Teach Us to Pray

Prayer and petition in the life of King David

At the beginning of each month, I offer a biblical reflection to paid subscribers. But because this is a month of celebration, this month’s reflection (on the prayer of David found in 2 Samuel 7:18-29) is going to the entire community here at A Habit Called Faith. (I promise the biblical part is coming below, but fair warning, there is a bit of preamble.) Also, don’t forget that there are other free offerings this month for the entire community, including the interviews I’ve previously done with Uche Anizor, Lucy S.R. Austen (Elisabeth Elliot biographer), Andi Ashworth and Charlie Peacock. See last week’s letter for links!

One of the earliest questions for Teach Us to Want was whether the book was exploring prayer or desire. My friend and IVP author Chris Smith had introduced me to Dave Zimmerman, then an editor at InterVarsity Press, and Dave and I had some initial email conversations about this question, before my book proposal was complete. Dave’s initial instinct was to position the book as a book about the Lord’s Prayer, as this is the central scaffolding of the book. But when he mentioned to Cindy Bunch, the Editorial Director, that he might be proposing a book on the Lord’s Prayer at pub board, she groaned. Not another book on the Lord’s Prayer. That sealed the deal that this would be a book about desire, not about prayer.

Truthfully, I can’t see any way of speaking about desire in the Christian life apart from the context of prayer—and prayer apart from the admission of desire. To pray, in the Christian life, is to want in the presence of God. It’s to know that God is the giver of all good things. It is also to know that we can want things that are not for our good. There is no wanting hidden from God, and there is no wanting that can be fruitful unless it’s submitted to God.

Prayer is the place where desire finds holy, surrendered expression in the Christian life.

I wanted a book that navigated the nuances of holy, human desire, and early in the writing of the book, I remember hearing Ben Joliffe preach a sermon when he was still an intern at Grace Toronto Church. It was a sermon examining the first petition of the Lord’s Prayer: Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be your name.

Our Father, Ben said, suggests that we can submit all of our desires to God, trusting his goodness, his wisdom, and his steadfast love and faithfulness. He will hear us and work for our good because a good father can only give good gifts to his children (cf. Matt. 7:11). However, this knowledge of God’s goodness was, Ben said, paired with a knowledge of God’s kingly purposes. He was bringing his rule on the earth—not just saying yes to our pet comforts and conveniences. This cautioned us to have a sane perspective of prayer and its purposes, that it wasn’t meant to give us license to want winning lottery tickets but to seek to be conformed to God’s own wanting.

Jesus’ disciples asked God to teach them to pray (and as I would argue, teach them to want) because they knew the many ways they might get it wrong. Jesus gave them a brief text, a short prayer that modeled for them the wanting that is both human and holy. Many passages in the Old Testament also do this very thing, giving us the words that were prayed both privately and publicly on different occasions. Each of these texts opens a window into both praying and wanting (though most aren’t as concise as the Lord’s Prayer).

I read just such a text recently in my Bible reading plan: 2 Samuel 7:18-29. (Yes, after abandoning the Old Testament portion of my reading plan for several months, I’ve picked it back up again.) David has just been given the news by the prophet Nathan that though he has desired to build God a temple, God will instead give this task to his son. But God hasn’t simply denied David’s request. He has also made extravagant promises to build up David’s family line and to establish his throne forever. God will build David a house. Nathan gives David this news, and David responds by praying.

He begins, “Who am I, O LORD God, and what is my house, that you have brought me thus far?” (2 Sam. 7:18). David enters prayer with a mindfulness of the specific ways God has shown favor to him and to his family. We don’t know exactly what he’s recalling in his mind, but maybe it’s Goliath’s defeat. Maybe it’s protection from Saul’s murderous rage. Maybe it’s God’s patient working, over the course of many years, to unite both Judah and Israel in favor of his kingship. He’s surely thinking of health and breath, of daily gifts of food and friendship and family and community life. The point is this: David doesn’t come barging into prayer with a wishlist that trails behind him. He comes humbled by God’s goodness to him, and he knows he does not deserve such goodness.

Let the record stand that this is a mature spiritual orientation: when we can look over the landscape of our lives and even in the midst of hardship and suffering, disappointment and grief, continue to see God’s presence and provision and protection. What’s more, it’s a mature spiritual orientation to see our unworthiness of God’s gifts. We know we’ve done nothing to merit them. We know what’s really true about ourselves: that we’re undeserving, even at times distinctly unlovable. This is the gospel, my friends, that God is scattering his blessing wide and far. He loves because he loves, one commentator said. He blesses because he blesses. David knows this, and it brings him to kneeling awe.

Humble gratitude opens David’s prayer—and this is good and right. But it isn’t yet praise. As C.S. Lewis once explained, thanksgiving is offered in proportion to the gifts, but praise is offered in relation to the Giver. And that’s where David turns next: “Therefore you are great, O LORD God. For there is none like you, and there is no God beside you, according to all that we have heard with our ears,” (v. 22). It’s not just that God is good— but God is great. He is supreme over all of creation, incomparable in power and majesty and glory. Remember, of course, that God’s love is what sets God apart, and it’s a love, as David recounts here, that has redeemed an entire nation for himself.

To pray well is to rehearse God’s character and to call to mind the witness to God’s help. How many “problems” of desire and faith get solved here, when we see God as he is, when we see ourselves as we are, when we simply remember how we have been graciously and mercifully carried through the years?

David’s prayer is rooted in thanksgiving, in praise, in memory. But this isn’t all. He asks, too. He brings desire to bear in this audience with God. “May it please you to bless the house of your servant, so that it may continue forever before you,” (2 Samuel 7:29). Yes, in one sense, this is what God has already promised to David through the prophet Nathan. In another, it reminds us that there is nothing but redundancy in prayer: we petition what God has already promised. In fact, God’s promises are the basis of our confidence to pray and petition the One whose name is hallowed.

Let’s not forget that asking is ok. If there is a central theme to Teach Us to Want, it’s this. There’s no harm in asking. There’s no shame in asking. You were made to be loved by God and to turn to God for all of your needs and wants and expectations. Yes, there’s a whole lot of learning we do as we transparently admit to God what we need. Sometimes we find our desires amiss, and we are nudged to confession. But often, it’s desire that brings us into deeper, more honest, more intimate relationship with the God who has numbered the hairs on our head and knows our requests before we name them.

Teach us to pray—and teach us to want. Let our hearts be lifted in gratitude and praise. Let us remember and recount the long record of your faithfulness. And when we ask, help our desires to be rooted in your promises.

Amen.