Audio Transcript

When you pray, Jesus said, get by yourself, go into your room, shut the door, “and pray to your Father who is in secret” (Matthew 6:6). Sounds pretty straightforward. So we just pray alone, right? Wrong. We don’t pray only in secret; we pray together — something we see all over the book of Acts, for example (in texts like Acts 2:42; 4:31; 12:12; 13:3; and 20:36, to name a few). So, why do we pray together and not just alone? What’s added when we pray together? And what’s lost when we pray only by ourselves?

In 1981, Pastor John took up this question in a sermon on 2 Corinthians 1:8–11. There, Paul writes this testimony of his agonies:

We do not want you to be unaware, brothers, of the affliction we experienced in Asia. For we were so utterly burdened beyond our strength that we despaired of life itself. Indeed, we felt that we had received the sentence of death. But that was to make us rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead. He delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us. On him we have set our hope that he will deliver us again.

And then Paul makes this request in verse 11, which is a little complex, so listen carefully: “You also must help us by prayer, so that many will give thanks on our behalf for the blessing granted us through the prayers of many.” Here’s Pastor John.

That’s a hard verse. I noticed Glen this morning had trouble reading verse 11, just like I did. He had to stop and make sure he had it just right because it’s a very complex sentence. I had to read verse 11 again and again, and I could not get the gist of verse 11 until I drew it on paper.

Line of Prayer

Now, follow with me the line of prayer. Keep one eye on the text, one eye on the line, and both ears on me.

The line of prayer begins with Paul, and he feels a need. That’s where prayer begins. His need was probably, “Oh, how I need to rely on God more. Oh, how I need to trust God for deliverance from all my adversaries more.” So what does he do? He sends out a line of prayer, “Help me,” horizontally to the Corinthians. “Help me by prayer.” And that’s stage one in the line of prayer.

Then the line of prayer curves up through the heart of the Corinthians as they hear the plea, and they look up to God and pray that God will, in fact, answer their prayers for Paul’s deliverance and for his faith. That’s stage two: the prayers of the Corinthians heading up to God.

Then the line of prayer enters the heart of God, who is there listening, waiting for the prayers of his people. And in response to the prayers of the many Corinthians, God sends down a gift — or a “blessing,” as the text says — to Paul. What blessing? Greater faith in God, greater dependence on him alone, and deliverance from his adversaries. That’s stage three in the line of prayer.

Now, just as many people heard the plea of Paul to help through prayer, so many people now see the answer to the prayers as they look. “Look: Paul got out. He got out of the Philippian jail. He got away from Ephesus. He made it all the way through Berea and Thessalonica. He’s coming down here to us. He’s going to make it all the way to Jerusalem with that money. He may make it to Rome, to the ends of the earth, and preach to the emperor. Praise God!” And that’s line four.

They see the answer to prayer, and that curves up through their heart in praises and thanksgiving, through many people, back to God. And that’s stage five in the line of prayer. And that’s where the text stops.

Spiraling Delight

But I think there is something implied in the text that’s not explicit, that is just a choice truth that I don’t want to leave out. Namely, if Paul chose to motivate the Corinthians to pray for him by pointing out that it would abound in many thanksgivings to God, then it must be a great delight to Paul to think about God getting so many thanks. And if it’s a great delight to Paul to see God being thanked, then that little dotted line that comes down from God is joy coming back into the heart of Paul as he sees God being thanked in response to the answer to many prayers. So that’s stage six that I’ve added.

In fact, I could go on adding stage seven, because God gets delight in Paul’s delight, and Paul gets delight in God’s delight in his delight. It’s just a great spiral on up into infinite joy someday, when there’s no more sin to clutter up that spiral. That’s the line of prayer.

Let me sum it up just briefly. Paul has a great need, and he feels it. He knows he’s coming into adversity. He said in Acts 20:23, “The Holy Spirit testifies to me in every city that imprisonments and afflictions await me.” He needs help. “Help me, Corinthians.”

