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Sermon preached by the Reverend Daphne B. Noyes at
The Church of the Advent In recent years there have been many studies on prayer in the medical setting, conducted at great expense. The John Templeton Foundation funded one study to the tune of $2.4 million, and the New York Times reports that our government spent $2.3 million on similar studies in the period from 2000 to 2006. Each study is structured slightly differently, is headed by a different research team, and focuses on different approaches and research subjects. But there is an underlying theme that can be boiled down to three simple words: Does prayer work? You may not be surprised to hear that the studies offer a range of answers. For example, one study reported that Yes, prayer sort-of works, but quickly added, we’re actually not sure that it’s the prayer itself that works, or perhaps simply a placebo effect - if our subjects might have done better because they knew they were being prayed for. Another study concluded, No, prayer doesn’t work, in fact it seemed to increase post-operative complications in a certain group of cardiac patients. And still other researchers have quite different results, reporting positive findings - quicker recovery, less pain -- in the medical conditions of those being prayed for. Well, the results of these studies and many others have been and are being used primarily the way the tipsy partygoer used the lamppost - for support, not for illumination. I’m not aware of any believers who stopped praying after reading one of these “prayer doesn’t work” reports, nor have I heard of any non-believers who suddenly commenced a life of prayer after encountering evidence that “prayer works.” Does prayer work? I submit that this is not the right question to ask, if we want to further our understanding of the mysterious and holy activity called prayer. Prayer is not a mechanical device, like a telephone, that either works or doesn’t work. Prayer is not a chemical reaction, where two substances are combined in a way that unfailingly brings about predictable results. Prayer is not an exercise regimen, that when faithfully followed will contour muscles and increase strength and flexibility. Although, of course, prayer has elements of each of these. Prayer has aspects of communication, of chemical reaction, and of transformation over time. But working? Does prayer work? * * * In the opening of the Book of Acts, after the ascension of Jesus, the angelic encounter, and the return to Jerusalem to the upper room, Luke writes that the apostles - including “certain women, and Mary the mother of Jesus” - were constantly devoting themselves to prayer. If this has a familiar ring, it should! Think back to the Easter Vigil, the Baptisms, and the confirmations that have taken place here recently. At each one of these services, we publicly vowed to “continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers.” In this pulpit over the past few weeks, Father Warren and Father Gray have carefully examined the areas of fellowship - also known as community - and the breaking of the bread - known as communion - but the bones of community and vital lifeblood of communion need the essential breath of prayer to survive and flourish. This is one of our fundamental promises as Christians: to pray. We make this promise at the beginning of our life in Christ, and we repeat it again and again, in renewal of vows, in psalms, in hymns. To the faithful, to the seeker, to the fearful, to the grateful, prayer becomes a vital as breath. One ancient mystic, Nicephorus the Solitary, speaks of prayer like this: You know that our breathing is the inhaling and exhaling of air. The organ that serves for this is the lungs that lie round the heart, so that the air passing through them thereby envelops the heart. Thus breathing is a natural way to the heart. And so, having collected your mind within you, lead it into the channel of breathing through which air reaches the heart and, together with this inhaled air, force your mind to descend into the heart and to remain there.[1] Force your mind to descend into the heart and to remain there. For it is there, in the heart, that prayer is formed, and it is from the heart that prayer emanates. And it is in the syncopated rhythms of heart and breath that the Spirit prays within us, with sighs too deep for words. Today in the reading from John’s Gospel we heard the opening of the high priestly prayer of Jesus, a prayer that some scholars have suggested is the “real” Lord’s Prayer - a passionate and detailed exposition covering the past, present, and future relationships and accomplishments of God, Jesus, and those whom God has entrusted to Jesus’ care. The language is rich and revealing, the structure is intricate. Truly this is a prayer of the heart. And this prayer of the heart concludes with the heartfelt desire for unity: that they may be one, even as we are one. Here is another fundamental truth about prayer: that we not only pray to remain in continuity with apostles; that we not only pray to join with “saints below and saints above, the church in earth and heaven”[2]; but that we pray because Jesus prayed for us and is praying for us still. He is our only Mediator and Advocate, and following his example we pray not in the belief or even the hope that our prayer will “work” but that it will have an effect: on us, on those for whom we pray, on the world around us - an effect of uniting us with God, an effect of bringing about God’s will in our lives, in the lives of those for whom we pray, and in the world. This is our mandate: “Pray until something happens.” In prayer, sometimes the words come easily. Other times we may stammer or stumble, seeking what we hope is the right phrase or word. Who among us can claim easy access to the same poetic eloquence we heard in Jesus’ prayer today, or to the perfectly calibrated progression of the Lord’s prayer? But even the awkwardness or frustration or sense of being spiritually tongue-tied that may accompany our efforts to pray can be hallowed. The poet R. S. Thomas describes his awareness, one still, sleepless night, of “that other being who is awake, too, / letting our prayers break on him, / not like this for a few hours / but for days, years, for eternity.”[3] Does prayer work? I suggest that we dispense with those three words and use instead these three: Let us pray.
Amen. [1] Nicephorus lived in the second half of the thirteenth century, came from Calabria, was a monk at Constantinople and then on Mount Athos. |