"A Prayer for Believers"

Dr. George R. Sinclair
Pastor

May 16, 2010

 Think about that expression—“He hasn’t a prayer.” Is prayer a last ditch effort?  When all else fails—pray?

Football coaches do that.  Three seconds remain on the clock.  The coach sends in the fastest guy on the team—some track guy dressed like a football player.  And he tells the quarterback, “Speedy here is going to run as far as he can as fast as he can. And you’re going to throw the ball as far as you can and as high as you can. And Speedy here is going to catch the ball in the End Zone with four DB’s and two linebackers hanging off of his neck and we’re going to win this game.” 

“Right, Coach.”

“Hail Marys” and other desperate acts give the impression that prayer is what we do when we’ve exhausted all resources.  And there’s some truth to that.  “The doctors have done all they can do.  Send for the preacher.” 

Now, I’ve known doctors who pray before they operate.  Some even ask their patients, “Do you mind if I pray with you?”  If you were about to have your chest cut open, would that make you feel better or worse?  Do you want a doctor who prays or one who doesn’t kill you?  Yes, I’m teasing, but not entirely.  “A wing and a prayer,” we say.  If you’re about to have your chest cut open you want more than a “wing” but prayer can’t hurt.

“Wing Prayers” are spoken from “the edge.”  Your 17-year-old has not come home. You don’t know where they are, who they are with, what they are doing. They’re not just a little late. They’re way late. And you’ve called everyone you know to call except the police and you’re not far from calling them.  It’s 3 a.m. and you’re on the edge:  “Lord, bring my son home.  Lord, bring my daughter back. Just let her be alright.” 

Two minutes later your 17-year-old bounds in the living room.  “Where have you’ve been? I’m going to kill you!”

We pray from “the edge” when we reach our limit.  Yes, we also pray when we’re no longer worried but thankful. It’s 3:30 a.m. and you’ve just turned out the light, “God, thank-you for getting my idiot 17-year-old home tonight.” 

All prayers are not desperate.  Some come from the center. In Matthew, Mark and Luke, Jesus was on “the edge” when he prayed in Gethsemane: “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me.”  Luke even says Jesus' sweat became like great drops of blood.  That’s prayer from “the edge.”

John, on the other hand, gives us a different Gethsemane—the whole of chapter seventeen, which is not prayer from “the edge” but prayer from “the center.”  Jesus is in full control: “No one takes my life from me. I lay it down of my own accord.”

In John seventeen, Jesus is no less “earnest” than he is in Matthew, Mark and Luke. And he is just as clear-eyed about what is to happen to him, but unlike the synoptics where Jesus prays from “the edge,” in John, Jesus prays from “the center.”  Jesus is fully in charge: “Take courage; I have conquered the world!” he tells the disciples. And then he prays:  “Father, the hour has come; glorify your Son so that the Son may glorify you, since you have given him authority over all people.” 

From John’s perspective, when Jesus goes to the cross he is very much in command—even in extremis, Jesus is in command. “Authority over all people” has been given to him.  But his is a strange authority. Even at “the center” Jesus rules unlike any other. His “authority over all people” is unlike any we know.

We think of “authority” as power over events or power over others.  If I have authority over you, I can make you do what I want.  Authority is linked to authorship.  Authors may do whatever they please with their works. 

I made a cutting board for the Silent Auction. It was my cutting board. It came out of my shop. It was made from my wood. And I made it using my tools, my skills. When I finished it, it was mine to do with whatever I pleased. I chose to give it away. (Actually, Jarrett Callaway bugged me to death and what else was I going to do?)  Anyway, before giving it away, the cutting board was mine to do with as I pleased.  It was heavy; I could have made a door stop out of it. Had I wanted, I could have chopped it up for firewood.  Authors can do what they want with the things they create. 

Authority, as we understand and exercise it, is underwritten by coercion.  When I have authority I can make you do what I want. You are mine.  I have “enclosed” you.  Coercion restricts freedom. When we coerce, we “shut” others.  We “close” them down.

Authority, as coercion, is not necessarily and always a bad thing.  I’m happy the police caught that guy who shot and killed his wife in west Mobile last week. I’m glad that guy is behind bars. That’s where he belongs. I’m glad we authorize police to coerce people like that.  Husbands who abuse and kill their wives have no business being on the loose. They need to be hemmed up, locked up, put away.  I’m glad the authorities put that guy away.