They hear the word, responding, “God, help Paul.” God looks down, “I hear the prayer. Here’s the help, Paul.” Paul is helped. He’s delivered. He’s free. He’s preaching. He’s full of faith. Who sees it? Lots of people see it. What do they do? Praise God. God has responded to our prayers, and the thanks go back to God, and he’s glorified. That’s the line of prayer. That’s what ought to be happening in this church again and again and again.

Many Prayers, Many Thanks

There are more lessons in this than I can begin to say this morning, but I want to mention two — two lessons from the line of prayer. The first is this. If you’re like me, you’ve probably asked yourself why it is that corporate prayer is important. Why pray in groups? Why pray publicly? Why not just close the door, like Jesus said — we should many times — and pray alone?

Why does Paul not simply pray, “God, save me from the enemies; God, fill me with faith” — and not write letters and tell other people to pray for him? Doesn’t he think God can answer his prayer? Is he lacking in faith? Are we weak in faith when we ask many people to pray for something?

That’s the kind of question I came to this text with, and I think the text gives a tremendous answer to why corporate and public prayer is so important. Why might God be more inclined to answer the prayers of many rather than the prayers of one? That’s my question.

And I think the answer begins like this: according to our text, the thing that’s different when many people pray — notice “the prayers of many” — is that the stage is being set for lots and lots and lots of thanks. The more people that are earnestly praying for some blessing from God, the more thanksgiving will ascend to God when that blessing comes.

Paul’s argument is very simply this: “You must help me by prayer so that many will give thanks when the prayers of many are answered.” The reason for praying at all is so God might be thanked when blessings come, and God loves to be thanked. God loves to be thanked. That’s the basic premise here for why this prayer becomes so effective. He loves to be acknowledged and praised as the giver of all good gifts.

Therefore, when we urge, when I urge you to pray for some need — four hundred people, say — I’m creating a situation in which the provision of that need will result in many, many, many thanksgivings, more than if each of us was praying privately.

“God loves to be thanked by many, and therefore, there is a power in church-wide prayer.”

And therefore, we tap into a tremendous incentive on God’s part, because God loves to glorify himself by doing what he must do to get as many thanks as possible, and that means answering the prayers of many people. God loves to be thanked by many, and therefore, there is a power in church-wide prayer because the more people there are praying for the spiritual life of our church, the more thanksgiving will ascend when God gives it.

Seeking Blessing Together

Now, the same reasoning that comes straight out of 2 Corinthians 1:11 also shows that we should not only pray in large numbers, but that we should get together in groups to pray. I’ll try to show you how that follows.

Picture two possibilities. One would be a dozen people, privately in their homes, praying for the release of Paul, say, from jail in Philippi. They pray. God answers and delivers Paul. They get word of it. They give thanks. God is honored. Great!

But suppose that those dozen or so people met together in a group, in a room, in a living room there in Philippi, just like the saints did in Acts 12 to pray for Peter’s release when he was in jail. Suppose they got together and prayed, and the fervor of each other’s prayer kindled each other’s fervor up to God. God released Paul miraculously through this earthquake, and they hear about it.

“When you and I experience a blessing that we’ve asked for together, your thanksgiving deepens and heightens mine.”

Then what would happen? The praises and the thanks would ascend, and is it not human nature — see if this isn’t true to your own experience — to feel gratitude more intensely when somebody you love is sharing the experience with you? Is that not human nature to feel the joy of gratitude more intensely when someone you love is feeling it together with you?

When you and I experience a blessing that we’ve asked for together, your thanksgiving deepens and heightens my thanksgiving, because it works like this: When the answer comes, I see the blessing coming from God. I see it, and I’m glad. I rejoice. But then I look down, and I see it reflected and magnified in all your faces, and my joy, therefore, is compounded, and my thanksgiving is greater. And God loves heightened and deepened thanksgiving, and therefore, he wants us to meet in groups to pray.

