Everyday Prayers

A Prayer about the Orphan in Me  

I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you. (John 14:18) But when the set time had fully come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, to redeem those under the law, that we might receive adoption to son ship. Because you are his sons, God sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, the Spirit who calls out, “Abba, Father.” So you are no longer a slave, but God’s child; and since you are his child, God has made you also an heir. (Gal. 4:4–7 NIV)

Lord Jesus, thank you for this incredible promise, your pledge to love us with filial affection, far beyond our imaging. There are moments, days, even much longer stretches when I begin to think, feel, and live as though I am an orphan— as though I don’t really have a heavenly Father who loves me deeply and is involved in every detail of my life.

When I get sucked back into this downward spiral, my spirit shrinks and my fears enlarge. My peace says, “Bye-bye,” and my control issues say, “We’re back!” I get defensive and I go on the offensive. In short, I’m no fun to be around. Instead of the aroma of the gospel, I start exuding the smell of a waif. 

Jesus, enough of my generalities: I repent. I smell like a dirty orphan this morning. I wish there was a button I could push or a switch I could throw and all of a sudden “snap out of it.” There is no such shortcut, but there is repentant faith, which is better by far. 

Jesus, you haven’t left me as an orphan. You came to us through the gift of the Holy Spirit— the Spirit of Adoption— the very Spirit by which we now cry, “Abba, Father!” You never have and never will abandon me. Right now, I abandon myself to you and to the resources of the gospel. And as one hour gives way to the next, may the aroma of the gospel override the smell of a waif. I pray in your loving name, with longing expectancy.

Amen. 

A Prayer about the Normalcy of Suffering  

Dear friends, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal that has come on you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you. But rejoice inasmuch as you participate in the sufferings of Christ, so that you may be overjoyed when his glory is revealed. (1 Pet. 4:12–13 NIV)  

Dear Lord Jesus, this portion of your Word comes like a kiss from heaven. To know that suffering is a normal part of the Christian life actually brings me, and many of my friends, a great deal of relief today. For many of us have endured the destructive consequences of bad theology— various teachings that make Christians feel like spiritual pygmies for suffering any degree of illness, lack, loss, defeat, doubt, economic struggle, emotional duress, and the list goes on. But you tell us painful trials and suffering are not strange at all. 

It’s not that I want to suffer more, and I know I can suffer much simply from my own foolishness. But no one wants to suffer in vain or with a sense of being a disappointment to you, or feeling abandoned by you, or being punished by you. The gospel tells us we are not, but pain is an accomplished and effective liar. 

In reality, most of our brothers and sisters in Jesus live in conditions that would make me wilt with whining, given my creature comfort laden life. Indeed, Jesus, help me realize the aberration of the American “good life.” I thank you for the many things you allow me to enjoy where I live, but I don’t want to presume on them as a right. Rather, help us receive these good gifts as stewards and share them as servants. 

Jesus, please help us understand how our suffering can be understood as participating in your sufferings. Your death on the cross was a once and for all suffering— perfect securing the salvation of your people.

However, you’re not a distant, disconnected, dispassionate Savior. You’re presently making all things new, and this involves showing up in the messes and madness of life. Where there is injustice, disease, brokenness, and suffering, you are present. How do we join you there and fellowship with you there? (Phil. 3:10) 

A day of no more suffering is coming (Rev. 21:1–5)— the day when your glory will be fully revealed—and what a day of rejoicing that will be. Until then, give us all the sufficient, sustaining, serving grace we need now to suffer with you and for you. We pray in your wonderful and merciful name.

Amen. 

A Prayer about Being with Jesus  

Now when they saw the boldness of Peter and John, and perceived that they were uneducated, common men, they were astonished. And they recognized that they had been with Jesus. (Acts 4:13)  

Dear Lord Jesus, this simple story confronts and corrals my wandering heart this morning. Two unschooled, ordinary fishermen named Peter and John were radically changed because “these men had been with Jesus”— with you, the same Lord who lives in my heart and rules all things from heaven. 

Oh, to be a man about whom others would be inclined to say, “He’s obviously been with Jesus. What else could explain his merciful heart for the broken, his courage in the face of injustice, and his calm in the presence of chaos? What other motivation and reason would he have for loving so boldly, forgiving so quickly, and sharing so generously? What else could account for his patience when provoked, his loud laugh and his ready tears, the way he treats his wife and looks a stranger in the eye? Yeah, he’s been with Jesus, all right, because that’s not the same guy we remember from a while back.” 

