Nurture Faith with Dr. Doug Hood

The following meditation was written by Dr. Doug Hood’s son, Rev. Nathanael Hood, Pastor at First Presbyterian Church of Junction City, Kansa.

“Ask, and you will receive. Search, and you will find. Knock, and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives. Whoever seeks, finds. And to everyone who knocks, the door is opened. Who among you will give your children a stone when they ask for bread? Or give them a snake when they ask for fish? If you who are evil know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good things to those who ask him.” Matthew 7:7-11 (Common English Bible)

There’s a famous scene in Steven Spielberg’s Hook (1991) where the former Peter Pan—now all grown up and played by Robin Williams—sits down for a meal in Neverland with the Lost Boys he abandoned decades ago. The Boys’ new leader, the fiery, charismatic Rufio (Dante Basco) takes his seat at their long table and unexpectedly holds his hands together in prayer. Everyone, Williams included, does the same, bowing their heads and closing their eyes in reverence.

“Everybody say grace,” Rufio sternly commands.

“Bless this, Oh Lord…” Robin begins before he’s suddenly cut off by the sound of everyone at the table loudly shouting “GRACE!” then maniacally grabbing at the food in front of them.

It’s a wonderful moment, but one can’t help but wonder if this portrayal of prayer isn’t somehow an accurate one for many Christians. How many among us view prayer as just magic words or mystic incantations one says out of habit, not devotion?

Jesus addresses such performative piety in his Sermon on the Mount, specifically in a brief aside during a length list of moral commandments. “Ask, and you will receive,” Jesus commands in verse seven, “Search, and you will find. Knock, and the door will be opened to you.”There are three operative words in this verse, three words which break down exactly how the act of prayer should be done: “Ask,” “Search” or the more common translation “Seek,” and “Knock.”

Ask, Seek, Knock.

“Ask, and you will receive. Seek, and you will find.

Knock, and the door will be opened to you.”

But what exactly does it mean to ask, seek, and knock? First, to ask is to admit to ourselves that we have problems in the first place! It’s to admit that there’s something out of the ordinary in our lives that needs help we cannot provide ourselves. For some of us, that’s impossible. Many are overburdened with pride. For example, while working in an inner city hospital early in my career, I learned that some poor people refuse monetary aid or handouts because they report that accepting them makes them feel like they’re admitting to personal failure in their lives. Likewise, many of us are yoked with the terrible weight of vanity which balks at the suggestion that one might have any needs or weaknesses in the first place. The obituary pages are full of such people who let their vanity get the best of them. If only they had the courage to ask for help!

Second, what does it mean to seek and knock? Both are verbs that denote continued actions. If you lose something valuable you don’t give up the search after a few seconds. Likewise, when you knock on someone’s door you don’t just knock once and hope whoever is inside hears you. You bang on the door until someone responds! Therefore, to seek and to knock are to have perseverance when we pray. Even though we believe that God answers prayers, Jesus expects us to pray for things repeatedly, even the same things we’ve prayed countless times for. I think of Jesus’ parable in Luke 18 of the Persistent Widow who petitions a corrupt judge for justice over and over and over again until he finally relents. If an evil man will eventually do what’s right when asked enough times, how much more powerfully will our perfectly loving, perfectly just, perfectly righteous God respond to us if we are persistent in prayer? Only by being persistent can we truly establish a relationship with our God, and in that relationship we will find something greater than just an answer to our prayers. We will find in God a companion, a friend, a Father. Amen.

Joy,

“He lifted me out of the pit of death, out of the mud and filth, and set my feet on solid rock. He steadied my legs.” Psalm 40:2 (Common English Bible)

Here is a life that many of us understand. Life is characterized as being a “pit of death—a life of mud and filth.” This poignant description betrays that present circumstances did not simply fall upon the one who speaks. “Mud and filth” are not the consequence of disadvantage, not the result of some disaster or illness that comes without personal consent. Rather, this decay of a personal experience of life has been fashioned by intentional choices, one bad choice following another. Perhaps the choices made were hesitant at first, slow, and then questioned. But once a descent into careless living began, movement became more swift and confident. Delight in drinking, or gambling, or immoral behavior brought increasing pleasure.