Therefore, we are setting ourselves up for tremendous spiritual blessing in this church when we gather in groups to seek God’s blessing on our church.

Jesus has a popular reputation with many as a gentle, lowly teacher and healer who calls the sick, the shamed, and the sinners to come to him and receive his grace and kindness. And for good reason: Jesus is the most fundamentally kind and gracious person you’ll ever encounter.

But if you come to him only expecting to experience the comforting side of his grace and kindness, you may be in for a shock. Because Jesus is also the most discerning and honest person you’ll ever encounter. And by “honest” I mean that he’s often more honest than you want him to be. He can be ruthlessly honest — to the point that he can sometimes seem cruel, not kind.

Jesus has an unnerving ability to slice through all of your misconceptions, delusions, and self-deceit with a simple phrase that exposes the secret thoughts and intentions of your heart — ones you hardly knew you had. He wields his discernment with the innocence of a dove and the wisdom of a serpent, which can make him unpredictable. Sometimes he can be severe when you expect him to be gracious, and gracious when you expect him to be severe. You often don’t see his exposing statements coming.

So, when you come to Jesus, certainly expect to receive his grace and kindness. But don’t expect them to always feel comforting. Because sometimes his kindness is severe and feels anything but comforting.

Come for Rest or Death?

In the Gospel accounts, Jesus invites people to come to him a number of times. But sometimes, these invitations sound radically different. Let’s examine two of them.

We’re all familiar with the first one, because it’s one of the most well-known, beloved, comforting statements Jesus ever uttered:

Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light. (Matthew 11:28–30)

This invitation explicitly reveals the gentle and lowly Jesus we, for good reason, find so attractive. It aligns with the Jesus of much popular imagination, who bids weary souls to come to him to receive restful, reviving grace.

But the second invitation reveals a different dimension of Jesus’s grace, and it has a very different effect on his hearers:

If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not bear his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple. (Luke 14:26–27)

This invitation doesn’t align so well with Jesus’s comforting reputation. In fact, it sounds more like a dis-invitation. Instead of comforting, we find it disturbing.

If this invitation is disturbing to us who have heard it many times, imagine how offensive and disorienting it would have sounded to his original Jewish audience who heard it from his lips — most of whom thought they really wanted to follow him. They had been taught since childhood to honor their father and mother if they wanted God to bless them with long lives (Exodus 20:12). Now Jesus commanded them to hate their parents (as well as their siblings and children) if they wanted to follow him. And far from promising them a long, blessed earthly life, Jesus required them to embrace a death sentence if they wanted to be his disciples — the worst death sentence imaginable, in fact: Roman crucifixion.

This second invitation is as relevant to us disciples today as the first. So, where is the kindness of Jesus in this severe invitation?

What Jesus Came to Reveal

We could consider many other disorienting words of Jesus. Like when he told us not only to hate those who love us (as in Luke 14:26–27), but also to love those who hate us (Matthew 5:43–45). Or when he told a would-be disciple to sacrifice the needs of his ailing father (Luke 9:59–60). Or when he told another would-be disciple to abruptly leave all those he most dearly loved — and to endure the misunderstanding, hurt, and scorn they would feel for him (Luke 9:61–62).

In order to perceive Jesus’s kindness in his severe, discomforting, disturbing invitations, we need to keep in mind what he is doing through his words and works:

First, Jesus is revealing what God is like in his full triune nature.
Second, Jesus is revealing what we are like in our full fallen nature.

I think it’s accurate to say that Jesus was doing both kinds of revealing in everything he said and did, though some of his words and works reveal more of one than the other. But both revelations are gracious and kind, and both are necessary for his gospel to make sense to us.

