world."

The problem arises from an inadequate understanding of God's rule and God's kingdom. The kingdom of God is not about ever-so-holy people doing ever-so-spiritual activities. It's about the whole of life being brought under the lordship of Christ. It's about honoring and serving God in everything we do, with our bodies, minds, words, relationships and goods. And it's about longing to see all people, all of creation doing the same.

So in fact we honour God and bring him glory when we acknowledge our needs to him. We extend his kingdom when we pray for the means to overcome sickness, pain and suffering in those around us. We serve him better when we seek his healing for our own weaknesses and failings. We demonstrate his rule in our lives when we bring our relationships to him in prayer.

If we can't acknowledge our trust in God's goodness and reliance on his power to provide for our own relatively simple needs, where will we get the faith to ask for big, world-changing things? And there's no doubt that we are told to pray for governments and leaders, for the sending out of missionaries and evangelists, for the salvation of the lost, for the spiritual growth of other Christians, for the perseverence of those facing persecution for their faith. But it's also God's will that we should pray for our daily bread.

More thoughts on praying in Jesus' name

Tagging a prayer with "in Jesus' name, Amen" is meaningless if we aren't praying "in Jesus name" in practice. And if we are praying in Jesus' name in practice, then (I assume) the words themselves are not really necessary.

But we need to be aware that adding "in Jesus name" to our public prayers is a powerful statement of what we believe and who we are. A prayer addressed simply to "God" will be acceptable to many, both from traditional religions and those with more new age ideas of spirituality. Even praying to "Our heavenly father" will be acceptable to some outside Christian circles.

When we add "in Jesus' name" to our prayers, however, we are effectively declaring our faith in Jesus as the only way to God. We are no longer praying to a generic God, but to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. That will be deeply offensive to some. It has sometimes been deemed unacceptable to use this phrase in a multicultural setting. In 2005, for instance, a chaplain in the US navy was dismissed for (amongst other things) repeatedly using "in the name of Jesus" in public services where people of other faiths were present.

Whether or not we choose to use the words in our public prayers depends on what our purpose is. There will be times when not causing offence will be important in reaching others with the gospel, and other times when we need to declare our faith against all opposition. Either way, our prayers will still be "in Jesus name" if we are praying to God's glory.

Praying in Jesus' name

In John's gospel, Jesus told his disciples that they should pray 'in his name' to the Father, who would answer their prayers because he loved them (John 16:23-27). But what does it mean to pray 'in the name of Jesus'? It's obviously more than a slogan tagged on to the end of our prayers, but what is meant by 'the name of Jesus'?

The phrase 'in the name of Jesus' is used in several ways in the New Testament. The first describes things done 'in the name of Jesus' in the sense of doing them under his authority, on his behalf. So we find the disciples casting out demons (Luke 10:17), teaching and speaking (Acts 4:18), healing (Acts 3:6), and preaching (Acts 9:28) in Jesus name. In this they emulated Jesus, whose earthly ministry was carried out in the name of, and under the authority of, his Father (John 10:25).

The second sense in which 'the name of Jesus' is used involves bringing glory to him, acknowledging his worth (Acts 9:15, Rom 1:4-6, 2 Thess 1:11-12 ). Again, this reminds us of Jesus who always sought to bring glory to the name of his Father (John 17:26)

A third use of Jesus' name involves a sense of belonging to Jesus. Christians are those who gather in Jesus' name (Matt 18:20), who are baptised in his name (Matt 28:19), who are reviled and persecuted for his name's sake (Acts 5:41, Rev, 2:3), and who figuratively bear his name on their foreheads (Rev 22:4).

The fourth sense in which 'the name of Jesus' is used relates to the way in which Christians appropriate to themselves the work of Jesus in his death and resurrection. They believe in his name (John 2:23), hope in his name (Matt 12:21), avoid condemnation (John 3:18), receive forgiveness (Acts 10:43) and salvation (Acts 4:12) in his name. They are washed, sanctified and justified in his name (1 Cor 6:11) The Holy Spirit is sent in the name of Jesus (John 14:26).

When it comes to praying 'in Jesus name', I think all of these meanings of the phrase are involved. We pray, not as helpless, powerless, isolated individuals, but as those who carry the authority of the one who has 'the name above every rule, authority, power and dominion' (Eph 1:20-21). We are his agents, doing his work on his behalf and in his strength. We come to the Father to ask for what we need to do his will. (Of course, in order to do this, we need to know first what it is that he wants us to do.) We pray 'in his name' when we seek to bring him glory and honour.