Then comes the collapse of all self-worth, a reckoning of the internal depravity that begins to reveal itself in physical appearance and behavior. The face can no longer hide the ruin of the interior life. Others clearly see the writing of the unfortunate choices written upon the man or woman. The signs of rot and disorder grow stronger and clearer. Any good or decency that remains continues to diminish until it is nearly smothered as the tyranny of the immoral life assumes command. The individual—both body and soul—once a sweet habitation of all that is good, decent, and holy now entertains what is corrupt and evil. Choices, once deliberate, now are in control. The man or woman is now held hostage in a “pit of death.”

Then comes a cry for help. What once was pleasurable has become agony—what once was pursued has become a master. The cry of desperation is made to Almighty God. Some years ago when my daughter, Rachael, was quite young I overheard her telling other little girls her faith story. With four other sets of eyes mesmerized by the narrative that flowed from her libs I heard, “I was a slave girl in Egypt and Pharaoh was so mean to me. But my God is bigger than Pharaoh and God came one day, beat Pharaoh up, and brought me home.” For a four-year-old girl, this was her understanding of the Exodus story she had heard from her father so many times. The message was clear and certain. She could count on God.

The one who shares this faith story in Psalm 40 knows they can count on God. A cry of desperation is made to Almighty God to come, overwhelm the master that holds them captive in “a pit of death” and bring them home. The cry may be made at the eleventh hour but God comes. God comes without ridicule, and without mockery, or taunts of “I told you so.” God simply comes. From the place of captivity of whatever enslavement, whatever addiction that holds a grip upon the man or woman, the hand of God appears. That hand is stronger. Once more, the enslaved is brought home. His or her feet are set on solid ground, strength is returned to the legs, and life is steadied. A nightmare of horrible dreams ends.

Joy,

The following meditation was written by Dr. Doug Hood’s son, Rev. Nathanael Hood, pastor of First Presbyterian Church of Junction City, Kansas.

“At this, many of his disciples turned away and no longer accompanied him.” John 6:66 (Common English Bible)

When I was a grad student in New York City, I lived down in the Bowery in lower Manhattan. Walking back from class I’d frequently find myself strolling through Greenwich Village, that perennial home to New York’s strange, artistic, and eccentric. On warm muggy nights, amateur psychics would seemingly sprout up from the pavement, setting up shop outside cafes and trendy restaurants with signs offering fortune telling for a meager $15. Some offered palm readings, others astrology charts, but the most popular service of these armchair clairvoyants was tarot card readings. For the price of a good pastrami sandwich a few blocks over at Katz’s Deli, they claimed they could use their cards to predict your fate. Heavy with the weight of an ancient esotericism, they would sigh and moan with the flick of a wrist, this card predicting a successful career change, this one the failure of a promising relationship. 

Ask these psychics how they learned their craft and they would twinkle an eye and say that it takes years of study and practice. What they probably won’t tell you is that you can google “learn tarot” right now on your phone and get links to countless sites and YouTube videos promising to teach initiates how to read them in just a few hours. It turns out reading tarot cards is much easier and less mystical than originally advertised. And while many will claim that tarot cards originated in the courts of ancient Egyptians, in reality, the first tarot card decks appeared in fifteenth-century Europe, not as divining tools but as playing cards. It would take around two more centuries for them to gain widespread use among fortunetellers, and even then, mostly only in French and English-speaking areas. Go to other parts of Northern, Central, or Southern Europe and you’ll find people still using them as they were originally intended: as simple playing cards.