What God Is Like

In the teaching and deeds of Jesus that have rightly earned him the reputation as loving, gentle, and forgiving — typified in his beautiful, comforting invitation to the weary and heavy laden (Matthew 11:28–30) — he is revealing God’s fundamental nature: “God is love” (1 John 4:16). The primary reason Jesus came was to reveal this love:

God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. (John 3:16–17)

Jesus came to announce the good news that God — because of the fathomless, merciful love pouring out from the core of his triune being — is offering to every one of his enemies full forgiveness and reconciliation. And Jesus came to accomplish all that was required to make that forgiveness and reconciliation possible by receiving, through his own death in our places, “the wages of sin” we’ve accrued (Romans 6:23). That is what God is like: willing to so love his enemies that he’ll die in our place to make us his children (1 John 3:1).

“When Jesus spoke severely, he did so, ultimately, for kind, gracious, servant-hearted reasons.”

This, above all else, sets Jesus apart from abusive, narcissistic leaders who might use both kind and harsh words to manipulate and deceive people for their own benefit. For he did not come “to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many” (Matthew 20:28). When he spoke severely, he did so, ultimately, for kind, gracious, servant-hearted reasons — one of which was to help us see more clearly our own sinful thoughts, intentions, and idolatrous loves.

What We Are Like

When Jesus disturbs and disorients us, when he offends us and makes us cringe, it’s helpful if we read his words through the lens of John 3:19:

This is the judgment: the light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil.

Jesus didn’t come only to reveal God’s love to us; he was also “appointed for the fall and rising of many in Israel . . . so that thoughts from many hearts may be revealed” (Luke 2:34–35). He came to reveal our hearts to us.

This is often what’s taking place when Jesus issues his offensive invitations and responses. This is why we hear him make bewildering, even repulsive claims, like he did after he fed the five thousand and then said, “Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life” (John 6:54). This provoked many to respond, “This is a hard saying; who can listen to it?” (John 6:60). Jesus wields an otherworldly discernment and wisdom as he calls out his sheep (enemies who will receive his gospel offer of forgiveness and reconciliation) in the midst of wolves (enemies who won’t). The Lord, “who know[s] the hearts of all” (Acts 1:24), was revealing those hearts.

And through his sometimes cruel-sounding words, Jesus is still revealing our hearts, what we really, truly treasure. “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (Matthew 6:21).

Behold His Severe Kindness

In Romans 11:22, Paul, speaking of God’s mercy and his judgment, writes, “Behold then the kindness and severity of God” (NASB). But in speaking of Jesus’s hard words, we can say, “Behold the severe kindness of God.” Because if Jesus doesn’t reveal to us the deceitfulness of our sin, we may continue to be ensnared by it and never “obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God” (Romans 8:21).

So, when Jesus, on one hand, extends to us his comforting invitation to come to him and find rest for our souls (Matthew 11:29) and then, on the other hand, issues to us his discomforting warning that unless we renounce all that we have we cannot be his disciples (Luke 14:33), he is not speaking out of both sides of his mouth. He is speaking out of his one gracious and kind heart by revealing both God’s incomparable love for us and whether or not we love God. The former is intended to comfort us; the latter is intended to test us.

But to all who receive him — who hear his offensive words and ultimately say, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life” — Jesus gives “the right to become children of God” (John 1:12; 6:68). And these children discover that Zion’s great “stone of stumbling [and] rock of offense” (Romans 9:33) was, in every word and work, always pursuing them with goodness and mercy so they might dwell in his house forever (Psalm 23:6).

And these will then fully know what Jesus means when he says, “Blessed is the one who is not offended by me” (Matthew 11:6).

Early morning hours are precious. The house is still, quiet. The aroma of coffee wafts from the steaming mug. A single lamp illuminates the chair and table. Here is a sanctuary, a peaceful place of communion between a man and his God.

And yet on many days, it is anything but peaceful. Rather than quiet contemplation, I find myself battling on my knees against a persistent and pernicious straying of the heart. The prayer is not that of the demonized boy’s father: Lord, “I believe; help my unbelief” (though I too have prayed such words). Instead, I pray, “Lord, I desire; help my erring desires.”