We pray in his name because we belong to him. We are those who have been adopted as children of God, and are co-heirs with Christ. But we are only in that position because of what Jesus has done for us, in winning our salvation.

So to pray in Jesus name means that we have thought through what we are praying to see if it is glorifying to Jesus and according to God's will. And having done that we come with confidence to our Father because we belong to his Son, whose name he loves to glorify.

The pros and cons of being a Christian's kid

Children growing up in a Christian family have many advantages. They usually have caring parents who provide for their physical needs, without being so focused on material things that they have no time for their children. Their upbringing will shelter them from the worst aspects of the world around them. Their parents are less likely than most to be addicted to alcohol or drugs or gambling. And they'll be introduced to the truths of Christianity from infancy.

This will provide them with a framework in which to view the world and make decisions. Deciding to follow Christ will seem the natural thing to do, rather than a leap into the unknown. Even though they may wander away from the church and Christianity in their teenage years, they will retain the knowledge of how to return to God when they're ready.

But there are disadvantages to being brought up in a Christian home and church culture. One of them is that having been taught and trained to do the right thing from childhood, it's easy for the child of Christians to become judgmental about others' behaviour. While some children from Christian families deliberately try everything that comes their way as an act of rebellion, most children with a secure, loving family and a well-ordered life find the temptations that others face just not that tempting. It then becomes difficult for them to empathise or even relate to those less fortunate in their upbringing when they 'fall into temptation'.

Another hazard is that while outwardly holding to a gospel of grace, the life-long Christian can be subtly persuaded that their own right living must earn them some credit with God. After all, within their Christian family, good behaviour was rewarded and bad behaviour punished, and their sense of justice encouraged. This can give rise to feelings of resentment towards God, when all their hard work seems to go unacknowledged.

Sermons that describe the Christian as someone who has moved dramatically from a position of rebellion against God to one of repentence often seem a bit out of touch with the experience of the person who can't remember exactly when they adopted their parents' faith as their own. Their own more subtle forms of rebellion are less often the subject of sermons, especially in churches that are focused on evangelism. This can lead to complacency, boredom with church and lack of spiritual growth.

The 'problem of evil' - if God is both good, and powerful, why is there so much evil in the world? - is often seen as something which deters people from becoming Christians. Yet the person from a Christian family may have a greater struggle to come to terms with evil, pain and suffering than the non-believer or recent convert.

The new convert may well come from a background where the evil of the world is a given, having no explanation, and they've lived all their lives without much hope of ever being free from it. To discover God and all that he promises, to discover the gospel that confronts evil, is liberating. The world has not changed, but they have something to hold on to in the storm.

The person who has been brought up in a Christian home, sheltered from the worst of the world's evils and told constantly about the goodness and love of God is sometimes stunned by the reality of suffering and evil when it confronts them as adults. They are not prepared for the storm. They may be familiar with the various theological explanations offered for evil, but such explanations sound hollow against the pain they see around them. What sort of God would allow such things? Where is the God who answers prayer? The compassion fostered by their Christian upbringing ironically feeds their grief and doubt. They feel that as Christians they should be able to offer an explanation, yet they have nothing to say that doesn't sound trite.

I suspect that many of the atheists who throw up 'the problem of evil' as an argument against Christianity come from a Christian background. Certainly many people date their loss of faith to some tragic event in their own life or the lives of those close to them. By God's grace others, like Job, find that their experience eventually deepens their faith and brings them to a more personal understanding of God.

Getting the right address

New Christians often feel confused about who to pray to. They hear older Christians addressing their prayers to Almighty God, to our Heavenly Father, to 'the Lord', to Jesus and sometimes to the Holy Spirit.

Perhaps this is because older Christians are themselves often confused about who they are speaking to when they pray! Should we be praying to the triune God, or to God the Father, or to Jesus? Can we pray to the Holy Spirit? Some of us fudge by praying to "the Lord" without attempting to mentally clarify who or what we mean. But what does the Bible have to say?

In the Old Testament, all prayer was addressed to the One God. Various names for God might be used, but the same person was being prayed to.

Jesus prayed to his Father and taught his disciples to do the same (Luke 11:2). Paul more often speaks of praying to 'God'. Sometimes he refers to 'the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ'. (See for instance Colossians 1:3 'We always thank God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, when we pray for you.')

