Prayer in a World Gone Mad

The title of this address is “Prayer in a World Gone Mad.”¹ How do you pray—why do you pray—when the world seems so determined to be godless and unjust? I am reminded of the story of when our courteous Lord decides to reveal to Abraham his intentions about punishing Sodom and Gomorrah, the cities of the plain—so utterly notorious for their sinfulness and unrighteousness, in Genesis 18. The part I want to refer to is Abraham’s decision to be so forward as to intercede for the possible reprieve for sinful Sodom and Gomorrah. Abraham says, “Would the righteous Lord condemn and destroy guilty and innocent alike? Supposing there are fifty innocent. Would they also be destroyed?” And the Lord says no. If there are fifty, then not only they, but the entire cities will be spared. And so, as you know, Abraham goes on whittling the number until God says the cities will be spared if only even ten good people are found in them. As it turned out, it appears that they were lacking ten good people, for the cities were utterly destroyed. But isn’t that a lovely story? That the many will depend on the few for their salvation—the principle of vicariousness. Abraham demonstrated it to some extent since he stepped into the breach to plead for the cities, presuming on his own special relationship with God, using it, not for his own aggrandizement, not for his own benefit, but for the sake of others.

The Principle of Vicariousness

I have been intrigued to see this principle of vicariousness at work in several of the stories told about our Lord’s ministry. You remember quite early on in his ministry as described in the Synoptic Gospels, there is the story of the friends who are quite determined to bring their paralyzed companion to Jesus (Mark 2:1–12). And they are not deterred by the large crowd that blocked their access to the Teacher and Healer. Their ingenuity knows no bounds. And so they open the roof and let down their friend, who lands just in front of Jesus. Now the interesting point is that the Evangelist records that when our Lord saw their faith, not the faith of the patient, he uttered the words of healing—which upset some of the religious leaders, since he claimed to forgive the patient’s sins. The point, though, is that the patient to all intents and purposes is passive until he is healed and then takes up his bed to carry it back home. The crucial and indispensable factor of faith that makes the healing possible is not the patient’s but that of his friends.

Again we see the same principle at work in the story of the healing of the nobleman’s son in the fourth gospel (John 4:46–54). The crucial factor of faith is again not provided by the patient, who is a great distance away from our Lord, but it is something that is provided by the Father. The patient does not even appear physically on the scene. The Father hears that his son is well, and that the miracle of healing happened when he, the father, believed the words that Jesus uttered—that his son would, in fact, be well. You recall another similar kind of story, after the Transfiguration when Jesus and the three disciples descend the mountain and Jesus is accosted by the father of the boy who had a demon in him (Mark 9:14–29). And again, it is the father who makes that extraordinary cry from the heart, “I believe, help thou my unbelief!” It isn’t the patient who is to be healed who provides this indispensable factor that Jesus seems to require in order to carry out the miracle of healing. Perhaps one should mention just a last example. Of course we can say in the raising from the dead of Lazarus and of the daughter of Jairus, the patient was not in a position to express faith. They were otherwise engaged. But it does not undermine the argument we are putting forth that someone other than the immediate beneficiary provides the faith that wins the benefit through the principle of vicariousness.

It seems that we have encountered an important principle to be found at the heart of the gospel. That the many will be saved as a result of the holiness, of the goodness, of the faithfulness of the few. The towns of the plain will be saved if but even ten innocent, righteous people are found in them. And so Jesus is able to say to his disciples, “You are the salt.” Not the entire meal—that would be too salty, and spoil it. No, just enough to help preserve it from going bad and to give it its taste, its flavor. They are the leaven, not the entire lump, just enough to help the dough to rise.

Prayer—Our Human Purpose

So here we are, those who are created for God. As St. Augustine put it, “Thou hast made us for Thyself, and our hearts are restless until they find their rest in Thee.” We are created by God, like God, but ultimately for God. To worship and adore God. That is what we exist for. That is our purpose in having been created. But now, quite clearly, not all know this thing—that they have been created to love and worship and adore and serve God. Even we who catch glimpses of the glory and the wonder of this transcendent one do so fitfully. Many go astray. And yet you see God has to be worshipped and adored. And that is our end.