While striving to meditate on the steadfast love and faithfulness and eternal goodness of God, I find that other concerns arrest my attention: anxious thoughts about how my work will be received, a nagging fear that somehow I’m just not doing enough, questions about what my coworkers think of me, jealousy over the success of others. A long list of anxious thoughts grip my mind and lead me away from the one offering rest and peace, satisfaction and joy. Here lies the battle. The straying thoughts reveal what’s driving my heart this morning: desire for the fleeting approval of man, not the eternal good.

One misaligned desire would be a significant battle by itself; this is a wide and diverse war. Fears about parenting failures reveal desires to be self-sufficient. Worry about a medical condition (whether minor or life-threatening) may indicate a greater love for this present life than the never-ending one to come. Pride fails to acknowledge that our plans are in the hand of the Lord, and reveals an arrogant boasting rooted in the desire to order life according to our own design. My sanctuary, it turns out, is also a battlefield.

Disordered Hearts

The struggle to rightly order our desires lies at the heart of each Christian’s daily walk. Our redeemed hearts, still twisted by sin, simply do not function as they ought. In general, we have no problem desiring. We do have serious problems desiring rightly. Our hearts are disordered, and so we frequently spin out days chasing small and fleeting ends that fail to satisfy. We grow weary and despondent in our Sisyphean pursuits, and we wonder where our first love has gone.

In a meditation on Psalm 119:97–104, the late John Webster (1955–2016) describes the reordering of affections as “one of the most weighty claims [of] the Christian gospel” (Christ Our Salvation, 6). He argues that the affections are “the fundamental loves which govern us and determine the shape of our lives . . . [the] part of us through which we attach ourselves to things outside of ourselves. . . . [They are] the engines of our attitudes and actions” (7). In other words, each and every day, what we love and desire determines what we set ourselves to pursue.

‘Nature Abhors a Vacuum’

God made us, each and every one of us, to pursue. He gave us hearts that desire. Our pursuits — what we desire and strive toward — reveal our hearts because behind our pursuits lie affections. Imagine a string tied between the desire in your heart and each object you run after. If you pause long enough to tug on the strings, you will unearth what lies (and pulls) in the hidden recesses of your heart. And far too often, those hidden recesses are not filled with pure love for God; they contain the kind of covetousness that leads to strife (see James 4:1–4).

Sometimes, in the battle with such wayward affections, the temptation to quell desire rises to the forefront. “If only I could put the desire for X to death, then I would walk in freedom.” Erasing that disorderly affection seems like the key to holiness. And so we aim (rightfully, I should say) to put sin to death (Romans 8:13). We fight the battle with X and, by God’s grace, win. Then we stop.

Consider a knight on the warpath. He has heard of a dragon who reigns over a castle and keeps a king’s daughter locked up as a prisoner in the tallest tower. With great courage, he risks life and limb to face the dragon in open combat. Eventually he emerges from the battle victorious (though certainly wounded and a bit more well-done). What does he do next? He mounts his warhorse and returns home. No, good stories don’t end that way — and for good reason.

Everyone recognizes that the knight has won only half the battle. The princess still needs rescuing. If he leaves her locked up and the castle vacant, another winged, fire-breathing worm will soon take the place of the first. So too, the man who cleaned the house after the unclean spirit left suddenly finds himself fighting the original spirit again, plus seven more (Matthew 12:44–45). The man needs to fill up the house, not leave it empty; the knight needs to actually rescue the princess.

Scottish minister Thomas Chalmers (1780–1847) wrote, “Nature abhors a vacuum” (The Expulsive Power of a New Affection, 41). What did he mean? It does no good to merely take away a man’s sinful affection. By God’s design, man cannot be affectionless. To attempt to remove all that stirs his heart, in the name of pure and holy living, would be an “unnatural violence” to his soul (44).

Let’s apply Chalmers’s insight to my early-morning battle. As I analyze the internal struggle, I see how my worry over how I might be received reveals a desire to please men. Behind my desire is an unhealthy craving for the kind of recognition, applause, and affirmation I might receive from my coworkers. I might pray in that moment for God to remove that desire from my heart — but the struggle doesn’t stop there. Affection cannot merely be put to death; it must be remade.