But have you ever tried telling anyone who believes in the power of tarot cards that they’re pure charlatanism? That their art is only a few centuries old and would be laughed at by the people that created them? The polite ones will hem and haw excuses. The impolite ones will scream at you for “violating their beliefs.” Tarot cards and other forms of New Age quackery have weeded their way into the lives of millions and the emotional dependence they engender is tantamount to brainwashing. It makes sense why: they provide the benefits of religion with none of religion’s demands. They give the customer a sense of cosmic purpose, personal direction, and even community, but without the insistence of moral improvement, personal reflection, and acts of charity towards the poor and disenfranchised. Have you ever heard of a palm reader telling customers to seek counseling for anger management? A salesperson for essential oils to volunteer at a soup kitchen? The answer is no. And the reason is that all of these things are, quite literally, diet religion.

We see the perils of diet religion even in the time of Jesus. Think of the rich man in Mark who asked Jesus what he must do to inherit eternal life and left after being told to sell his possessions and give the money to the poor. Perhaps this man was hoping for a dose of diet religion. Or what of the lawyer in Luke who asked Jesus who was his neighbor and was told his bitter enemy the Samaritans. Was this man seeking a diet religion answer full of reassurance? And then there’s the sixth chapter of John where Jesus chastised and offended the multitudes who sought him for his miracles of loaves and fish and not the Bread of Life. The Scriptures literally record his disciples complaining that the message of his ministry was “too harsh” before abandoning him. They too were seeking diet religion. Real religion—the true Gospel of Christ—is demanding and difficult. It requires the complete transformation of one’s life. It takes a lifetime to learn with no guarantee of mastery. We come to church, we come to Jesus, for something greater than fortune cookie platitudes. We come for rebirth. But if that’s not what you want, then I know several people in Manhattan who for a modest fee would be happy to help.

Joy,

“‘Come, follow me,’ he said, ‘and I’ll show you how to fish for people.’” Mark 1:17 (Common English Bible)

Meeting and overcoming self-doubt and negativity can seem the most difficult thing to do in life. It doesn’t have to be. Someone once asked me, “What can you do, starting today, that will move you forward positively, that will make a difference in the direction of your life?”

In moments when everything has gone wrong, when your life seems to have derailed, and confidence has fled you, what one thing can you do? When your financial resources have stretched to the breaking point, you no longer feel well, and everything appears to be bitter, what can you do?

Two brothers, Simon and Andrew, were ordinary fishermen going about their vocation—throwing fishing nets into the sea. At this moment in Mark’s Gospel, we don’t know anything about their personal or professional life other than that they are fishermen. Then, Jesus passed alongside the Galilee Sea, saw them, and then said, “Come, follow me and I’ll show you how to fish for people.” Nothing is mentioned about their aptitude, their self-confidence—or lack of it—or their aspirations for the future. Jesus simply offers each of them an opportunity to move from the ordinary to the remarkable: “I’ll show you how to fish for people.” The promise for something greater is all in an invitation, an invitation to make a change and follow Jesus.

It is a captivating invitation. Jesus is promising to make them men who can impress and lead other people, to become the Dale Carnegie of the New Testament! In fact, the New Testament is teeming with story after story of people who fell under the influence of Jesus and began to experience the remarkable in their lives. It is utterly amazing what the presence of Christ in people’s lives can do for anyone who allows Christ to have his way with them.

When Christ becomes everything to a person—and that means that they trust in Jesus’ capacity to reach deep within them and draw out of them more than they ever thought was within them–Christ will remake you. Gifts, and abilities, and strength, are in every person that are now discovered and placed into the service of the man or woman. It is a matter of putting aside feelings of discouragement, and failure, and loss, looking to Jesus and asking, “What one thing can I do today?” If you don’t like the direction your life is going, change something. If something doesn’t suit you, or something doesn’t excite you, change it. You don’t have to be the same tomorrow as you are today. It really is that simple. Jesus only needs for you to follow him—and that begins by paying attention to him. It is then that the ordinary begins to become the remarkable in our lives.