We distort our destiny, we distort our nature if we don’t worship God (or when we seek to worship things less than God), for we are ultimately worshipping creatures. And since there are the many who so frequently miss out on what is the purpose for their existence, there have to be those who must do it for the sake of others. It is really a reflection of the nature of the work of our Lord. Paul says some extraordinary things about this Jesus. He says Christ was innocent of sin yet for our sake God made him one with human sinfulness so that in him we might be made one with the righteousness of God. Almost as a giveaway, he’s talking about a collection for the saints, and then almost as something that just comes at that moment, because you know the generosity of our Lord Jesus Christ. He was rich, yet for our sake became poor so that we through his poverty might then become rich. And so there are those who do not, the many who do not worship, who do not adore God, and this is that for which they were created. And so there have to be those, who, for their sake, worship and adore God.

When I was a student at theological college, one day Father Hugh Bishop, who was at that time superior of the Community of the Resurrection, gave a devotional address which remained indelibly impressed on me. I was very impressionable then. But he was speaking about the Society of the Precious Blood, which as we know is a contemplative order in England but also they have a house in South Africa. And he said something very striking and odd, “You know, it is this order, and people such as the ones who are educated in and practice the life of prayer who in fact hold the universe together.” Their entire work, their opus, was to bring the world before God in their worship and adoration and intercessions. They are the salt of the earth, the leaven in the lump.

We distort our destiny, we distort our nature if we don’t worship God (or when we seek to worship things less than God), for we are ultimately worshipping creatures. And since there are the many who so frequently miss out on what is the purpose for their existence, there have to be those who must do it for the sake of others. It is really a reflection of the nature of the work of our Lord. Paul says some extraordinary things about this Jesus. He says Christ was innocent of sin yet for our sake God made him one with human sinfulness so that in him we might be made one with the righteousness of God. Almost as a giveaway, he’s talking about a collection for the saints, and then almost as something that just comes at that moment, because you know the generosity of our Lord Jesus Christ. He was rich, yet for our sake became poor so that we through his poverty might then become rich. And so there are those who do not, the many who do not worship, who do not adore God, and this is that for which they were created. And so there have to be those, who, for their sake, worship and adore God.

When I was a student at theological college, one day Father Hugh Bishop, who was at that time superior of the Community of the Resurrection, gave a devotional address which remained indelibly impressed on me. I was very impressionable then. But he was speaking about the Society of the Precious Blood, which as we know is a contemplative order in England but also they have a house in South Africa. And he said something very striking and odd, “You know, it is this order, and people such as the ones who are educated in and practice the life of prayer who in fact hold the universe together.” Their entire work, their opus, was to bring the world before God in their worship and adoration and intercessions. They are the salt of the earth, the leaven in the lump.

Let me tell you a little story of mine. It’s the story of Lightbulb. Lightbulb shone and shone and shone, accepting the attention of the world. And Lightbulb was quite full of himself, because Lightbulb thought he was the source of his light. And then one day, somebody unscrewed Lightbulb and put Lightbulb on the table. And Lightbulb went black and cold. And try as hard as Lightbulb could, Lightbulb remained black and cold. Lightbulb had forgotten that Lightbulb was able to shine so brilliantly because Lightbulb was connected to the electricity by wires hidden away in the ceiling, totally out of sight. But without those wires Lightbulb was disconnected from the electricity. And Lightbulb remained cold and black.

