Audio Transcript

Welcome back to Job week on the podcast. On Monday, we read Job 16 together and had to parse out which of Job’s claims are true and which ones are false — one of the particular challenges of reading Job. Today we read Job 19 and this bold declaration from Job in Job 19:26–27: “After my skin has been thus destroyed, yet in my flesh I shall see God, whom I shall see for myself, and my eyes shall behold, and not another. My heart faints within me!” After Job dies, he will be in his flesh — and in his flesh, he will see God. That’s his claim.

To that claim comes this related question from Eric, who listens to the podcast in Joliet, Illinois: “Pastor John, hello! First Timothy 6:16 says that no one can see God. Yet Matthew 5:8 tells us that the pure in heart will see God. Is there any sense in which we will be able to ‘see’ God physically in heaven? Or is this text alluding to the incarnate and glorified Christ? It’s a powerful promise, and I want to understand it better.”

Let’s put the texts — the ones that he refers to and a few others — in front of us, and then see if we can answer the question.

1 Timothy 6:15–16: “He who is the blessed and only Sovereign, the King of kings and Lord of lords, who alone has immortality, who dwells in unapproachable light, whom no one has ever seen or can see. To him be honor and eternal dominion.”
1 Timothy 1:17: “To the King of the ages, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honor and glory.”
1 John 4:12: “No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God abides in us.”
Exodus 33:20: “You cannot see my face, for man shall not see me and live.”
Deuteronomy 4:12: “Then the Lord spoke to you out of the midst of the fire. You heard the sound of words, but saw no form; there was only a voice.”

That’s one side. You can’t see him. Now here’s the other side.

Matthew 5:8: “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.”
Genesis 32:30: “Jacob called the name of the place Peniel, saying, ‘For I have seen God face to face, and yet my life has been [spared].’”
Job 19:26–27: “And after my skin has been thus destroyed, yet in my flesh I shall see God, whom I shall see for myself, and my eyes shall behold, and not another.”

There you have both sides of the issue. And the solution to this seeming inconsistency lies in the fact that the word see, as we all know, has several different uses. And if you look at all the texts, you see that there are two different senses in which his people can see God and two senses in which they cannot see God.

So, let me break these out and see if people can follow me — see if they can see.

How We Cannot See God

First, the ways we cannot see God.

1. We can’t see him with our physical eyes for the simple reason that he’s a spirit, and he doesn’t have a body. That’s probably at least part of what Paul means when he says that Christ “is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation” (Colossians 1:15).

2. We can’t see him even spiritually with unmediated directness. This is partly owing to our sinfulness and partly owing perhaps to our creaturely weakness. He’s too great, too bright, too glorious, and we could not live if we saw him with unmediated directness. We must always have Christ, our Mediator, as a go-between.

I think that’s what Jesus meant when he says in John 6:45–46, “It is written in the Prophets, ‘And they will all be taught by God.’ Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me — not that anyone has seen the Father except he who is from God; he has seen the Father.” Now, when it says, “except he who is from God; he has seen the Father,” he means not with physical eyes because Jesus, the Son of God, didn’t have physical eyes before the incarnation. And that’s what he’s contrasting our seeing with. Only the Son can see the Father with nonphysical, unmediated, direct seeing. We cannot see God spiritually the way the Son of God in unmediated directness can see him.

So, those are the two ways we can’t see God when we use the word see in different ways.

How We Can See God

And here are the two ways we can see God.

1. We use the word see to mean that we finally understand and discern the beauty and glory of God after being blind to it, like when we say, “Oh, now I see.” Our soul is tuned in to the glory so that the glory of God that shines through the gospel is seen as glorious, and we’re no longer spiritually blind to it. That’s the first way we see him.

2. The second way is that, in the narrative of the Bible, we see the glory of God — and, finally, we will see him face to face — through Christ, by seeing Christ. “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father. . . . No one has ever seen God; the only God, who is at the Father’s side, he has made him known” (John 1:14, 18). So, we see God by seeing Jesus. “We know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is” (1 John 3:2).