In the book of Acts, the apostles often pray to 'the Lord'. However, the word 'Lord' is used in Acts to describe both Jesus Christ and God the Father ( eg compare Acts 1:6 and 3:20). Thus it is sometimes difficult to know who is being addressed as 'Lord' in prayer. Who is meant, for instance, in Acts 1:24 'And they prayed and said, “You, Lord, who know the hearts of all, show which one of these two you have chosen" '?

Only once in the New Testament is Jesus clearly and specifically addressed in prayer, by Stephen as he was being stoned (Acts 7:59). And if Jesus taught his disciples to pray to his Father, we might expect that they would be obedient in this. So it seems the New Testament model is to pray to God the Father.

John's gospel offers another slant on how we are to pray. Jesus tells his disciples that they should pray to the Father 'in his name' and whatever we ask in his name he will do, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son (John 14:13). In fact, Jesus says we should not ask him directly for anything. "In that day you will ask nothing of me. Truly, truly, I say to you, whatever you ask of the Father in my name, he will give it to you." (John 16:23)

The meaning of prayer 'in Jesus' name' is worth a post in itself. Still, I have to admit that although I usually pray to the Father when praying for others, I often find myself praying directly to Jesus about my own struggles. There is something comforting in speaking to someone 'who has been tempted in every way as we are and yet without sin' (Hebrews 4:15). But is this unbiblical? Who do you pray to, in practice?

Prayer and the Trinity

In Sunday School we used to sing a song called "The Royal Telephone". I can't recall the exact words, but the gist of it was that Christians have a direct line to God. He's always on the other end of the line, ready to answer.

I haven't heard it for years, and I'm thankful for that. It was an appalling song! A generation grew up believing that God was far away but could be contacted 'long distance' We might be better off than the heathen, who could only shout and hope that God would hear them, but still the distance was maintained between ourselves on earth and God in heaven.

My understanding now is that God is distant from us morally in his holiness and perfection. But in Jesus he has lived among us (John 1:14) and by his Holy Spirit he continues to live within those who belong to him (John 14:17). When we pray "Our Father in heaven" we are not addressing someone "up there" or far away. "Father in heaven" simply distinguishes God from our earthly fathers. Earth and heaven are two different spheres of existence, not two distinct places.

So Paul could say even to non-believers "...He is not far from each one of us, for in him we live and move and have our being" (Acts 17:27-28). He didn't mean that God is present in everything (which would be pantheism) but that no place or time is distant from God or outside his presence.

How does our relationship to God as Christians differ from that of non-believers? The answer, I think, is in our participation in the life of the Trinity. For all eternity Father, Son and Spirit have lived in a communion of love with each other, three distinct persons in one God, united in purpose and will. Through Christ's life, death, resurrection and ascension, God has opened up a way for us into this eternal life of his. When we belong to Christ we somehow enter into the life of the Trinity. We don't become God, but we become participants in the community of love which is God.

How? I don't know. We're told that as Christians we are 'in Christ' and the Holy Spirit is 'in' us (Romans 8:9-10). We are adopted as children of God - and the phrase 'child of God' is far more than just a synonym for 'Christian believer' (Romans 8:14-17). We are seated with Christ in the heavenly realms (Ephesians 2:6) and we have access to the Father, through Jesus, by one Spirit (Ephesians 2:18).

I could cite many other references, but what I'm starting to explore here (clumsily) is the idea that prayer involves the whole of the Trinity and our place in the life of the Trinity. God is not some distant being who has given us a phone card so that we can call him up every so often. Our relationship is much more immediate and intimate than that. Something far more wonderful is going on when we pray.

What is the place of a daily "quiet time"?

What is the place of a daily "quiet time"? Should we all set aside a regular time each day to pray? Consider two scenarios:

Simon wakes every morning at 5 am. He gets out of bed, gets a glass of water from the kitchen, then goes to the lounge room. For the next hour he reads his Bible and prays, using a Bible reading plan and a prayer diary that he carries everywhere with him. The diary contains dozens of prayer points which he works through systematically over the week. If he reads or hears of something during the day that he feels he should pray about, he writes it down in his prayer diary. He's been doing this for years.

