Feature

The Anatomy of Prayer

A delicate divine mechanism

Kenneth Crawford
Share
Comments
The Anatomy of Prayer
Photo by Samuel Martins on Unsplash

Early in the morning I stop at the kitchen, drink my two large glasses of water, put several pieces of wood on the embers of last night’s fire, and then settle down in my chair for a time of devotions.

It is a strange ritual. The world is still at slumber; even the birds are yet silent. In the distance I hear a faint crow of the rooster. “Must be on daylight saving time,” I muse. 

But I am here to meet with God. I have concluded, over the years, that it really doesn’t matter most what rituals or forms I use, what books I start with—it is all a part of waiting at the gates of the divine temple for an audience with my Creator. 

This is the deep mystery of prayer, for there is a delicate divine mechanism at work here that I cannot interpret. A process from heaven that I cannot explain. 

The busy day lies waiting, things to be done, people to meet, a thousand different wheels all turning to move life along the path of productivity to some unsearchable accomplishment. Yet I sit in quietness, waiting, listening, attentive to the echo from the throne, a whisper from the heart of God, a sense of the presence of the Spirit of God within me.  

It is in the quietness of those moments that conversation begins to flow from within my soul, and slowly, attentively, I pour out my heart to God. The burdens of my spirit, the sorrow that crushes me, the perplexity of relationships—all flow out together.

Then there are my own inadequacies, my sense of sorrow for things done in haste or left undone. Regret comes in as a groan rather than a song; confession is always difficult yet cleansing and ends in gratitude. The song restored with overwhelming gratitude. “Why me, God? How is it that You could call one like me?”

Finally, the natural flow of the heart moves toward listening. “I am finished, Lord. If there is anything You would like to tell me, I am now open.” 

Waiting for a response from God should receive at least equal time to all other conversation with God. Now, while there is silence in the soul, He speaks to your heart and mine.

Sometimes it is only the sense of peace that we recognize—the realization that He hears, He receives, He understands, and He loves. At other times it is the sense that the High Priest of our souls has received our feeble attempts at worship, and our prayer is heard, accepted, and answered in His name. 

So, in the end, the river of my audience with God rushes over narrow chasms, tumbles over rocks and ebbs and flows, swirls and eddies, until finally it comes to rest in the deep waters of peace. 

Here is the great mystery of prayer. Our prayers are so feeble, the outreachings of our hearts are so inarticulate, even often so selfish. Yet one of the miracles of conversation with God is that the Holy Spirit understands not our feeble attempts to express what we ought, but the intent of our heart. The Holy Spirit intercedes for us, and God accepts the intent of the deep longings of our soul.

As Paul writes in Romans 8:26, 27: “The Spirit also helps in our weaknesses. For we do not know what we should pray for as we ought, but the Spirit Himself makes intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered. Now He who searches the hearts knows what the mind of the Spirit is, because He makes intercession for the saints according to the will of God.”

Oh, the amazing miracle of that hour with God. An hour of waiting transforms the day into one of anticipation, waiting upon God to carry us through the storms of life, safe in the palm of His hand.

As Lettie B. Cowman puts it in her work Streams in the Desert

“Submission to the divine will is the softest pillow on which to recline.

It fills the room, it fills my life, with the glory of source unseen,

It made me calm in the midst of strife, and in the winter my heart was green.

And the birds of promise sang on the tree when the storm was breaking on land.”*

* L. B. Cowman, “Streams in the Desert,” https://www.crosswalk.com/devotionals/desert/streams-in-the-desert-november-4th.html.

Kenneth Crawford

Kenneth Crawford is the former president of the Alaska Conference of Seventh-day Adventists and now enjoys retirement in College Place, Washington, with his wife, Colleen.

Advertisement