So, the implication is this: pursue purity of heart, purity of faith, purity of life so that our heart, your heart, is able to see God’s beauty as what it really is in the Scripture, and so that when he comes or when he calls us in death, we will see him face to face and be glorified with him.

On the morning of Sunday, June 5, 1864, Charles Spurgeon ascended the pulpit to deliver a sermon that he expected would cost him dearly. Friends might turn away; his influence might take a severe blow; his sermons might no longer be printed. Should he preach it? Should he publish it?

Spurgeon later recounted,

It was delivered with the full expectation that the sale of the sermons would receive very serious injury; in fact, I mentioned to one of the publishers that I was about to destroy it at a single blow, but that the blow must be struck, cost what it might, for the burden of the Lord lay heavy upon me, and I must deliver my soul. I deliberately counted the cost, and reckoned upon the loss of many an ardent friend and helper, and I expected the assaults of clever and angry foes.1

The text of the sermon was Mark 16:15–16: “And he said unto them, Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature. He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved; but he that believeth not shall be damned.”2 The topic of this sermon was baptismal regeneration.

Spurgeon’s Challenge

That morning, Spurgeon challenged the Church of England’s teaching of baptismal regeneration, a teaching that yokes the act of baptism with spiritual regeneration. His protest was not against paedobaptism as such. Spurgeon entertained warm and affectionate respect for many paedobaptists, including men such as the Congregationalist George Rogers, whom he appointed the first principal of the Pastor’s College. Anglican evangelicals confused him, but he loved them in Christ.

Spurgeon is unmistakably clear about his views of baptism, including his opposition to infant sprinkling. Countless sermons provide explicit and incidental arguments for the baptism of believers only.3 The point in this sermon on baptismal regeneration is less about the ordinance of baptism and more about baptismal regeneration and doctrinal and practical integrity. Spurgeon’s challenge was against baptismal regeneration, formalism, and sacramentalism in the Church of England, part of which was drifting back toward Roman Catholicism through the Tractarian movement.4 Spurgeon was a true Nonconformist (or Dissenter), an Independent churchman, and a Baptist. He shared the British Dissenter’s horror of and opposition to Roman Catholicism. By conviction as well as situation, he existed outside the pale of the Anglican communion and was ready to challenge their formalism and national churchmanship.

Spurgeon preached the sermon that morning feeling that “I have been loath enough to undertake the work, but I am forced to it by an awful and overwhelming sense of solemn duty.”5 He contended that the Anglican rubric for infant baptism offered an explicit declaration that baptism saves, especially by promising that through baptism “this Child is regenerate and grafted into the body of Christ’s Church,” and — addressing God — that “it hath pleased thee to regenerate this infant with thy Holy Spirit, to receive him for thine own child by adoption, and to incorporate him into thy holy Church.”

“Where errors have the capacity to be dangerously wrong, damningly wrong, we must speak.”

This belief, he asserted, was not something that any true evangelical could or did maintain. “Why then,” he asked, “do they belong to a Church which teaches that doctrine in the plainest terms?”6 He could honor the integrity of a bold heretic, but he was troubled by the dishonesty of good men attaching themselves to known falsehood. For men “to swear or say that they give their solemn assent and consent to what they do not believe is one of the grossest pieces of immorality perpetrated,” breeding an atmosphere of lies.7

Against Damning Error

The religion of Scripture is a religion of faith: “I cannot see any connection which can exist between sprinkling, or immersion, and regeneration, so that the one shall necessarily be tied to the other in the absence of faith.”8 Baptismal regeneration encourages hypocrisy of the worst sort and leads to damnation by assuring that all who get religiously damp are saved, though they should live godlessly. It was the side door by which popery strolled back into the Anglican communion. Spurgeon was equally merciless in his condemnation of Dissenting superstition — venerating places, people, or rituals. Christ and Christ alone must be the object of our faith:

Lay hold on Jesus Christ. This is the foundation: build on it. This is the rock of refuge: fly to it. I pray you fly to it now. Life is short: time speeds with eagle’s-wing. Swift as the dove pursued by the hawk, fly, fly poor sinner, to God’s dear Son; now touch the hem of his garment; now look into that dear face, once marred with sorrows for you; look into those eyes, once shedding tears for you. Trust him, and if you find him false, then you must perish; but false you never will find him while this word standeth true, “He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved; but he that believeth not shall be damned.” God give us this vital, essential faith, without which there is no salvation. Baptized, re-baptized, circumcised, confirmed, fed upon sacraments, and buried in consecrated ground — ye shall all perish except ye believe in him.9

For Spurgeon, baptism — the baptism of his Scripture text — must follow after faith in the Jesus of the Bible:

Baptism is the avowal of faith; the man was Christ’s soldier, but now in baptism he puts on his regimentals. The man believed in Christ, but his faith remained between God and his own soul. In baptism he says to the baptizer, “I believe in Jesus Christ;” he says to the Church, “I unite with you as a believer in the common truths of Christianity;” he saith to the onlooker, “Whatever you may do, as for me, I will serve the Lord.” It is the avowal of his faith.10

The falsehood of baptismal regeneration introduces a fatal frailty into any church: “Out of any system which teaches salvation by baptism must spring infidelity, an infidelity which the false Church already seems willing to nourish and foster beneath her wing.”11 The sermon is not bitter in tone, but it potently manifests the spirit of a man who is deeply persuaded of the danger of the lie he exposes, and desperate that sinners should realize that only faith alone in Christ alone can save. He wants the people of God to know what they believe and to speak and live accordingly.

Gospel Issues

For all its preening pomposity, our age often lacks the kind of straightforwardness that Spurgeon championed and displayed. Sniping from cover is more the order of the day. Corresponding to that posture is a vindictiveness toward those with whom we disagree or who disagree with us. It is hard for us today (and was not easy in Spurgeon’s day) to reconcile strong opposition with affection and respect for some who hold to what we oppose. I can, and do, appreciate and respect men whom I am persuaded are wrong, sometimes badly wrong, on certain issues. I am grateful for what I perceive to be the happy inconsistencies that keep my brothers from wandering too far from the right road. I suspect that they entertain the same thoughts of me; if not, they need to sharpen up!

For Spurgeon, every scriptural truth was important. If God has spoken, men should listen and obey. Spurgeon was not suggesting that salvation hinges upon the embrace of every truth that God has revealed. He entertained warm and affectionate relationships with men who did not see eye to eye with him on every matter. Nevertheless, he was concerned that men should take God at his word and not pretend that anything God has spoken is insignificant. Spurgeon was not prepared to treat any point of revelation as if it were unimportant.

Alongside of that, Spurgeon recognized that not all issues were gospel issues — hinges upon which spiritual life and death hung. A matter like baptismal regeneration, however, was (and still is) a gospel issue. It offered what it could not deliver in the sphere of salvation, and — for the glory of God and the good of men — it must be withstood and exposed. It was not enough to disagree with it; it must be addressed: “I might be silent here, but, loving England, I cannot and dare not; and having soon to render an account before my God, whose servant I hope I am, I must free myself from this evil as well as from every other, or else on my head may be the doom of souls.”12 Where errors have the capacity to be dangerously wrong, damningly wrong, we must speak.

Cost of Conviction

Do we, with Spurgeon, believe what we say and say what we believe, appropriately and clearly and humbly, following the word of God where it takes us? We need not attack everyone and everything with which we disagree, and we can entertain genuine affection for some with whom we have genuine difference of conviction. However, we must be clear where the glory of God in the salvation of souls is at stake, and we cannot condone — either by speech or silence — those errors that rob us of the gospel. Do we have the discernment, honesty, and integrity to love those with whom we might disagree in some things, but to come away from those who maintain and declare damning error?

