"_What man is there of you, who, if his son shall ask him for
a loaf, will give him a stone; or if he shall ask for a fish,
will give him a serpent? If ye then, being evil, know how to
give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your
Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask
Him_?"--MATT. vii. 9-11.
There has been in our day much painful disputation concerning prayer and
the laws of nature. Whole volumes have been written to prove that it is
possible, or that it is impossible, for God to answer prayer. I am not
going to thresh out again this dry straw just now. Discussions of this
kind have, undoubtedly, their place; indeed, whether we will or no, they
are often forced upon us by the conditions of the hour; but they had no
place in the teaching of Jesus, and I do not propose to say anything
about them now. I wish rather, imitating as far as may be the gracious
simplicity and directness of the argument of Jesus which we have just
read, to gather up some of the practical suggestions touching this great
matter which are strewn throughout the Gospels alike in the precepts and
practice of our Lord.
I
First of all, then, let us get fixed in our minds the saying of Jesus
that "men ought always to pray and not to faint." The very form of the
saying suggests that Christ knew how easy it is for us to faint and grow
weary in our prayers. Men cease from prayer on many grounds. Some there
are in whom the questioning, doubting spirit has grown so strong that
for a time it has silenced even the cry of the heart for God. Some there
are who are so busy, they tell us, that they have no time for prayer;
and after all, they ask, Is not honest work the highest kind of prayer?
And some there are who have ceased to pray, because they have been
disappointed, because nothing seemed to come of their prayers. They
asked but they did not receive, they sought but they did not find, they
knocked but no door was opened to them; there was neither voice, nor any
to answer, nor any that regarded; and now they ask, they seek, they
knock no more. And some of us there are who do not pray because, as one
of the psalmists says, our soul "cleaveth unto the dust." The things of
God, the things of the soul, the things of eternity--what Paul calls
"the things that are above"--are of no concern to us; we have sold
ourselves to work, to think, to live, for the things of the earth and
the dust.
Nevertheless, be the cause of our prayerlessness what it may, Christ's
word remains true. Man made in the image of God ought always to pray and
not to faint. And even more than by His words does Christ by His example
prompt us to prayer. Turn, _e.g._, to the third Gospel. All the
Evangelists show us Jesus at prayer; but it is to Luke that we owe
almost all our pictures of the kneeling Christ. Let us glance at them as
they pass in quick succession before our eyes:
"Jesus having been baptized, and praying, the heaven was opened" (iii.
21).
"He withdrew Himself in the deserts, and prayed" (v. 16).
"It came to pass in these days, that He went out into the mountain to
pray; and He continued all night in prayer to God". (vi. 12).
"It came to pass, as He was praying alone, the disciples were with Him"
(ix. 18).
"It came to pass about eight days after these sayings, He took with Him
Peter and John and James and went up into the mountain to pray. And as
He was praying the fashion of His countenance was altered, and His
raiment became white and dazzling" (ix. 28, 29).
"It came to pass, as He was praying in a certain place, that when He
ceased, one of the disciples said unto Him, Lord, teach us to pray, even
as John also taught his disciples" (xi. 1).
"Simon, Simon, behold, Satan asked to have you, that he might sift you
as wheat; but I made supplication for thee, that thy faith fail not"
(xxii. 32).
"And He kneeled down and prayed, saying, Father, if Thou be willing,
remove this cup from Me: nevertheless not My will, but Thine be done....
And being in an agony He prayed more earnestly, and His sweat became as
it were great drops of blood falling down upon the ground" (xxii. 41,
44).
"And Jesus said, Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do"
(xxiii. 34).
And if thus He, the Redeemer, prayed, how much greater need have we, the
redeemed, always to pray and not to faint?
"But we are so busy, we have no time." Then let us look at another
picture. This time it is Mark who is the painter. He has chosen as his
subject our Lord's first Sabbath in Capernaum. The day begins with
teaching: "He entered into the synagogue and taught." After teaching
comes healing: "There was in their synagogue a man with an unclean
spirit;" him, straightway, Jesus healed. Then, "straightway, when they
were come out of the synagogue, they came into the house of Simon and
Andrew, with James and John. Now Simon's wife's mother lay sick of a
fever, and straightway they tell Him of her; and He came and took her by
the hand, and raised her up." So the day wore on toward evening and
sunset, when "they brought unto Him all that were sick, and them that
were possessed with devils. And all the city was gathered together at
the door. And He healed many that were sick with divers diseases and
cast out many devils." So closed at last the long day's busy toil. "_And
in the morning, a great while before day, He rose up and went out and
departed into a desert place, and there prayed_;" as if just because He
was so much with men the more did He need to be with God. _Laborare est
orare_, we say, "work is prayer." And, undoubtedly, "work may be
prayer"; but we are deceiving ourselves and hurting our own souls, if we
think that work can take the place of prayer. And if there is one lesson
that these earthly years of the Son of Man--busy as they were prayerful,
prayerful as they were busy--can teach us, it is surely this, that just
because our activities are so abounding, the more need have we to make a
space around the soul wherein it may be able to think, and pray, and
aspire.
One of the best-known pictures of the last half century is Millet's
"Angelus." The scene is a potato-field, in the midst of which, and
occupying the foreground of the picture, are two figures, a young man
and a young woman. Against the distant sky-line is the steeple of a
church. It is the evening hour, and as the bell rings which calls the
villagers to worship, the workers in the field lay aside the implements
of their toil, and with folded hands and bowed heads, stand for a moment
in silent prayer. It is a picture of what every life should be, of what
every life must be, which has taken as its pattern the Perfect Life in
which work and prayer are blent like bells of sweet accord.