‘Seek the Things Above’

Paul wrote to the Colossian believers about the emptiness of merely negative commands. Seemingly powerful and wise in the fight against sin (at least initially), “they are of no value in stopping the indulgence of the flesh” (Colossians 2:23). We cannot stop at mere negation. For this reason, Paul gives the Colossians a positive command: “Seek the things that are above. . . . Set your minds on things that are above” (Colossians 3:1–2). Do not expect denial, by itself, to lead to holiness. We need redirection.

God created us with the capacity for affections, and it’s a good design. To attempt to merely get rid of sinful desires (and not redirect the heart) is to deny our very nature. Chalmers understood this, which is why his little sermon continues to resonate with readers. “We have already affirmed,” he wrote, “how impossible it were for the heart . . . to cast the world away from it and thus reduce it to a wilderness. The heart is not so constituted, and the only way to dispossess it of an old affection is by the expulsive power of a new one” (49).

The pursuit of holiness has to be just that: a pursuit. And to pursue something means that we desire it, we want it, we set our minds and order our days to have it. Left to ourselves, such a task is hopeless. Twisted and corrupt trees do not produce good fruit. But we haven’t been left to ourselves. The Lord has raised us up to new life (Colossians 3:1). He has given us his Spirit. And he is at work to detach our affections from their empty, death-producing objects and reattach them to their proper treasures. We do not enter the fray alone or without hope.

Test, Seek, Pray, Fight

What might this good battle look like each day? We can sketch the fight in four steps: test, seek, pray, fight.

TEST

What captures your heart today? What do you find yourself aiming for? What do your recent actions and decisions reveal about what you love? Start pulling on those strings. Try to unearth the loves behind and beneath those strings. Before you engage the enemy, you have to know who the enemy is. What do you find yourself repeatedly struggling against? Unfortunately, the desire for others’ approval didn’t simply go away that morning. I still find myself seeking to put it to death (and quite frequently).

Honest self-reflection, while important, can’t be the only means to putting twisted desires to death. We need communities of brothers and sisters around us who know us well. Because we’ve cultivated strong relationships of trust, these fellow soldiers have the freedom to tell us when a path we’re pursuing leads to death.

SEEK

“If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above” (Colossians 3:1). The apostle’s command requires us to actively set our hearts on other, heavenly objects. We must come to see them as more worthy of pursuit than the ones that tempt us.

Early-morning meditation has been the single best practice I have learned over the years (and one that countless believers have practiced throughout history). Psalm 90:14 sets the agenda: “Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love, that we may rejoice and be glad all our days.” Finding our delight in the Lord orients and redirects our hearts. When we have tasted and seen the goodness of God, the fool’s gold of worldly pursuits grows tarnished in our eyes (1 Peter 2:1–3). Where do we see his goodness displayed? In the word as we open it with fresh eyes of faith.

PRAY

While prayer accompanies every step in this battle, concerted effort comes during and after time in the word. “Lord, you’ve shown me your goodness and character this morning; grant belief and desire for more. By your Spirit, mold my desires to conform to your goodness, your holiness, your majestic worth.” These steps of prayer and seeking, like testing, can (and arguably should) also take place with our local church. The Lord uses fellow saints to help us see more of him in the word. And God will use the prayers of other saints to strengthen and encourage right thinking and feeling in our hearts and minds.

FIGHT

“Put to death,” writes Paul. Them’s fightin’ words. Just because we taste and see the goodness of God doesn’t mean our battle is over. Sinful desires remain, and they reveal themselves throughout the day in our attitudes, actions, and words. Paul calls us to the strenuous life, actively working to kill corrupt desires in the hope that God himself works within us to cause conformity to the image of Christ (Philippians 2:12–13).

So, test and seek, praying at all times, and then fight. And fight alongside friends, because wars like these are lost alone.