Loser Prays

We've all been there. Church is over, and everybody's going out to lunch. As soon as the last person gets their food, everyone looks around expectantly knowing it's time to ask the blessing. Instantly, thumbs start showing up all over the table until the person who couldn't quite get their hands up in time says, "Ok, I'll do it." Loser prays.

Friends, I think this is an absolutely disgusting system. Before Christ died, once a year one of the priests had the once in a lifetime opportunity to enter the Holy of Holies, to stand in the most sacred part of the Temple and pray before God's earthly throne. Can you imagine if these priests decided who would have that chance every year by playing paper-rock-scissors? "Sorry, Ezra, rock beats scissors; it looks like it's your year."

Praying is one of the highest privileges we have in this life, and we treat it as something unwanted. Look at it this way, imagine you are a father, and you hear your children arguing about who HAS to talk to you? Not even because they did anything wrong, but because you gave them something good, and they realize someone OUGHT to say thank you. We are enamored with the gift but reluctant to the Giver.

Prayer moves the Heart of God. Because of this, prayer is so powerful that I have to imagine that angels wait expectantly to hear every word of prayer that is uttered, because they know that He Who hears them is He who created all things, has authority over all things, and desperately longs to bless those who love and seek Him. "Ask and you shall recieve" is no trite cliche', but the promise of a God Who is unimaginably powerful and unwaveringly faithful.

Brothers and sisters, I am just as guilty as anyone of cheapening prayer and treating it as an obligation, but God LONGS for us. He DELIGHTS in us. He LOVES us with an intensity we can never imagine, and because we have the promised Holy Spirit dwelling within us, we have greater access and intimacy than even the priests in the holiest part of the Temple. Let's honor that love, not like reluctant children, but as children racing to the door shouting "Daddy's home."