As I finished up in the bathroom the other day, it dawned on me. What is prayer to me? As a young boy, I remember eagerly praying for a new bicycle, or whatever. I also remember sitting in a quiet room for long periods of time desperately hoping for God to speak to me. Naturally, my prayers, whatever they happened to be, were never answered (in the way that I had hoped), and God never did speak to me (even though I was probably expecting a deep voice coming down from the heaven’s much like Bill Cosby’s “Noah” bit).
In any case, over the years, such results may have warped my perception of prayer and the reason for it. Maybe the prayer will be answered, maybe it won’t. If it is, I’ll be thankful for it, but if it isn’t?–Well, I never put much stock in it to begin with.
These thoughts were exacerbated when I attended a Bible study for the first time last night that was unlike any I had been to for many years. The first half an hour was spent taking prayer requests and then laying hands on each person with a request and praying for them individually. I’m talking the, open, feel guilty if you don’t take a turn, prayer. I’m not a fan. I never have been. I’ll probably keep going to the study because the emphasis contrasts the Lutheran studies that I’ve become accustomed to and I like to get different perspectives on things. I just wish we could cut the amount of prayer in half, if not down to a quarter.
Absolutely Andrew 
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