Lord Jesus, doing noble things for you is not the same thing as spending life giving time with you. Thinking great thoughts about you is not the same thing as vital communion with you. Helping others understand the gospel is not the same thing as drinking presently and deeply from the wellspring of grace for myself. In all honesty, I’m not really concerned about others being able to say, “He’s been with Jesus.” I want my own heart to know that I’ve been with you. 

Because who or what do I have in heaven but you, Jesus? You make heaven heavenly. And being with you, I desire nothing on earth, because absolutely nothing else satisfies my soul like you do. My flesh and my heart may fail, but you, Jesus, are the strength of my heart and my portion, my banquet, my inheritance, forever. It is good, and it is enough, for me to be near you, my sovereign Savior and my loving refuge. I pray in your holy and compassionate name.

Amen. 

A Prayer about Old Hurts and Fresh Forgiveness  

Then Peter came up and said to him [Jesus], “Lord, how often will my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? As many as seven times?” Jesus said to him, “I do not say to you seven times, but seventy times seven.” (Matt. 18:21–22)  

Jesus, I’m running to you this morning with joy in my heart and knots in my gut. The joy is about the exhaustive forgiveness I have in you. The knots are about the costly implications of that same forgiveness. As I pray for myself, I pray for others with the same struggle to love well in broken stories that just won’t seem to go away. 

As you well know, Jesus, I ran into an old friend recently with whom I’ve shared a lot of life and no small heartache. That run-in was kind of like bumping a previously broken shin into the corner of a low sitting coffee table. I winced with pain and wanted to scream. Even worse, I did harm to him in my heart. And that’s just as stupid as kicking the low-sitting coffee table. 

Jesus, I thought I was over the hurt. I thought I’d already forgiven him from my heart. I thought I was already healed. I thought I’d dealt with this thing a long time ago. That’s just not the case. Out of sight might be out of mind, but it’s not out of the memory band of betrayal and loss. 

So I come to you today for seventy-times-seven grace. I’m being held hostage by my own unforgiveness. Certainly the gospel is big enough and powerful enough to set me free. So I humble myself before you, Jesus. I may never enjoy the gift of my brother’s repentance, at least this side of heaven, but there’s no justification for me tying my repentance to his. 

I’m to forgive him as you’ve forgiven me. It’s as simple and as costly as that. No, I’m not to be a doormat, but I am to be a doorway to the miracle of reconciliation. By the work of the Holy Spirit, I ask you to show me what that will entail in these next several weeks. Some broken relationships are less complex than this one. Some are nobrainers in terms of applying the gospel. But this one’s different. 

Jesus, you’ve promised me all the wisdom I need, and I’ll take it. But I also ask you for a great measure of determination, strength, and follow through. Low sitting coffee tables can morph into coiled rattlesnakes in time, and the venom of unforgiveness is just too toxic to ignore. Untie the knots in my gut with your liberating hands. I pray in your redeeming and restoring name.

Amen. 

A Prayer about Ultimate Insanity  

Do you show contempt for the riches of his kindness, forbearance and patience, not realizing that God’s kindness is intended to lead you to repentance? (Rom. 2:4 NIV)  

Heavenly Father, I’ve seen many crazy things in my life. I’ve encountered a few crazy people. And I’ve certainly done my share of crazy things. But the most certifiably insane thing I do is to show contempt for the riches of your kindness, tolerance, and patience toward me in Jesus. I do this when I dig my heels in and refuse to follow your kindness into fresh repentance. 

The GPS of the gospel will never direct me to a destination of harm but only to a place of greater freedom. When I refuse to humble myself, when I refuse to acknowledge the ways I love poorly and act out immaturely, when I refuse to repent of attitudes and actions that rob me and others and most tragically rob you of glory, that is insanity. Showing contempt for your kindness is true craziness! 

Father, I praise you today for being outrageously affluent in the currency of kindness, tolerance, and patience. There’s no economic downturn in heaven— never has been, never will be. But there’s nothing in me that assumes the right to any of your loving ways. It’s only because Jesus willingly endured the judgment I deserve that I’m in a position to be dealt with so mercifully and graciously. Father, thank you that you’re leading me to humility, not to humiliation; to shelter, not to shame; to repentance, not to penance. For when I repent, I’m not the one making promises for change— you are. Only you can change me, and you are changing me, for you have covenanted to do so. That’s what the gospel is all about. When I repent I simply collapse upon Jesus, once again, as my righteousness, my holiness, and my sure hope of a new and changed heart. 