Joy,

“The kingdom of heaven is like a man who was leaving on a trip. He called his servants and handed his possessions over to them.” Matthew 25:14 (Common English Bible)

Since I was a child I have collected—and adored—conch shells, more specifically, the queen conch variety. I grew up in Atlanta, Georgia. But once every two years my family vacationed in the Florida Keys. A family tradition that developed was a stop at Shell World located in the first key, Key Largo. It is a tradition I have now resumed with my wife each time we travel to the Keys. Whether for the day or a weekend, each trip to the Florida Keys includes a stop at Shell World. And, on most of those stops, I select and purchase a queen conch. It is a meaningful tradition and I now own dozens of these beautiful shells—six of them in my office! Each purchase connects me to a cherished childhood memory.

The queen conch is found off the coast of Florida and throughout the Caribbean. The shell is valued as a decorative souvenir and—historically—by Native Americans and indigenous Caribbean peoples to create various tools. The animal that lives within the shell, a marine mollusk, is enjoyed in a variety of seafood preparations. Though not an endangered species as a whole, the queen conch is now protected in Florida waters due to extreme overfishing. The queen conch shell sold by Shell World is responsibly sourced from various Caribbean islands where the conch populations are healthy.

As a child, I chose to collect the queen conch over other varieties of beautiful shells because of their affordability. There are other varieties of shells that many would consider more striking in their complexity and beauty than the queen conch. And they are much more expensive to purchase. But today, as an adult, I have found a deeper and richer appreciation for surrounding myself with this beautiful shell, in both my home and office. In some South Pacific cultures, a speaker holds a conch shell as a symbol of a temporary position of authority. “Leaders must understand who holds the conch—that is, who should be listened to and when,” writes Max De Pree.[1] As a follower of Jesus Christ, I also have been given temporary authority to declare God’s love for a hurting world.

In this rich passage from Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus teaches this spiritual principle in a parable, commonly called the Parable of the Talents. In the story—or parable—a man is leaving on a trip. He calls his servants and distributes his possessions to them. What becomes clear in the larger story is that these possessions are not transferred property. The man who is leaving retains ownership. The possessions are simply entrusted for a period of time to the management of the servants. And upon the man’s return, the servants will be held accountable for their temporary responsibility with his possessions. The queen conch shells in my home and office remind me each day of the tremendous privilege—and responsibly—that has been entrusted to me to declare the depth of God’s love until the day Jesus returns.

Joy,

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[1] De Pree, Max, Leadership Is an Art, New York: Crown Business, 2024, 20.

“As Paul and Barnabas were leaving the synagogue, the people urged them to speak about these things again on the next Sabbath.” Acts 13:42 (Common English Bible)

Tom Tewell shared with me that some years ago, the pastor of First Presbyterian Church of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, preached a sermon that so captured the hearts and minds of the congregation that the governing board passed a resolution that on the anniversary of that sermon each year, the pastor was to preach it again. Some time ago I heard an interview with Robin Roberts, a host of the morning show, Good Morning America. She spoke candidly of her Christian faith and her morning time with God before going to work. She mentioned a favorite devotional guide that she used each morning—one that provided a meditation for each day of the year. On January 1 of the following year, she started through the same devotional again.

During my ministry in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, I was asked in one week to preach a Christian message of hope for two different families who were burying a loved one. Neither family had a church home or a pastor. Each service was in a different funeral home. A dear friend of mine, Bill, was close to both families and attended both services. In each service, I preached the same sermon. Though both families expressed gratitude to me for my message, each saying that the message was precisely what they needed to hear, Bill shared his disappointment with me following the second service. Bill’s complaint was that he had already heard that sermon earlier in the week. I simply reminded him that I was not preaching for him.

It has never been my practice to preach the same Sunday morning message twice in the same congregation. Yet, often I will reuse an illustration in other sermons. This is for two reasons: I believe that no other illustration has the same force to advance the message I wish to convey, and, the illustration embodies such truth within itself that I wish to impact more lives with its use. Worshipping communities are like streams—you never step into the same stream twice. The water from the first experience has now moved on. The second experience is always in new water. Likewise, the second telling of the illustration nearly always reaches persons not in attendance during the earlier usage. I’m not preaching to those who have already heard the illustration.