Down the road, Cathy wakes at 5 am to the sound of the baby crying. As she stumbles out of bed, she silently prays "Lord, please give me the strength I need for today". By the time she's fed the baby, her two year old is wide awake and wanting her to play with him. For the rest of the day she's constantly busy looking after her family. As she goes about her activities, she silently prays for people and situations as they come to mind. The only time she gets to read her Bible is on Tuesday evening, when the children are asleep and her husband is out at a meeting.

Simon has the more traditional "quiet time". The benefit to Simon is that he begins each day with the Lord and his word, and that has an influence on the rest of his day. Others know that he can be relied upon to keep his word if he says "I'll pray for you." Yet Simon faces the temptation to think of himself as a better, more committed Christian because of the regular hours he spends in prayer (and the sleep he misses in order to pray). He may start to look down on those who don't pray as regularly as he does. He may also become dependent on the routine he has established rather than on God himself, and find himself rattled if anything keeps him from his morning prayer time.

Cathy has a vital, if less concentrated, prayer life. She's learning to depend on God and communicate with him moment by moment. She comes to Tuesday evening hungry to spend more time with him. The temptation she faces is to let her need for approval from other Christians lead her into feeling guilty that she doesn't have a daily quiet time. And there's always the risk that she will let her busy life become an excuse for gradually forgetting to pray and read altogether.

I don't know of any Biblical mandate for insisting that Christians have a daily "quiet time". A commitment to pray at a regular time each day is certainly a useful technique to help overcome the distractions that can keep us from ever praying. But it's not an end in itself, and carries no special merit. We're told to pray without ceasing. Each of us knows for ourselves whether or not we're praying "without ceasing", and with the right attitude towards God.

Why pray?

Prayer takes time - time that could be spent doing other activities. Often it takes effort, perseverance, maybe even courage to pray. Sometimes it seems pointless or frustrating. It can feel as though we're talking to the walls. Meanwhile, the people around us seem able to live their lives quite successfully without praying at all. So why should we pray?

I can think of many reasons. Prayer is God's way of allowing and enabling us to relate to him. Prayer acknowledges our dependence on him. Prayer brings us together with other Christians in fellowship. Jesus promises his presence amongst those who pray together.

Prayer is a form, perhaps the form, of spiritual warfare. In prayer, the Holy Spirit helps us by interceding for us in ways we're barely aware of (Rom 8.26). Prayer helps to keep us in line with God's will and in some mysterious way helps to bring about God's will on earth.

As Christians - followers of Christ Jesus - two of our most important reasons for praying come from Jesus himself. Jesus prayed, and he encouraged his disciples to pray. We are called to honour Jesus as Lord and to become more like him. Prayer is essential to both those callings.

Jesus prayed. Sometimes we're told the content of his prayers. At other times we're only told that he spent time in prayer - often many hours. His life seemed to follow a pattern of withdrawing from the world for a while to pray, followed by a time of activity. He prayed out of gratitude (Matt 11:25) and out of anguish (Matt 26:39). He prayed for himself and for his disciples. He prayed for us (John 17:20). To be like Jesus is to pray.

The Jews were a prayerful people, but something about the way Jesus prayed caused his disciples to beg him to teach them to pray. And he did teach them, both by word and by example. He told them to pray for those who abused and persecuted them (Matt 5:44). He told them to pray to God for more labourers for the harvest. (Matt 9:38) He taught them to pray and not lose heart (Luke 18:1). He said they should pray with humility, privately, with their eyes on God and not on others. He said they should pray in faith. To be a disciple is to learn to pray.

One site to come and one to see

My recent post on what happens when I try to pray was written somewhat tongue-in-cheek. But I have been giving a lot of thought to the place of prayer in Christian life. A few years ago I bought a great little book by Ronald Dunn called "Don't Just Stand There, Pray Something", which I've been re-reading. As the title suggests, it's written in a very chatty style, but it's nevertheless thought-provoking and helpful.

I'm pondering the idea of writing my own series of articles on prayer - not so much the theology of prayer, but the practicalities of it. How do we, or should we, pray? How do we find time to pray? Why do some people seem better at praying than others? Rather than print the articles or post them on this blog I'm thinking of posting them to a separate blog and inviting people to subscribe. Watch this space!

I've recently discovered a wonderful source of inspiration and ideas at the Veritas Forum site. To quote the site itself "Veritas Forums are university events that engage students and faculty in discussions about life's hardest questions and the relevance of Jesus Christ to all of life." The site offers mp3 recordings of talks given at various (mainly US) universities, which can be downloaded. Some of the early recordings include audible chair scraping and door banging but the later recordings are high quality.

