THE FOURTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST
David Hamilton, Pastor Matthew 15:10-28
You never know what you’re going to find in your mailbox. Bills, solicitations, more bills, maybe the occasional economic stimulus check from your government, a few more bills to take care of that check – probably an advertisement or two. One of our members went out to her mailbox one day not too long ago and found an offer from God. Well, maybe not exactly that. But what she found was a letter from a church (not ours) and a square piece of cloth with the instructions that if she said a prayer over the cloth, and sent it back to the church (with a donation, I suppose) that her prayer would be answered. Which led her to ask this week’s sermon question: What’s with that? What would a Lutheran have to say about God working through prayer cloths and things like that that seem to live, shall we say, on the outskirts of reasonability?
Well, it’s not an unheard of practice in some segments of Christianity – the idea that an object from a holy person might carry a special power that could work God’s will, even at a distance. It seems to have its root in a brief little story about the Apostle Paul from the Book of Acts – two verses, in fact, from the nineteenth chapter. It says there, “And God did extraordinary miracles by the hands of Paul, so that handkerchiefs or aprons were carried away from his body to the sick, and diseases left them and the evil spirits came out of them.” It’s a story that seems to have two purposes in being told – it partly explains one of the reasons that the gospel message was received and believed by such great numbers of people as the Apostles went about the Mediterranean world; but it also seems to be a way that Luke, the author of the Book of Acts, wants to highlight Paul’s own power and authority in the early Church.
In fact, this little story is followed by a slightly longer one – one of the more humorous episodes that Luke writes about. It seems that some of the other miracle workers of the area were so impressed by Paul’s power that they began to cast out demons, too. These weren’t themselves Christian believers, but recognizing power when they saw it, and wanting to tap into it for their own financial gain, these other exorcists began to cast out demons by saying, “Begone, demon, in the name of this Jesus, whoever he is, who this Paul fellow is always talking about.” Luke tells about seven sons of a Jewish high priest who tried that second-hand approach, only to have the demon in the possessed man tell them, “I know Jesus, and I know Paul – but who the heck are you guys?” – and then the demon-possessed man overpowered all seven of them, and sent them running from the house, naked and wounded. The moral of that story seems to be that Jesus is not just some name that you can drop for your own purposes, and especially if your purpose is fund-raising.
So my initial response would be one of skepticism, when I hear about prayer cloths being mass-mailed with a subtle, or not so subtle, agenda of raising money for the sender. I’m reminded of Martin Luther’s 95 Theses, written out of concern for a fund-raising effort connected with the promise of the forgiveness of sins. Luther wrote that if the Pope really did have the power to grant forgiveness of sins to those who made a monetary donation by purchasing an indulgence, then the Pope should simply use that power to forgive everybody for free, empty out Purgatory, and not expect anyone to have to make a donation in order to have the Pope pray for their eternal soul.
But then, as I was chatting with some folks about this question a week or two ago, one of them mentioned just finding out recently about the childhood experience of one of their friends, who had been struck down with a serious illness. There was a question whether or not she would survive, and so her parents’ friends and neighbors got together, and prayed over a handkerchief or two, which were then put under the little girl’s pillow. And sure enough, she got well again. What do you think about that?
We certainly claim and believe that prayer makes a difference, and a lot of you here this morning have personal stories to tell where prayer has had a role in healing or in resolving a difficult situation in your life. I would just think that if your friends and fellow Christians are going to pray for you, they really ought to offer to do it for free.
But then the question, as all these questions you’ve been asking this summer seem to do, raise other deeper and more complicated questions of their own – questions which I would call the instrumentality of prayer, and the purpose of prayer.
Instrumentality – here’s what I mean by that. We do, as Lutherans, practice prayer in which physical objects play a role. And I’m not thinking here about our infamous “clipboard prayers,” or the times that we invite you to write down a prayer concern on a piece of paper or on the back of your attendance card. Those are simple communication methods. I’m thinking of things like what we’ll do in just a few moments – invite those who would like to come up for a blessing with a dab of oil, with a touch of a hand. Why not just bless you all where you sit? And of course, we do that, too. But sometimes there’s more involved than that. What would Holy Communion be without bread and wine? Baptism without water? Although the actions and results don’t depend upon the physical part of it, it has long been seen that there is something different when the prayers of our hearts and the thoughts of our minds are connected, are expressed, by the senses of our bodies – touch, taste, smell, sight. Some find prayer more meaningful when they’re focusing their vision on an icon, a picture. Some find it more meaningful when hands are held in community, or even just when those who know us (best) and love us (anyway) have promised to pray for us and for our needs, just because of that relationship we share.
A prayer cloth, or a handkerchief or an apron like in the story from Acts, might very well have some meaning for a person, but especially as it brings into mind a relationship that exists between one person and another; when, in that object of cloth, or bread, or wine, or oil, or water the love of that relationship becomes visible again.
This is what I would say the basic purpose of prayer is, at its heart. Prayer is, first of all and most of all, a relational thing, by which the deep love that God has for us is brought back into our minds and into our lives. Whether it be prayers of intercession for ourselves or for others, or prayers of praise and thanksgiving, or meditative prayers when we sit in silence and just let God’s Spirit surround us, and embrace us, and fill us – prayer is first of all and most of all about a relationship.
Prayer is not about control – and this is where I take a second issue with the notion of sending out prayer cloths with a promise that these particular prayers, said in this particular way, and sent back to some supposedly holier place than our own kitchen table, will be answered better – and by answered, I suspect the implication is that you will get what you asked for. That begins to suggest that prayer is some kind of magic by which we can control God and get the outcomes we desire.
Of course, truth be told, sometimes maybe we do pray with that in mind, superstitiously thinking that if we pray hard enough, or often enough, or with some sacrifice attached, or if a particularly holy person does the praying for us, that we’ll get the results we’re hoping for. Results would be nice (maybe…) but that’s not the primary reason we’re encouraged to pray.
It’s not about controlling God, or controlling outcomes. It’s not about magic or superstition. It’s about opening ourselves up to the presence of the Holy One; it’s about resting and living in the love of that relationship.
It’s about a relationship, between God and us; and then, consequently, about our relationships with one another. Prayer brings us into communion, into community. Look at what happens in the gospel reading we read. This poor Canaanite woman comes to Jesus with a prayer, but the disciples, thinking of her as a stranger to their little band, want Jesus to send her away. And it seems at first like he just might do it. But then she reminds him that she is no stranger to God; that she, too, sits at the Master’s table. And in that prayer, and in Jesus’ joyful response to her faith, her relationship with God is affirmed, and she is drawn into the circle of Jesus’ community.
When we think of prayer as a way to try to get what we want out of God, we turn it into magic – into ritual and incantation. But when we let prayer be what it’s meant to be, then we enter into it with the same joy and anticipation of a visit with our very best friend.
And so a touch of oil and a blessing for health and wholeness; a taste of bread and wine and the promise of forgiveness; the gathered prayers of the community for the needs of the world – there’s nothing magical about any of it. There’s something even better than magic – God waiting for you there, with love enough to provide you with everything you need, for free.
Amen.