It is natural to grow tired of hearing most stories over and over again. But stories that capture some truth; stories that instruct and inspire do not grow old. That is because they stir something in us each time. Much like some who read Dickens’ A Christmas Carol each Christmas, the Bible and illustrations that open the truths of the Bible clearly and powerfully are not ones we grow tired of. Inspiration for living in difficult times leaks and must be refreshed. Reading a strong book of meditations that strengthens in one year can do the same the next year, just as Robin Roberts has experienced. So, as Paul and Barnabas were leaving the synagogue, the people urged them to speak about these things again on the next Sabbath.

Joy,

When Sara Roosevelt was asked if she ever imagined that her son, Franklin Roosevelt, might become president, she replied: “Never, no never! That was the last thing I should ever have imagined for him, or that he should be in public life of any sort.” Both she and her son, she insisted, shared a far simpler ambition – “The highest ideal – to grow to be like his father, straight and honorable, just and kind, an upstanding American.”ⁱ An only child, and with few playmates his own age, Franklin viewed his attentive and protective father as a companion and friend. Presidential biographer, Doris Kearns Goodwin observes that Franklin’s optimistic spirit and general expectation that things would turn out happily is a testament to the self-confidence developed within the atmosphere of love and affection that enveloped him as a child.ⁱⁱ

The prevailing wisdom today—and embedded in many approaches to psychological counseling—is that all of life consists of two elements: first, the facts, and second, our way of looking at them. Few of us escape some disappointment, some physical or mental limitation, or some distressing circumstance. It is a fact of life. We have very little control over these facts. Yet, what is largely within our power is how we look at these facts. We may permit these facts to debilitate us, to ruin our temper, spoil our work, and hurt our relationships with others, or we can become masters over their influence. Any cursory examination of Franklin Roosevelt’s life reveals a good measure of challenges, disappointments, and loss. But Roosevelt remained a master over everyone, convinced that there was a larger purpose for his life and nothing would stop his pursuit of that purpose. A positive home environment and the knowledge that he bore a strong and respected family name directed Roosevelt’s outlook.

The Christian faith is a call to a new outlook—a call to a changed point of view on the facts of life. In this teaching from Paul’s letter to the church in Galatia, Paul reminds us that we were once slaves and, consequently, of diminished value. And those who perceive themselves to have a diminished value as a person have a dim view of life. But now, in the person of Jesus Christ, we are no longer slaves but children of God. If children of God, then an heir. Our name has been connected, as was Roosevelt’s, to a strong and respected name. For Paul, this makes a profound difference in how we are to live. We live as members of a royal household.

The deep divergence that commonly separates those who move positively through life from those who don’t lies in their outlook. Jesus’ word for “repent” meant to “change your mind” or “look at things differently”. When Jesus called those who would become his disciples he didn’t ask them to join a church or subscribe to some creed. He asked them to look at the facts differently. The laws concerning the Sabbath were reconsidered. The place of children was elevated. For those caught in the very act of sin, grace prevailed over punishment. Jesus called for a radical shift in how life would be lived – a shift that now recognized that with God on our side any handicap could be overcome and every challenge met positively. When we get a new way of seeing things it is then that we find a new life.

Joy,

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ⁱ Doris Kearns Goodwin, Leadership In Turbulent Times (New York, London, Toronto, Sydney, New Delhi: Simon & Schuster, 2018), 50.

ⁱⁱ Goodwin, 43.

There is a Christmas song that ponders in a rather wistful manner, why the world is unable to embrace the spirit of Christmas all year long. At Christmas, we crawl out from our hard shell of self-concern, our eyes sparkle with wonder, and we behave with an uncharacteristic charity toward all people. We slog through eleven months of drudging effort, eyes squarely focused upon survival in a competitive marketplace with little attention to others, and then Christmas comes. We throw off the heavy coat of selfishness for a time. Kindness permeates the places of our souls made callous by fear of scarcity and generosity flows from hidden springs in our hearts. We play, we laugh, and we are amiable to strangers and friends equally. That Christmas song is on to something. Why can’t we have the spirit of Christmas all year long?