The wide variety of speakers includes well known writers and commentators such as Os Guiness, John Stott, Madeleine L'Engle, D. A Carson, Craig Blomberg, Tim Keller, Dallas Willard, Francis Collins and Ravi Zaccharias along with a host of others from all walks of life. The media page allows you to browse the talks by topic, speaker, date or location. Well worth a look.

The essence of prayer - trust and necessity

In order for prayer to be real, two things must be present - trust and necessity. I must trust the one to whom I'm praying, and I must have a genuine sense of need. This is true not just of intercessory prayer, but prayers of repentence and thanksgiving too.

Trust, in this context, is really just another name for faith. However, the word trust places the emphasis on the character of the person being prayed to, rather than the faith of the person praying. No amount of faith will help if the one to whom we're praying can't be trusted or is unreliable. I can't make my prayers more effective just by willing myself to have more faith.

Knowledge and experience of the trust-worthiness of God are what lead me to trust that he will respond to my prayers in the best possible way. At first I trust God because the Bible and the witness of the Holy Spirit assure me that he is faithful and loving. Over time my trust grows because I have experienced for myself that God is trustworthy. Prayer is not an all or nothing activity, but something that develops and changes.

The second essential for real prayer is an understanding and acceptance of our neediness, our reliance on God for everything. To pray 'Give us this day our daily bread' while counting on our own efforts is not true prayer. I'm not suggesting that no effort is required on our part to meet our needs. But we must understand that no amount of effort will supply our needs if God does not respond to our efforts by providing for us. Whether we're praying for food for today or the salvation of a whole city tomorrow, we must recognise that "unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labour in vain." (Ps 127.1) Prayer takes nothing for granted except God's goodness and generosity.

What is prayer?

What is prayer? Or to be more specific, what is Christian prayer? Prayer is a feature of many religions, which suggests that human beings have an instinctive urge to pray. But this is a blog about Christian prayer, rather than the anthropology of prayer. So what are Christians doing when they pray?

First, lets say what prayer is not. Prayer is not magic. God does not give us prayer as the key that will open a wonderful box of treasures. Prayer is not effective because I say the right words, or go through some special ritual, mentally or physically. We often speak of 'the power of prayer', but we must be careful that we're using that phrase only as shorthand for 'the power that God reveals in answer to prayer.'

Nor is prayer like producing an IOU that puts God in the position of having to answer our requests. God has made certain promises about prayer, but they are there to inspire our confidence in praying to him, not tools to manipulate him.

Prayer earns us no merit with God. God does not count up the hours that we've spent in prayer and rank us as first, second or third grade Christians. The number and length of our prayers are not what is important. Some people are naturally talkative and expressive. Others maintain a loving relationship with God, as with their family and friends, in far fewer words.

So what is prayer? Prayer is communicating with God. I say 'communicating' rather than 'talking to God' because not all prayer needs to include words. Lovers can communicate a great deal without words. Nevertheless, lovers would not remain lovers for long if they never spoke a word to each other! Prayer is a two way communication between God and his beloved children.

These articles are mostly about intercessory prayer. When Jesus taught about prayer, it was usually intercessory prayer that he described - requests made to our Father for our own or others needs. Yet he never spoke about prayer without also speaking about the attitude of the heart that should lie behind our requests. That same attitude gives rise to, and underlies, worship, silent adoration, repentence, and thanksgiving. These too are forms of prayer.

What do you hear when you read?

We're all aware that the meaning of a sentence in English can be altered by where we put the emphasis. Take the simple sentence "I like you". Depending on how it's said, it could mean "I like you, even if no-one else does," "I like you, but I don't love you" or "I like you, but not him". Unless we're given some clue from the context, we don't know in what sense the sentence is being used.

The meaning we read into a text can also be influenced by what we already know about the context. With dialogue, a lot will depend on what we know, or assume, about the speaker. I was thinking about this while reading Genesis 3 recently.

God says to Eve " “What is this that you have done?” (v 13). It's obviously a question, but how should we read it? What tone of voice does God take?

If we think of God as the cosmic policeman, we'll probably read it as if he's interrogating Eve, notebook and pencil in hand. If we think of God as the powerful king of the universe, we'll read it as a stern demand for an answer.