Sometimes like ourselves, when we appear on television and in newspaper articles and everyone is singing our praises, how frequently we can get like Lightbulb. We are like that sometimes, shining as brilliantly as we do, but only because somewhere unseen there are those incredible faithful ones whose worship and prayer connects us to God’s electricity. And we may be spectacular in the view of the world, yet only because of those incredible people of prayer hidden away from view. A few years ago I was at General Seminary in New York, and I met up with an anchoress,² and I asked her to tell me a little bit about her life. She said, “I live in the woods in California. My day starts at two in the morning, and I pray for you.” And I thought to myself, “Here I am being prayed for at two in the morning in the woods in California by this faithful woman every day. What chance does the South African government have?” Well of course now we’ve seen what chance they had. None at all! For they have bitten the dust completely. Thanks again to those anonymous ones of faith, in a sense, those living this hidden life, of silence, of worship, of adoration, on behalf of others, who prevent the world from going completely mad. Remember it only would have taken ten to save two cities.

God’s Generous Response—God’s Nature

Remember that beautiful line in Psalm 81, “Open wide your mouth and I will fill it” (Psalm 81:10b). How God is forever waiting to expend God’s incredible bounty on us. If we can but believe and live a life of adoration, of worship, of penitence, of thanksgiving, of supplication, of intercession, bearing before the throne of grace all of God’s world, especially that part of God’s world that is hurting so much. To bring it within the range of the grace—a grace that will not let us go. Why we exist is because God loved us, and so God created us. Isn’t that a wonderful thing that God says to Jeremiah, “Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you” (Jeremiah 1:5)? Oh, God, do you know anything about human biology? I mean, how can you know someone before they have been conceived? God says, “Uh-uh.” I want you to know, Jeremiah, you are not an afterthought. Jeremiah, you are not an accident. And God says that to each one of us. You are not an afterthought. You are part of the divine plan from eternity. You’re not an accident. Ephesians begins with a glorious, glorious beatitude: “Blessed is the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ .  .  . who chose us to be God’s children in Jesus Christ before the foundation of the world (Ephesians 1:3–4). Before the foundation of the world. And so people of prayer are there for the sake of others, worshipping and adoring, supplicating, being contrite and penitent, holy, praying, interceding for the world. While mindful and caring for themselves, they are still and quiet for the sake of the world.

Yet how frequently brazen we often are in our sinfulness. Completely unaware of how to stand in the presence of the Lord high and lifted up. We are to be crying out like Isaiah, “Woe is me, I am undone. For I am a man of unclean lips and dwell among a people of unclean lips, but I have seen the Lord high and lifted up” (Isaiah 6:5). But we ought to be those who are constantly weakened over our sinfulness. Filled with contrition and penitence. And we aren’t. We need those who, for the sake of others, on behalf of others, will be the ones who are the penitents. Those who weep over the ghastliness of this world. Weep over the awful, awful things that God’s children do to God’s children in Congo, in Sierra Leone, in Sri Lanka, in the Middle East. Knowing the awful things that we are able to accomplish, the extent to which we are capable of evil, there have to be those who are constantly weeping on behalf of the brazen and the hardened who don’t think that they need to say they’re sorry. Those who have no sense that they belong in God’s family. That they are not a mistake.

Why Pray?

So why do we pray in a world gone mad? Because our prayers for others may vicariously raise them to new life, bring them into the family of God, bring them to contrition and repentance. Because our faithful prayers can change the world. How do we pray in a world gone mad? With persistence, confidence and joy, humility and repentance—knowing that the God who created us and our world has a soft spot for sinners, so much that heaven rejoices over the one who is found more than the ninety-nine who were never lost. May we pray for a world gone mad, one lost soul at a time. Might heaven rejoice in the effects of our prayers. Amen.

ENDNOTES
1. This address was originally delivered to the Order of Julian of Norwich annual community retreat. The Order of Julian is a contemplative order within the Episcopal Church. Archbishop Tutu is an Oblate of the Order, and the integrator of this issue of Theology, News & Notes is an Associate of the Order. This address is published here for the first time.
2. An anchoress is a woman who lives in semi-solitude, dedicating herself to a life of adoration, prayer, contemplation, and spiritual direction.

 

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This article was published in Theology, News & Notes, Fall 2009, “Winds of the Spirit: Traditions of Christian Spirituality.”