Such conviction requires sacrifice. As we saw earlier, Spurgeon expected this address, when published, to cost him financially and reputationally. But, he asserted,

No truth is more sure than this, that the path of duty is to be followed thoroughly if peace of mind is to be enjoyed. Results are not to be looked at, we are to keep our conscience clear, come what may, and all considerations of influence and public estimation are to be light as feathers in the scale. In minor matters as well as more important concerns I have spoken my mind fearlessly, and brought down objurgations and anathemas innumerable, but I in nowise regret it, and shall not swerve from the use of outspoken speech in the future any more than in the past. I would scorn to retain a single adherent by such silence as would leave him under misapprehension. After all, men love plain speech.13

You do not know what the Lord will do with your honesty. Both this sermon and its controversial successors were runaway bestsellers, even as they called forth real vitriol from opponents. Far from destroying Spurgeon’s reputation, though, they enhanced it among those who valued “plain speech,” even when they disagreed with its content. Remember that Spurgeon did not know what the results would be when he first wrote and spoke, but he wrote and spoke nonetheless.

The man of conviction is going to be criticized. The man who speaks his mind, even with humility and love, is likely to be assaulted. However, we must be concerned first to honor God by faithfulness to all his revealed truth, in its proper place, perspective, and proportion, and to serve men by speaking that truth in love — a love more concerned for their souls than for our reputations. We need not suggest that Spurgeon gets everything right here or all the time. Nevertheless, we find in this an example of conviction and courage that we would do well to follow.

How do you feel when you see the word prayer in a sermon title, or when the preacher announces that today’s sermon is about prayer? Oh no. Here we go.

Not many of us feel like we pray enough. We might even pray a good deal, and even earnestly, and still feel a gnawing sense of guilt when the topic comes up, just like when the subject of evangelism comes up. Preachers know this. Do you want to make people feel guilty? Talk about prayer and evangelism. Few of us feel instinctively like we do enough of either.

Added to this, we have the pervasive secular assumptions of modern life — that all that matters is the seeable, hearable, touchable, tastable. The otherworldly, especially the divine, is unwelcome and even out of bounds in polite company. We’re bombarded with the secular vision and its effects daily, through screens and through relationships with people influenced by screens, and through people influenced by other people who have screens. You can’t escape the influence of secularism without totally withdrawing. The question is not whether you’re being influenced, but whether some other, greater influence is getting and keeping traction in your soul.

God will not have the prevailing influence in your life if his practical means of influence mainly feel obligatory. But God himself doesn’t intend for his means to be obligations. They are not means of duty but means of grace. As J.C. Ryle says,

The “means of grace” . . . such as Bible reading, private prayer, and regularly worshiping God in Church . . . are appointed channels through which the Holy Spirit conveys fresh supplies of grace to the soul.

I did not come to Oakhurst this weekend to make you feel guilty, nor did I come just to visit family (nice as that is); I came mainly because I want you to enjoy “fresh supplies of grace to your soul” through hearing God’s voice in his word, having his ear in prayer, and belonging to the covenant fellowship of the local church. In the Sunday school hour, we focused on God’s word; tonight, we’ll focus on fellowship. Now in these moments, we turn our attention to prayer.

Three Wonders of Prayer

My specific prayer this morning is that the Spirit of God, dwelling in you, might be pleased to begin or renew a shift in your perspective on prayer — a shift in your mind and in your heart from prayer as obligation to prayer as opportunity, from prayer as duty to prayer as delight, from prayer as burden and dread to prayer as blessing and joy.

In that hope, I’d like for us to linger over three wonders of Christian prayer, and close with a few ideas for practical prayer habits in our lives.

1. Our Father Not Only Speaks But Listens

We start here with a summary of our focus in the Sunday school hour: our God is a speaking God. The preamble to Christian prayer is that God speaks. Prayer is responsive. Prayer is talking to God, but it’s not a conversation we start. God initiates. He is communicative. He is talkative. He speaks first, and oh does he love to speak!