If we think of God as the good creator, we'll hear the tone of horror in his voice that any artist would express if he found his newly finished work vandalised. But if we picture God as a loving father, we'll hear the same anguish in his voice as a parent who has found their daughter almost unconscious with an empty pill bottle in her hand. What do you hear when you read it?

Those nagging voices that stop me praying

When you pray, what resistance do you experience?

Recently I've begun to notice and analyse what inhibits me or even deters me from praying. I've become aware that when I sit down to pray, I immediately feel as if I'm answerable to all those people from past and present who have told me how I 'should' pray. It's almost as if the room becomes crowded with advisors and critics.

"So, you're here." says the first, "And about time too. I thought you said you were going to pray after breakfast, and now it's almost nine o'clock. May I remind you that you should pray first thing in the morning."
"Yes" says the second. "I also notice you didn't pray at all yesterday. Don't you know that as a mature Christian you should pray every day."
"I did pray, several times," I say. "I just didn't sit down to pray in a methodical way."
"Hhmph. Sounds like excuses to me" they say in unison.

"Well," says the third, "Aren't you going to confess your sins first. You can't just bowl up to God like that, without a bit of self-inspection first. And what about praise? Aren't you going to praise him?"
"Stop! You haven't read anything from scripture! Aren't you going to read scripture first?" says the first voice.
So I pick up my Bible and read for a while. As I'm reading, I remember a friend who is in trouble and start to pray for her.
"Hang on. You still haven't confessed your sins, or praised God yet" the voices cry.

"And what about praying for God's kingdom to come. What sort of Christian are you, that you don't have God's kingdom at the forefront of your mind?" That's the pastor of a church I used to attend.
"Yes, not to mention the church, and the missionaries you promised to pray for. You've got to get your priorities right." I recognise that 'voice' as belonging to the author of a certain book I read once.

And so it goes. I'd really love to talk to God about the things that are on my mind at the moment. But the list of things I 'ought' to pray about is thrust in front of me. If I try to answer back, I feel as if I'm making excuses for myself. The truth is, I don't pray for God's kingdom or the church or missionaries, or other peoples problems nearly enough. But part of the reason for that is that I just don't pray enough. The Accuser uses my inner critics to see to that.

Jesus our sacrifice - what does that mean?

In everyday language, a sacrifice is something precious or important to us which we give up for the sake of something more precious or important. We talk about people sacrificing their time on behalf of others. Soldiers sacrifice their lives for the sake of their country. Some people are able to "salary sacrifice", meaning that they give up part of their salary in order to obtain some other, greater benefit.

Sacrifice in the Old Testament had the same idea behind it. In a community in which wealth was measured in cattle, sheep and goats, a blemish-free male lamb or young bull was a most valuable commodity. It could potentially have become the nucleus of a new flock or herd. Instead it was offered up, sacrificed, to God. A great cost was involved to the person making the sacrifice.

Many cultures have had this idea of sacrificing, or offering up, something precious to the gods. Sacrifices were made in order to impress or appease the gods, and thus bring some benefit or avoid some consequence. Since human life was the most precious commodity of all, human sacrifice was often the ultimate, most terrible expression of this.

That is not to say that the Old Testament sacrificial system was just a continuation of the sacrifices of the surrounding cultures of the day. Yet in commanding a pattern of sacrifices God graciously used a system the Israelites were already familiar with. The sacrificial system provided a means by which they could express sincerity in their commitment to God, repent of their sin and obtain forgiveness.

Nor was personal cost the only element involved. But costliness was an important aspect of any sacrifice. The Israelites understood that bringing a blemished animal was not acceptable, since little or no personal sacrifice was involved in presenting such a beast to the priest for slaughter.

When we come to the New Testament, we find Jesus being described as the Lamb of God, who is the sacrifice for our sins. While there are many aspects to this, it at least includes the everyday meaning of sacrifice as involving a cost to the one making it. We might then ask "At the crucifixion, who sacrificed what, and to whom?"

Was it God who made the sacrifice? In one sense, yes. He gave up his own, beloved son, the most precious offering he could make. But to whom? To Satan? To human beings? How could God, the sovereign creator of the universe, feel the need to offer anything to anyone, least of all to any of his creatures? Ultimately we can say that God offered a sacrifice to himself, no matter how strange that seems.

Did Jesus sacrifice himself? He certainly gave up his glory in heaven to become human, and then laid down his own sinless life. He offered himself to God in order to obtain a benefit, not for himself, but for the whole of humanity.