Right now we’re wishing BP could shut off their broken oil well.  It needs to be coerced—closed up, hemmed in, shut down.   If BP had authority, they could go down and turn a spigot and shut off the flow.  BP had authority when it poked a hole in the ocean floor, but whatever authority it had is now lost. 

We have authority when we are able to make people and things, even leaking oil wells, do what we want, whether they want to or not, which brings me back to Jesus’ prayer, which is a curious prayer about the nature of God’s authority. That prayer begins with an announcement, with a declaration: “Father, the hour has come; glorify your Son so that the son may glorify you, since you have given the Son authority over all people.”

Exactly what kind of “authority over all people” has Jesus been given? What kind of “authority over all people” does Jesus exercise?  It’s certainly not coercive or Jesus wouldn’t be praying. People who coerce don’t need to pray. They just command.  Prayers aren’t commands. They are requests. And exactly what kind of “authority over all people” do you exercise from a cross because a cross is precisely where Jesus will “glorify” the Father?  How do you exercise “authority over all people” from a cross?  This seems to be an odd way for the almighty to exercise authority, but that is precisely what the gospel proclaims.  And it begins in Gethsemane.  In the garden, the almighty humbles himself. He gets on his knees. In Gethsemane, the almighty doesn’t command but asks what may happen, not what must happen or will happen. Jesus prays for what may happen:

 That all who believe in him may be one.

That the Father may be in believers as Jesus and the Father are in each other.

That those to whom the Father gives Jesus may be where he is in order to see his glory.

Jesus has “authority over all people” but it is not coercive.  True enough, the Bible elsewhere implies that the almighty Author can do with his work whatever he pleases: “Has the potter no right over the clay?” Quoting Jeremiah, that was Paul’s puzzling rhetorical question.  But even Paul would agree that while the Potter has “rights” he does not, or may not always or completely, exercise them.  The Author does not make “the clay” love him. Not that the Potter doesn’t desire the creature’s love.  The Author will do almost anything to win our love, that’s gospel—“God so loved . . . that he gave.” But this Author, this Potter does not coerce. God loves us from the “foundation of the world,” but God does not make us love him. God wants us to love him and he wants us to love each other, but he doesn’t make us love him or each other which is why Jesus prays: “May they be one. May they be in us. May they be with me where I am.” 

Jesus prays.  He does not coerce. Jesus wants us to know God’s love, but he does not coerce. He goes to the cross. That’s how Jesus exercises authority. He goes to the cross. He gives himself up. And in giving himself up, “laying down his life on his own accord,” Jesus reveals God’s heart, God’s nature, God’s being. Instead of a “wing and a prayer” Jesus gives “prayer and a cross.” We stand on the “solid rock” of the only Son of God given for the redemption of the world.  That is Jesus “authority over all people.” We live under the authority of the cross.

Last year, on Easter Sunday, 23 year old Brendan Marrocco was on patrol in Iraq when a roadside bomb exploded killing Brendan’s best friend.  The bomb also severed Brendan’s carotid artery and his arms, yes, both arms and his legs, both of them.  Brendan is a quadruple amputee.

When asked why he didn’t bleed to death, Brendan explained that the molten metal that severed his limbs also cauterized them.  “You shouldn’t be here,” a reported observed.  “Are you the luckiest guy on Earth or the unluckiest?

“A little of both I guess,” Brendan said.

“It would be easy to be bitter,” the reporter observed.

“A lot of guys are.”

“You don’t seem to have that in you.”

“I don’t know what it is. I’m very fortunate. God has a plan for my life.”

Where does a gift like Brendan’s come from? You can’t command a gift like that. You can’t order it, buy it, or borrow it.  Where do you get love like that?

“Righteous Father, the world does not know you, but I know you; and these know that you have sent me. I made your name known to them, and I will make it known, so that the love with which you have loved me may be in them, and I in them.” 

Brendan Marrocco is answered prayer. He is a living breathing answer to Jesus’ prayer.  God’s love is “in” Brendan. Brendan has been where Jesus is. He’s seen love from the foundation of the world, love from “the center,” love that cannot be coerced, love from a cross received as gift. “I am very fortunate.”

You can learn a lot from prayers overheard especially one prayed from “the center.”  Jesus does not pray because he is anxious. Jesus does not pray because he’s worried or desperate or because that’s the last thing he knows to do.  Jesus prays because he loves with perfect love.  And perfect love casts out all fear.  Perfect love gives courage so that, even at “the edge,” we live in God’s love.  Amen.