They say there are no stupid questions, but a lot of people who have spent time in front of a classroom might dispute that assertion.  Even if there aren’t any stupid questions, there are bad questions, by which I mean questions that just don’t get you anywhere.

A classic bad question is whether prayer “works.” 

If by “works” you mean, does it have an effect, then even the most skeptical scientific inquiry can tell you of the physiological and psychological effects of prayer and meditation on the one doing the praying.  There are even some studies that suggest the one being prayed for also feels some positive effects from the prayers of others (although these studies are highly disputed).

But what we commonly mean by “works” is not whether we feel better for having prayed.  We mean, ‘does it accomplish its intended end?’  We mean to ask whether prayer influences God or the course of history or the course of our own lives.

The Bible suggests that prayer may indeed influence God and history and even upend what we normally think of as the laws of nature.  But the Bible doesn’t really teach that prayer “works.”

When we say something works, we mean it has instrumental value.  It accomplishes a task.  It yields to our will.  My car works; it starts when I turn the key on my old jalopy.  My computer works.  It records my keystrokes and does something magical that allows me to send these missives to your email inbox.

This is not how prayer works.  Prayer is not a means of submitting work orders to God or wishes to a genie who owes us a favor.

Prayer is not instrumental, but it does work in the way that conversations do – to deepen relationships and to reveal ourselves to one another and even to oneself.

In the Old Testament lesson for Sunday, the people of Israel are in the middle of the Sinai desert, keenly aware of some very real needs — like food and water.  If you know the story, then you know that God does provide these needs for the people as they wander, but in this conversation with Moses, God doesn’t promise provision.  God doesn’t promise safety.  God doesn’t promise success in traversing the wilderness into the promised land. 

This is what God promises: “My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.”

As you read this, you may be in the wilderness.  You may have some very real needs.  Someone is out of work; a heart is breaking with grief; another is desperately ill; this one is depressed and that one is wandering and lost.  In the depth of our needs, we think it would be nice if our prayers for these folks (and us) worked the way a well-functioning machine works.

But that’s not how prayer works.

This is how prayer works: it awakens us to God whose presence goes with us, who gives us rest.

Prayer: Remind me again that you’re with me, that you are the safe place where I can rest in the midst of the storm.