Could it be that we sacrificed Jesus? This is an aspect of Jesus' death that I've only recently begun to think about. Would it be true to say that God provided us, humanity, with a perfect, blemish-free "lamb", which we then sacrificed to him? The story of Abraham, Isaac, and the ram caught in the thicket comes to mind. God provided the sacrifice, but it was Abraham who offered it up.

Jesus words as they crucified him, "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing" could be understood to include not just those hammering the nails into his hands, not just those who ordered his death, but the whole of humanity. He is our collective sacrifice, even for those who do not comprehend who he was.

Those who enacted the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross didn't understand what they were doing. Caiaphas, John tells us, prophetically declared that it was fitting that one man should die on behalf of the people, but he didn't understand the full import of what he said. The majority of human beings then and since have been unaware that a sacrifice has been made.

Yet if humanity, fearing the wrath of a holy God, was looking for a sacrifice to end all sacrifices, where would we look? We could try mass slaughter - maybe God would be satisfied with thousands or even millions of deaths. Human beings have commonly offered the slaughter of their enemies to their gods. Yet our enemies' deaths cost us nothing. To be a true sacrifice, we must offer up something precious that we'd rather hold on to.

Jesus stands as the most perfect human being who has ever lived, innocent of all blame. He appears in the gospels as one who was winsome as well as wise, tenderhearted as well as authoritative. Those who knew him and followed him had no desire to lose him or see him die.

Those who know him now surely feel a similar hesitancy, a reluctance, in reading about what was done to him and about his death, even though we understand why it was necessary. This is not the reluctance of those who deny him, but a reluctance born out of identifying him and loving him as the one true, perfect and precious human being. Faith, to some extent, involves recognising Jesus as the only one worthy of being sacrificed by us, for us.

I found myself thinking more about this idea of humanity collectively sacrificing Jesus whilst reading about St Patrick's mission to Ireland. His gospel work there was amazingly successful, due in part to the fact that the Irish of the time knew all about human sacrifice. They had no difficulty comprehending the idea that Jesus was the perfect human sacrifice. They were amazed and delighted to hear that God had himself provided all that was needed to appease his own wrath. The sacrifice had been made, and no further sacrifices were necessary.*

We find it more difficult to understand this, not just because we no longer practise human sacrifice, but also because we are not used to thinking collectively. Our attitude is commonly "I was not there, I was not involved and so I'm not responsible". (Just think of the controversy surrounding the Australian government saying "Sorry" for past injustices to Aboriginal people.)

Faith involves, amongst other things, recognising and claiming our own part in Jesus death. Not just our part in the sin of humanity which made his death necessary, but our part in offering him up to God as our sinless, priceless sacrifice. Would it not be true to say that each of us, at conversion, in effect says to God "I'm a sinner - but please, accept Jesus as my offering and so forgive me". We audaciously claim him as our own and then offer him back to God.

*I owe much to Thomas Cahill's book "How the Irish Saved Civilization", especially his chapter on Patrick's mission.

Was Darwin ever a Christian?

The bicentenary of Darwin's birth (February 12, 1809) has prompted a shower of articles, documentaries and books on various aspects of his life and work. Atheists have lauded him as a patriarch of their cause, a role which some Christians would also like to assign him, although with less delight.

Other Christians have attempted to rehabilitate Darwin. Their arguments range from resurrecting the old "Darwin recanted on his death bed" story to more thoughtful reassessments of his evolutionary theory. Even the Vatican has contributed to the discussion. The death bed story seems to have little credibility, since his wife and members of his family, who were Christians, did not believe it to be true. But for me the real question is "Was Darwin ever a Christian?"

After reading long extracts from Darwin's Beagle journal and his autobiography I'm not at all convinced that Darwin ever had what might be described as a personal faith in Jesus Christ as Saviour and Lord. Before his Beagle journey he certainly had a belief in God as creator and an unexamined assumption that the Bible was literally true. Prior to joining the Beagle expedition he had been at Cambridge studying to be an Anglican minister. But it seems this was due more to the convenience of being able to continue his scientific studies as the incumbent of some quiet parish rectory, rather than from any deeply held desire to be a minister of the word and sacraments.