Bethlehem is a divine interruption. The world today is a little different from the world that welcomed the birth of Jesus. Enemies are everywhere and national security continues to be a pressing concern. The inequity of wealth among people of every nation conveniently ignores the apostle Paul’s call that those who have much shouldn’t have too much and those who have little shouldn’t have too little (2 Corinthians 8:13–15). But Bethlehem invites the world to a fresh imagination; to imagine a world where instruments of war are repurposed into farming instruments and people impulsively and joyfully share from their abundance so that others may simply have enough. Bethlehem asks that we look at the world differently, and asks that we live differently.

The spirit of Christmas is a deep and persistent call to pay attention to God. It is a call to see and participate in the creation of a new world where peace and goodwill abound. Bethlehem is not an occasional indulgence—an occasion where we lay aside for a moment careful attention to our health and consume copious quantities of Christmas cookies and eggnog. Bethlehem asks that we care about the world of which we are a part. Bethlehem invites us to join the angels in announcing that God has unleashed upon the world a new order where all people may find carefree rest in God. Bethlehem is not a charming dream. It is not an aspirational goal. Bethlehem is a confident and certain reality. God has come into this world and nothing is going to be the same.

Go to Bethlehem this year. Go and bow down before this magnificent birth of a new world order. Discover in Bethlehem God’s divine intention for each of us; discover that peace and goodwill are not for one month of the year but God’s gift to be embraced and shared all year. But if you go to Bethlehem, recognize that Bethlehem makes demands upon all who visit. Bethlehem asks that you dedicate your life to speeding up the tempo of goodwill in all your relationships. Bethlehem will ask you to guard your speech and exercise restraint in the use of acrimony, harsh, and mean criticism. Bethlehem will demand civility, humility, and respect for others, particularly for those you disagree with. And Bethlehem will ask of you uncommon generosity toward others. Bethlehem asks a good deal from all who visit. But Bethlehem gives in return God’s peace. That is the spirit of Christmas.

Joy,

My wife, Grace, and I collect nativity sets. Over the course of our marriage we have collected over thirty, each beautiful and unique in their own way. Several have come from Congo, Africa, where my wife was born and raised by missionary parents. Others are from Guatemala, Argentina, Peru, Mexico and Israel. There are also beautiful sets from Alaska and from Native American reservations in the west. Two are whimsical sets from North Carolina – one that depicts every character of the nativity as black bears and another as red cardinals. They have been fashioned from metal, stone, clay, wax and wood. Each represents a cherished memory and all stir the wonder of that first Christmas.

Christmas begins with wonder. It is a story whereby we are reminded that God has come into the world for every generation and for every person. It is a story that defies reasonableness. God, the creator of the heavens and the earth and all that is them, comes to earth as a vulnerable baby, to parents of little material possessions, in the non-descript town of Bethlehem. The parents have no stature, no power and no capacity to provide anything more than a manger to place their first child. Absent is any hint of privilege, any suggestion that this family will ever attract the notice of others. Yet, shepherds are drawn to the nativity, leaders of great nations travel considerable distances to bring gifts of substantial value and angels sing from the heavens of the birth of Jesus. The story is astounding, incredible, and outside the parameters of credible story-telling. Serious engagement with the Christmas story begins with wonder.

Wonder is not doubt. For those who doubt, they are unable to see. Their eyes are clouded by a determined focus on what they understand. Wonder exists where there is hope in inexplicable love, and uncommon generosity. Wonder springs from believing that there is more in life than can ever be explained and the deep desire to be surprised. Christian wonder arises from the ancient promise of a God who cares deeply for us, clinging to that promise tenaciously, particularly at those times when there seems to be so little evidence for it, and paying attention, recognizing that God may surprise at any moment. The shepherds and the magi arrived at the nativity not because of incontrovertible proof that the Holy Son of God was born but because they were paying attention to a God that surprises.

