[originally Published August 29, 2012]
I've been at the Via Christi Hospital in Wichita, Kansas, spending time with my Dad, who as of today has been inpatient for exactly one month. The details of his case are long and varied and play out like a screenplay I might pitch as "House meets Lemony Snicket." Suffice to say, the man has been sick, and the family is here, and hospital time requires a lot of waiting with moments of hope that start coming closer and closer together as his condition improves.
My father is a deeply spiritual man, a fine example of what I believe a Christian should be. The convictions he holds are strong, but he has always left room for growth as his understanding of Spirit expands, and although he is firm on what he believes, he is receptive to others even if thei beliefs differ from his.
Today, I've wanted to talk to him, and although he is alert and improving, he is far too tired to consider the kind of philosophical questions we normally discuss. So I am forced to come here, to offer up what's on my mind in the hopes that you, dear reader, might have some thoughts of your own.
I notice on Twitter a discussion going on about whether or not prayer "works." One person queried that if prayer "works," why do some airplanes crash and not others? One might assume that on the flights where a plane went down, the occupants were praying right up to the end that God would save them. So why didn't God answer that prayer?
Hard-line Christians might say that God did answer the prayer, and that the answer was no. I've heard a few believers expand on that thought, saying that God has three answers to your prayers--"Yes," "No," and "Not now." A friend of mine actually amended the "three answers" statement in the following way: God never says no to your prayers he only says "Yes," "Not now," or "I've got something better for you." But I feel that this is anthropomorphizing God, projecting human frailties on an all-powerful, all-loving Source of creation (tip of the hat to Dr. Dyer for use of the term "Source"), and by extension, this oversimplifies prayer.
It seems to me that people question whether or not prayer "works" because they want the idea of Spirit to be simple. In the case of some believers, they don't want to think too hard on prayer but rather be given a simple equation that will work every time it's applied. I almost want to compare this conception of prayer to the practice of medicine. If a doctor discovers you have Staph aureus but also learns that it is sensitive to methicillin, he gives you methicillin. For methicillin-sensitive Staph aureus (MSSA), we know methicillin in most cases works. So why can't prayer work the same way? Why can't we place our orders with God like we do at Sonic and have our requests delivered promptly by an angel dressed as a carhop on rollerskates?
Well, there is a new problem with the Sonic analogy--we have to pay for our food. We have to offer currency of a specified amount for the items we ordered, so by projecting our own limited understanding on prayer, we start figuring in a reasonable rate of exchange. How many good deeds do I need to perform in order to get my order filled? This falls apart as well, of course, for we have seen many a person in life that we might define as "good" who endures great suffering, as well as many a "bad" person receiving abundant blessing.
So does prayer "work"? I believe it does. However, I believe we as a society have built up an erroneous idea of what prayer is supposed to be; ergo, we have an equally erroneous idea of how it is supposed to work. We have a great many people who have an agreed-upon definition of prayer that fits it neatly into an if/then proposition: "If I take this action, then I should get this result every time."
Imagine, of you will, an atheist trying to fit two pieces of pipe together.
The Christian says, "You need a tool to tighten that pipe joint."
So the atheist finds a screwdriver and says, "Here's a tool. I will use this to tighten the pipe joint." He soon discovers that you can't tighten the pipe joint with a screwdriver, so he throws it across the room in disgust, bellowing: "I knew it. Tools don't work. I refuse to believe in them."
The Christian then brings a pipe wrench: "Here is the tool you need," he says, and he tightens the pipe joint.
The atheist growls: "So why do tools only work sometimes and not others? These tools you speak of seem rather arbitrary. I can't see how you put your faith in these tools."
Your thoughts?
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