Darwin continued to uphold the conventions of being a Christian until he was in his forties, long after his Beagle days. Even in old age he described himself as an agnostic, or even a theist, rather than an atheist. But he no longer attended church or believed that the Bible could be trusted as the word of God.

The Beagle journal reveals a young man (he was still in his early twenties) who could see the benefits of Christianity in raising the moral, social and cultural standards of those who practised it. He was impressed with the work of the missionaries in Tahiti, comparing the natives of Tahiti most favourably with the 'wild' human beings he'd seen elsewhere. Being a Christian and being civilised seemed to be almost synonymous in his mind. But he had no missionary inclinations himself.

In his biography we see that it was not just the difficulty of assimilating a literal view of Genesis 1 with his scientific discoveries that drove him away from Christianity. He had a great sensitivity to the suffering of others, human and animal, and could not reconcile the suffering he saw around him with the God of the Bible. Why would a good God deliberately create a world in which animals and humans thrived at others' expense?

Early in his travels he had been awed by the grandeur of creation, but after more than 5 years at sea, he had seen and studied much that gave him doubts. The death of one of his daughters at the age of 10 weighed on his mind. He found intolerable the idea that since his father, his brother and many of his friends were not believers, they would go to hell. He became an ardent supporter of the anti-slavery movement, which many Christians opposed.

Sometimes Darwin is portrayed as a devout Christian who allowed himself to drift away from his faith through his interest in the demon science. In his autobiography he wrote that his loss of faith was gradual and had caused him no distress. Yet he also describes how he struggled for many years to hold on to faith because of the "beautiful morality" of the New Testament.

Part of the difficulty in assessing Darwin's faith comes from his reticence to write or say anything that would encourage rampant atheism, since he saw that this would be detrimental to society. He was also unwilling to cause hurt to those friends and family members (including his wife Emma) who were devout Christians. His autobiography, in which he gave a frank account of his view of religion, was written for his family rather than for publication.

My impression is that Darwin began life with a conventional understanding of Christianity. He thought deeply and honestly about the challenges to his beliefs, and expressed his doubts graciously, without vehemence. However, he lacked both the theological skills and the personal conviction that might have helped him to hold on to faith. He came from a family with a background of scepticism. Many of his peers shared a perception that Christianity was good for the morals of the masses, but was not to be taken too seriously at a personal level. Although he experienced feelings of awe and wonder, he had no sense of Christ's presence in his life. In the end, unsupported dogma met hard facts and lost the battle for a great mind.

If you had been here

"Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died" (John 11:21)

These are intriguing words. If you are familiar with the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead, you will recognise them as spoken by Lazarus' sister Martha, and later echoed by Mary (verse 32). Several days earlier, when Martha and Mary saw how seriously ill their brother was, they had sent for Jesus, asking him to come quickly. But he didn't come, even though he was only a few kilometres away. Lazarus steadily grew worse, and died. They held a funeral for him. Still Jesus didn't show up. And then, four days after Lazarus' death, Jesus arrived, with no explanation and no apology.

As readers of the story we're told why Jesus didn't respond immediately to Martha's message. But Martha knew nothing of this. Surely there's more than a hint of disappointment, resentment, even anger in her words when she says to Jesus "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." And there's an unspoken question too: " I thought you loved Lazarus. I thought you cared for Mary and me. Why didn't you come?"

Anger towards God is not, in itself, a good thing. Yet anger towards God can only arise in someone who, like Martha, has some level of faith. Atheists, if they are honest with themselves, have no-one to be angry with when life is disappointing. Those with only nominal faith will simply shrug their shoulders when their prayers aren't answered - they weren't really expecting God to show up anyway. It's only the person who knows God, who knows God's character and understands what he can do, who feels disappointed and angry when they believe that he has failed them in some way.

Martha's initial request to Jesus to come quickly was based on her faith in his ability to heal Lazarus and her trust that he loved Lazarus, Mary and herself. She doesn't lose her faith that he could do something (verse 22). Note that Jesus' response to Martha's bitter words contains no rebuke. Instead he leads her to a deeper level of faith and understanding. Eventually she comes to see why Jesus didn't respond immediately to her request to heal Lazarus.

It seems to me that when we find ourselves angry with God, Martha's example is a good one to follow. She didn't reject Jesus, or rant at him, or tell everyone she met that he was a big disappointment to her. She expressed her feelings directly to him. She expressed her continuing faith in him. This is honest prayer from a faithful heart, and God listens graciously to such prayers.