So this morning, kind Father, I repent. I repent of not trusting that you are at work in my current irritating circumstances. I’ve looked at the weaknesses of others more than I’ve kept my eyes fixed on Jesus. It’s been easier (and more fun) to gossip than to pray. I’ve been moping and plotting like an orphan rather than rejoicing and trusting as a beloved son. 

I’ve been more preoccupied with the ways of broken men than thrilled with the occupied throne of heaven. I’ve acted as though I care more about Jesus’ church than he does. That is certifiably insane! I repent. Because the gospel is true and you are so kind, I repent. I pray in Jesus’ merciful and mighty name.

Amen. 

A Prayer about Unparalleled Privilege  

As a bridegroom rejoices over his bride, 
so will your God rejoice over you. (Isa. 62:5 NIV)  

Gracious Jesus, I know I’m not the point. I realize and rejoice in the fact that all of history is pointing toward the day when your redeemed people and the restored creation will make much of you. For indeed, you alone are worthy of such honor, praise, and glory. And I long for the day when you will finally receive the every nation, all creation worship you deserve. 

That being said, it is profoundly humbling and encouraging to realize how much you make of us. Knowing you’ve forgiven all of our sins is more than enough reason to praise you for all eternity. Knowing you’ve covered us with your own righteousness is reason to praise you for ten eternities. But to realize that the righteousness with which you’ve already clothed us in the gospel is actually a wedding garment is staggering.

You’ve made a most unlikely people your bride and queen. This isn’t the story of Cinderella we’re in. There was nothing about us, or in us, that made us attractive to you. We’re the mean stepmother and the two conniving stepsisters, so ill deserving of ever knowing the unparalleled privilege of being your bride. But you’ve made us your own. You died for us, and now you live for us. You actually cherish us. 

You’re preparing us for yourself through the riches of the gospel. One day we will be radiant with your beauty, for we will see you as you are and we will be made like you. But on that day, our wedding day, you will not rejoice in us one bit more than you rejoice in us today. I believe this because you do not lie. But I want to believe it with all of my heart, so that with unfettered abandon I might love and serve you so much more, well before that day. I pray in your matchless name.

Amen. 

A Prayer in Praise of the Unity of Believers 

Behold, how good and pleasant it is when brothers dwell in unity!
It is like the precious oil on the head,
running down on the beard, on the beard of Aaron,
running down on the collar of his robes!
It is like the dew of Hermon, which falls on the mountains of Zion!
For there the Lord has commanded the blessing, life forevermore.
(Ps. 133)

Dear Jesus, it was wonderful to fall asleep last night having just witnessed a small but real outpouring of “the oil and dew of unity” among weary friends. “Good and pleasant” seems to be an egregious understatement— a woefully inadequate description of what happens when you show up and begin to thaw the tensions, deconstruct the divisions, and enable your people to move forward together in unity. 

It’s obvious that where there’s unity, you bestow your presence and blessing. It’s equally obvious that where there’s disunity, Satan bestows his darkness and evil. Boldly and shamelessly, I ask you for an even greater outpouring of your Spirit, leading to “the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace” (Eph. 4:3). Drench us with the humbling and unifying dew of the gospel. We want to be sopping wet, not merely damp. Saturate and satiate us with the fullness of the Holy Spirit. 

We don’t look to Aaron and his beard but to you, Jesus, and your enthronement at the right hand of the Father. You are our great High Priest who has received the Spirit without measure, so you can deploy him without reservation. 

As I think of our own church family, I pray for new church plants meeting resistance and older church families needing renewal; for missionary teams under fire and in duress; and gospel ministries of various and sundry sorts. Jesus, bring the grace and truth of the gospel to bear in observable and transforming ways. 

No one has done more to secure our unity than you, Jesus (Eph. 2:14–22). No one is praying more for our unity than you (John 17:20–21). No one is more glorified by our unity than you (John 17:22–26). 

Continue to heal us, reconcile us, and deploy us into your ripened harvest and broken creation together. We pray in your glorious and gracious name.

Amen.