He reveals himself in his creation (Romans 1:19–20).
He reveals himself climactically in his Son (Hebrews 1:1–2; John 1:1, 14).
He reveals himself in the God-breathed words of Scripture (2 Timothy 3:16; 2 Peter 1:20–21).

Then, amazingly, this Great Speaker himself stops and stoops. He cups his ear, and motions to us to speak. “What do you think? What do you feel? What do you need?” Our Father wants to hear from his children. He wants us to pray to him in view of who he’s revealed himself to be.

So, in prayer, we his creatures and his children respond to our Father’s words in our own words. Prayer is speaking to the God who has spoken first, responding to the God who has initiated the relationship and conversation. And we pray to God as our Father. The true God is not a distant, distracted deity. We don’t need cheat codes, flailing arms, or repeated phrases to seize his attention.

Amazingly, God himself loves his people, smiles on us, and is gladly attentive to our needs. He wants to hear from his children and make them happy forever in him. He wants us to pray to him as “our Father” — which is an especially Christlike way to pray.

Call Him ‘Father’

Ancient Israelites knew God’s covenant name (Yahweh) and approached him in worship and prayer in view of his covenant love and faithfulness, but they did not dare to call him “Father.” Calling God “Father” is new in the human life and ministry of Jesus. And when Jesus taught his disciples (and us) to pray, he began with “Our Father . . .” Repeatedly, particularly in the Gospel of John, Jesus calls the God of Israel “Father.” Especially memorable is his own extended prayer to his Father in John 17, on the night before he died:

Father, the hour has come; glorify your Son that the Son may glorify you. . . . And now, Father, glorify me in your own presence with the glory that I had with you before the world existed. . . . Holy Father, keep [the people you have given me] in your name, which you have given me, that they may be one, even as we are one . . . just as you, Father, are in me, and I in you, that they also may be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me. . . . Father, I desire that they also, whom you have given me, may be with me where I am, to see my glory that you have given me because you loved me before the foundation of the world. O righteous Father, even though the world does not know you, I know you, and these know that you have sent me. (John 17:1, 5, 11, 21, 24, 25)

Jesus calling God “Father” is not only modeling for us how to pray, but this is also an invitation for how to draw near to God — as our loving, gracious, generous heavenly Father.

However, we sinners need more than Jesus’s example and invitation. Being sinners, rebels, undeserving of God’s riches — in fact, deserving of his punishments — how can we, in honesty and not utter naivety, call the living God “Father”? God may indeed speak to sinners like us, but does he listen? And listen as a Father? That leads to a second wonder.

2. God’s Son Secures and Certifies Our Access to God’s Ear

Now let’s go to two passages in Hebrews: Hebrews 4:14–16 and 10:19–23. Perhaps you looked at these this week, or even this morning, and thought, Huh, these seem very similar. They are. And they are structurally and conceptually central for the epistle to the Hebrews.

“God will not have the prevailing influence in your life if his practical means of influence mainly feel obligatory.”

You could see all of Hebrews 1–4 as an extended introduction, chapters 11–13 as the extended conclusion, and chapters 5–10 as the heart, the main body and message. And of those middle chapters, 5–7 portray Jesus as the great and final high priest, and 8–10 show him to be the great and final sacrifice. That’s the heart of Hebrews: the person of Christ as our priest, and the work of Christ as our sacrifice.

These two parallel passages in chapters 4 and 10 are like the entrance and exit to the heart of the letter, and they express the main pastoral burden of the letter: Draw near to God, hold fast to Jesus. Don’t coast, don’t drift, don’t fall away. Don’t stop believin’, but cling to Jesus, and draw near to God in him.

So, I want to read both passages to you, back to back, and as I do, listen for six emphases they have in common:

the mention of the great high priest,
whose personal name is Jesus,
who has passed through the heavens (the curtain) into the very presence of God, and therefore
the call to hold fast our faith in him,
to draw near to God through him, and
to do so with confidence

And to be clear, this relates to more than prayer, but no less than prayer — and for now, prayer is perhaps the signature expression of our drawing near. Hebrews 4:14–16 says,

Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.