For Christmas to be more today than a nostalgic glance backward there must be a recovery of wonder. We cannot rejoice at Christmas unless we rejoice that this is a season where images of the nativity – in our homes and churches, on Christmas cards and wrapping paper – remind us that God comes to us in unexpected moments, in a surprising fashion, and always in a manner that is beyond our ability to understand. We live in a world that doesn’t know what to make of the love of God; a love that is free of ulterior motives. God baffles us and mystery and wonder permeate God’s presence and activity in the world, including the Christmas story. The Christian faith has never asked that we dismiss our questions. But its promises are realized only when we permit ourselves to experience expectant wonder once again.

Joy,

“While Peter was held in prison, the church offered earnest prayer to God for him.” Acts 12:5 (Common English Bible)

The great Apostle, Peter, is sleeping in prison, bound in chains. King Herod’s poll numbers are up. Previously, he had James, John’s brother, killed with a sword. This pleased the Jews, so Herod arrested Peter as well. Once a policy decision resonates with the voters, politicians tend to do more of the same. Peter is placed in a prison with sixteen soldiers assigned to guard him. Seems excessive for one man. Perhaps Herod, with all his power, still fears the compelling conviction of Peter’s faith. What is the young church to do? Bound in chains, sixteen guards on watch, and under the orders of King Herod, are no match for the small resources of the faithful. This is a gripping story from Acts. Well, they can pray. That is the one resource at their command. “Many believers had gathered there and were praying.” (Acts 12:12b)

What is absent from this great narrative is the substance of the prayers. Perhaps the believers prayed that Peter might be given strength—strength for the trial Peter would face the next day. Perhaps the prayers were for a quiet spirit as Peter faced the certainty of death. Or, perhaps, the prayers were that Peter might be given a boldness of faith as dark clouds gathered around him and the church. These seem to be reasonable prayers. When believers face insurmountable difficulties, as Peter faces, prayers must be reasonable. Prayers for Peter’s release are unreasonable to this community of believers. This we are certain of. The evidence is right in the story. For when Peter is, in fact, released from prison and arrives at the prayer meeting, a servant named Rhoda tells the prayer group that Peter is at the door. Their response is simply, “You’ve lost your mind!” (Acts 12:15.)

What emerges from this story is a rebuke to the notion that God’s power is limited. Prayers may be unwise, such as praying that our favorite team might win the game or that the numbers on a lottery ticket might fall in our favor. Yet, prayer is communion of our spirit with the spirit of God. Should we assume there is only so much God can do? In the pages of Genesis, God’s authority is established as one that simply speaks, and whatever is spoken comes into existence. That is not a God who is limited. Nothing we may ask for is impossible with God. There is no need to give severe restrictions to our prayers. In our story from Acts, believers are praying for Peter but seem not to anticipate that their prayers will be effective. Here, Emerson is helpful, “Belief and love—a believing love will relieve us of a vast load of care. O my brothers, God exists.”[i]

What the reader learns from these “many believers” is that prayer, ultimately, is about so much more than experiencing communion with God—prayer that has power is prayer that is felt to have a real effect on God. There is expectation in prayers made to God. Throughout scripture is a cast of biblical characters who ‘wrestle’ with God strenuously. This isn’t the casual prayer sewn together from borrowed phrases here and there, but prayer that has nerve and soul—prayer that is an encounter of wills—until one will or the other gives way. Jeremiah 18 presents God as willing to change God’s mind if the people turn from disobedience to seeking God. Nor is powerful prayer an imposing of our will on God as though God may be coerced and exploited. Prayer that triumphs is prayer that actively wills God’s will and participates in bringing that will forth in our lives. That is expectant prayer.

Joy,

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[i] Ralph Waldo Emerson, The Essays of Ralph Waldo Emerson (Norwalk, Connecticut: The Easton Press: 1979) 56.