We were talking about prayer at church the other night, and it was an interesting discussion, and I really can’t think of anything more interesting off hand to write about. So, for what it’s worth, and with the usual caveats, here are my thoughts. Actually, a lot of them are C S Lewis’s thoughts (which, apparently, he in turn got from Augustine. Read “The Efficacy of Prayer” in “Fernseeds and Elephants”, and “Letters to Malcolm: Chiefly on Prayer” to get the unadulterated Lewis.)
The basic point of our discussion was: does prayer work? One of the guys had an awful story about his time in Bible College where one of the students (I think) suddenly developed bowel cancer. The whole college rallied around to pray, because, after all, if two or three are gathered together in Jesus name and request anything, it will be done (Matt 18:19-20, and similar). As you can probably guess from this story, the student died, and it caused a lot of doubt for people.

My friend then said that (presumably as a result of this and similar experiences), he didn’t think that prayer had any sort of effect, except on his own mood, that he had thought about it, and was not to be convinced otherwise.

And I thought… well, a couple of things.
One part of me sympathised with the group member who said: that is the biggest copout I have ever heard in my life. Though I probably wouldn’t have said it quite so aggressively (though perhaps that just makes me passive-agressive or a coward)

A large part of me sympathised. I have had prayers which didn’t work, none so dramatic, or, perhaps so traumatic. A lot of me feels more comfortable with just giving up the whole fraught endeavour. No chance of disappointment there! And, in a way, it is easier to think that than to think… well, what, exactly? That God was refusing my requests? But…. but… but….

So. Here I am, thinking about it. What, exactly, do I think about it? Does prayer work?

First stage: philosophically I believe that God could, in principle, work miracles. I will probably write more on that sort of topic another time, but for the moment let it rest with the thought that I am satisfied that modern science and philosophy are entirely consonant with God working miracles, for his own purposes.

I think that miracle is central to Christianity: what on earth could God becoming man be other than a miracle to make all secondary miracles (turning water into wine, healing stuff, and so on) into pretty small beer beside it? And the resurrection – if you believe in it, it was a pretty amazing miracle (to damn it with faint praise). If you don’t believe in it… well, I perhaps might address that somewhere else. I believe in it, and I consider it fundamental to orthodox Christianity.

So: given that God can work miracles: does he in fact do so on request? Make no mistake: this is what we are talking about. A miracle is God intervening in the natural order, to make something come to pass which would not otherwise have done so. Intercessory prayer is by definition a request for a miracle – God’s intervention.
Which is where the first problem with the question comes: how on earth could you possibly prove that a prayer had “worked”? After all, of every thing which you pray for and it comes to pass, you could say “it would have happened anyway” – including the seemingly miraculous.

Prayer is, if it is anything at all, a request. It isn’t magic – that somehow we have this unseen power which prayer somehow brings to the fore (I know some people do seem to say something like this, to which I say: well, that isn’t prayer in the Christian sense of the word.) The corollery to that is that it is within the power of God to grant or withhold requests, for reasons which are clear to an infinite wisdom, but not so clear to us.

There is a certain tendancy at the moment to try to set up experiments (which is, on reflection, rather odd: surely Thou Shalt Not Experiment on the Lord thy God, if not actually literally one of the commandments is an obvious consequence of the first commandment?) One recently completed showed no difference in results in different patient groups where one had been prayed for and the other had not. To which one might be tempted to say “D’oh!” if it wasn’t for the seriousness of the outcome (they were, I believe, cardiac patients.)
This leads me on to a point which isn’t rationally central, but emotionally it is important. It is hard (sometimes very hard. Sometimes faith-destroyingly hard) to think that God has rejected our request. When you’ve poured out your heart to someone about some apalling tragedy which you have earnestly prayed about, and has not happened (you are still infertile after years of trying, you are still unemployed, your best friend has died) and that person replies with “well I guess that means God said no. He didn’t fail to answer at all,” you are left with a deep desire to do physical harm to that person.

Given that sometimes it isn’t about trotting out the neat answer of “God says No” – like that character in Little Britain who was always saying “Computer says no” – and given that there is a time and a place for discussing the theological ramifications of refusal, and a time for listening sympathetically, we are still left with what it means for prayers not being granted.

Why, we want to know? Why was this particular prayer not granted? This particular, specific, perfectly reasonable prayer. I’m not praying to win the lottery or something – I’m praying for something godly for myself, or healing for a friend.

This brings me back to my earlier point about how we would know whether something was an answer to prayer or not. It’s about the relationship. Only as we get to know God better, as we build our trust in him. It is only through relationship that healing can come. Part of the pain is feeling rejected by God – why have I been singled out for this punishment? Only through developing our relationship can healing come. Not primarily an intellectual answer – but it’s not primarily an intellectual question. Rather, it’s a cry of pain from the heart.

The last word on this from Lewis. He quotes an experienced Christian who said that striking answers to prayer come early in the Christian walk. As the Christian walk proceeds, answers are rarer, refusals more emphatic.

“If we were stronger, we might be less tenderly treated. If we were braver, we might be sent, with far less help, to defend far more desperate posts in the great battle.” (Lewis, “Efficacy of Prayer “)

More on this, perhaps, later