Now, here’s Hebrews 10:19–23:

Therefore, brothers, since we have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus, by the new and living way that he opened for us through the curtain, that is, through his flesh, and since we have a great priest over the house of God, let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water. Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful.

Brothers and sisters in Christ, the first note struck here is that we have the great and final high priest! We have him already, right now. He has come at long last. He died as the great and final sacrifice for our sin. He rose in triumph over sin and death, and he ascended, going through the heavens, through the curtain, into the very presence of God Almighty, where he sat down, his work complete, at the right hand of Majesty.

We have him. This is no longer a future promise. This is a present reality! So, hold fast your trust in him, and your confession of him as Lord. And with confidence, with boldness, with surety, draw near — with your whole life, drawing near to him through his word, and drawing near to him with his church, and in particular drawing near to him in prayer. That’s the joint message of the two passages.

Boldness to Approach

Now, there are a couple of additions in Hebrew 10. The first is in Hebrews 10:19–20:

We have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus, by the new and living way that he opened for us.

This is new with the coming and ascending of Jesus. The old way of the temple and its priests and rituals and escalating spaces of holiness, from the court of the Gentiles to the common Jews, to the Holy Place, to the Holy of Holies — that whole temple cultus — wasn’t the real thing. It was symbolic (Hebrews 9:9); it anticipated the real thing, which didn’t come until Jesus came and rose and went into heaven as our pioneer. In Jesus, we have a new and living way into the very presence of God that was not available to Abraham, not available to Moses, not available to David, not available to Isaiah and Jeremiah and Ezekiel, but now new to us who are in Christ. What an opportunity!

A second added detail is Hebrews 10:22:

let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water.

What does Hebrews mean by “our hearts sprinkled clean” and “our bodies washed with pure water”? And how does that lead to our being able to draw near to God with confidence, especially in prayer?

This mention of sprinkling goes back to Moses and the people of Israel who had escaped slavery in Egypt. At Mount Sinai, God makes his covenant with them, and to enter the covenant, the people offer sacrifices in Exodus 24, and Moses takes the blood (“the blood of the covenant”) and throws half against the altar, representing God. The other half, he throws — that is, he sprinkles — on the people.

In this physical act of flinging animal blood on the people, something more than the mere physical is happening. In and of itself, the sprinkled blood doesn’t do anything to change the people or deal finally with their sins. But by this act, this memorable act, the people enter into covenant with God.

And if you were to ask an Israelite a few months later, “Hey, how do you know you’re in covenant with God?” one answer he might give is, “I remember the blood sprinkled on us. A drop landed on my left shoulder. It was real; it happened. I can assure you I’m part of the people in covenant with God. I had the blood of the covenant on me.”

Washed and Sprinkled

But now Hebrews 10 takes this to a new-covenant level. Hebrews 10:22 says that in Christ we have had “our hearts sprinkled clean.” How did that happen? Through faith. Faith in the heart trusts that when Jesus died on the cross, and shed his blood — objectively, publicly, unquestionably, indisputably — his life was standing in for mine. His death was the death I deserved.

But faith like this isn’t quite as cut-and-dried for the Christian as blood on the shoulder was for the ancient Israelite. There’s still some subjectivity here with faith. Jesus’s sacrifice is objective, but how do I know I’m included? My heart was sprinkled, not my shirt. And so, Hebrews draws in the new-covenant inauguration ritual, baptism, to help: “. . . and our bodies washed with pure water.” Baptism represents the washing away of sin in our hearts, in the inner person, but baptism is also external and objective and memorable. If you were baptized as a believer, and baptized in a faithful church community of reasonably diligent and discerning Christians (who were saying, in effect, through baptizing you, “We believe you truly believe and Jesus’s blood covers you”), then remember that baptism as support for your assurance, and pray with confidence.

