Forgetting how to pray

Something happened to my prayers. They stopped being prayer-like.

Growing up, I learned a formula for prayer:

First, start with an address: “Dear God” or “Father in Heaven.”

Next, praise God: “You are so good. You are so very great.”

Thanksgiving: “Thank you for this day and all the blessings in it.”

Get my sins out of the way before asking for things: “Please forgive my sins and help me to do better.”

Petition: “Please help Grandmama get well soon. And please help me get a good grade on the chemistry test.”

Throw in some added praise for good measure: “You are so very, very great.”

Humbly: “Not my will, but your will be done.”

Name drop: “In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

This formula served me well from around kindergarten until sometime in my early 30s. I sometimes still use it when praying in public or when I’m with my three-year old.

When I’m alone, however, “the formula” is gathering dust up on the top shelf with my King James Version Bible.

Oh, I’m fond of the formula. It served me very well in my teens and 20s. It is no exaggeration to say that I devoted up to three hours per day to prayer back in that period of my life. I meticulously recorded my petitions and thanksgivings–and even my sins–in dozens of notebooks. I look back on those days–and the formula–with lovely nostalgia.

Somewhere in my 30s, however, the formula stopped being natural to me. It stopped feeling right. It started to feel like treating a friend of 30 years like I’d only known him for 30 minutes. It’s not like I woke up one day and decided to not use the formula anymore. It just stopped being how I pray.

Why am I writing about this today?

Because today, I want to use that formula and I want it to work. I want cause/effect, formula/favor, do this/get this. That’s what I grew up believing the formula would do for me if I could use it just right.

The reasons I want to use the formula today are the same reasons I abandoned it in the first place. I correctly came to believe the point of prayer is not to get stuff; it’s to practice the presence of God. I rightly came to believe that prayer is not for talking to God; it’s for listening to God. I took Jesus Christ at his word when he said God already knows what we need before we ask him. And how many times did I ask God for things that I didn’t really need (but wanted just the same)? How many times did I beg God for things that weren’t good for me? Weren’t right for me? If God knows what I need and knows what I want, why do I need to ask? Why not be content to simply be in the presence of God? Every morning, I sing to my son: “‘The Lord is my portion,’ says my soul/Therefore I will hope in him.”

The Lord is my portion. What can I add to that? What more can I ask?

So my prayers are contemplative now. In prayer, I simply practice the presence of God. I try to notice God in my surroundings and in the stirrings within me as I read Scripture or write down his blessings each morning.

I don’t ask for things anymore as much as I set them before the Lord like offerings on the altar. For example, I might bring a name or situation to the Lord. I do nothing more than speak or write it. I leave it on the altar.

I’d like to think this is an act of faith, an expression of total trust in God. Who knows better than God what to do with what is crucial? What is precious?

The prayer is simply: “Closer to thee, O Lord, closer to thee.”

But then again…

The Christ did teach: “Ask, seek, knock.”

He did promise: “I will do whatever you ask in my name.”

He wouldn’t say those things if he didn’t mean them, right?

So why do I feel so uncomfortable asking?

Is it because I’m so faithful, so trusting? Is it because I love God so much I just want to give and give instead of take? Is it because I reached spiritual illumination?

No.

It’s because I’m old enough to have asked many times and just as many times not received. It’s because asking casts a shadow of doubt on God. It reminds me that I am of “little faith.” It sets me up for enormous disappointment and a loss of hope. It makes me question the very existence of God and the promises of Jesus Christ.

Today, I’ll be asking and confessing at the same time. I’ll ask as if I believe and confess that I really don’t. And throw the whole incredible mess of myself on the grace and mercy of God. What else can I do?

O Lord, lend me your faith today to ask as you ask. I don’t have much faith myself. If I’m going to pray the way you taught us to pray, I’m going to need to borrow your faith. God, act as if my feeble prayer is your Christ’s powerful prayer. And as you promised to do anything for him, do it for me because you’re acting as if it’s him asking. It sounds ridiculous to say it, but I do believe! Help my unbelief!