Baptism is not just a drop on your shirt, but your whole body submerged in water, saying, “This one belongs to Jesus. This one has saving faith.” Remember that event, and draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith. How precious is a good believer-baptism! It didn’t save you, but God means for it to help assure you that you’re saved through faith in Jesus — and help you to come confidently in prayer.

So, the Father not only speaks but listens. And the Son secures and certifies our access to God’s ear in prayer. That’s it, right? Should we pray to close?

Well, not so fast. If only our lives were so simple! They are not. We have our ups and downs, our seasons of dullness and doubt, our struggles, our indwelling sin, our weaknesses — oh so many weaknesses, no matter how much we try to project ourselves as strong. And so, there is one more critical wonder of Christian prayer.

3. God’s Spirit Helps Us in Our Weakness

Let’s finish with Romans 8:26–27, and this is so precious for the wonder and power of prayer, and it is perhaps often overlooked in our day. Romans 8:26–27 says,

The Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words. And he who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.

Brothers and sisters in Christ, when you pray, you pray as one who has the Holy Spirit of God dwelling in you. God himself has taken up residence in you. This is almost too good to be true. In a way that was not part and parcel of God’s first covenant with Israel, the risen and glorified Christ has poured out and given his Spirit to dwell in new-covenant Christians (John 7:38–39).

Now, our having the Spirit (Romans 8:9, 23) does not mean we own or control him. He also has us too. He is in us, and we are in him (Romans 8:5, 9). He is “sent into our hearts” (Galatians 4:6), given to us (Romans 5:5; etc), supplied to us (Galatians 3:5), and not just once but ongoingly (Ephesians 1:17; 1 Thessalonians 4:8). Through faith, we receive him (Romans 8:15; etc). And so, as the New Testament makes plain in several places, the Spirit dwells in us (Romans 8:9–11; etc) and prompts, empowers, and guides our prayers (Romans 8:26–27; Ephesians 6:18; Jude 20).

For Christians, there is a special relationship between our prayers and our having the Holy Spirit. Ephesians 6:17–18 says to “take . . . the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God, praying at all times in the Spirit, with all prayer and supplication.” And Jude 20–21 says, “You, beloved, building yourselves up in your most holy faith and praying in the Holy Spirit, keep yourselves in the love of God.” God doesn’t just want to hear from us and open the way to him, leaving it in our court. He gives us his own Spirit, in us, to prompt our hearts to pray, to enable us to pray, and as Romans 8 says, to pray for us when we don’t know what to pray.

Getting Practical

So, as men and women of the gospel, fed by God’s word, flanked by our fellows in Christ, we cultivate habits of prayer in three main spheres: secret (Matthew 6:5–6), with company in our marriages, families, and churches, and as regular anchor points in our lives (1 Thessalonians 5:17; Romans 12:12; Colossians 4:2). We have the opportunity to punctuate our lives with prayer and take the seams of our days as prompts to pray.

We turn general intentions into specific plans. We find our regular times and places. Our prayers are scheduled and spontaneous — in the car, at the table, in bed. We pray through Scripture, in response to God’s word. We adore, confess, give thanks, and petition. We learn to pray by praying, and by praying with others.

And we end on this note. Lest you think of prayer as simply asking God for things, let’s clarify what is the great purpose of Christian prayer: that God himself would be our joy. C.S. Lewis says this so memorably:

Prayer in the sense of petition, asking for things, is a small part of it; confession and penitence are its threshold, adoration its sanctuary, the presence and vision and enjoyment of God its bread and wine. (“The Efficacy of Prayer,” 7)

Brothers and sisters in Christ, in light of the Father’s listening ear, the Son’s securing and certifying achievement, and the Spirit’s amazing indwelling and prompting and help, I hope that you would not leave here this morning feeling guilty or under obligation, but that a shift might begin or continue in you — from obligation to opportunity.

Prayer is an opportunity to enjoy “fresh supplies of grace” to your soul, the best of which is the enjoyment of God himself.