Prayer really works!

Written as sermon for Seattle First United Methodist Church, Seattle, Washington

The fellows in the picture were the rocks of my faith journey for many years—Dave on the left and Frank at right (I'm here in the middle). Every Monday for almost six years, we met for shared prayers of love and concern, to hold each other accountable to the Lord—and to ourselves.

We supported each other with prayer and sympathy, listened with non-critical ears, offered kind words and—sometimes—a swift kick in the shorts. Sometimes there was no advice to be given, we just … listened. Did I mention that listening was an important part of our group's routine?

Though, sadly, Frank lost his long battle with chronic lymphatic leukemia and the others in our group moved on to different callings, I'm committed to the concept behind small-group ministry. It was the only thing that kept me sane during those long, dark months of my checkered employment history.

I can attest that prayer works—and group prayer works better! My wife, Terri got on my case if, for any reason, we missed a prayer session. She could tell, even if I didn't confess. I was not the same person as when I earned my little share of salvation in group prayer.

When Dave's father passed away, Frank and I listened. It was hard, sensing Dave's pain, not to smother him with advice—but his heart knew what to do. He just had to sort it out in his mind, and he said later that our willingness to listen—simply listen—was a great help.

When I was downsized after 16 years in the same company, Dave and Frank "supported" me during the months I struggled to relearn job-hunting skills and determine which of my personality assets were valuable. They listened, and listened, and listened, letting me vent my pain and frustration until I discovered that it was all gone. What an awesome gift.

And when Frank struggled through diagnosis and treatment for a life-threatening illness, Dave and I were always available—even when Frank was too tired to attend. As he intially responded to treatment and gained back his strength, we listened, offered smiles and encouragement, and let him explore his feelings about doctors and the disease—and his bone-deep exhaustion. None of us knew how long he had, so every moment together was a gift from God.

We started with another brother, John (at left), and gave him full attention as he struggled to discern what his Christian mission was. After he married a wonderful, spirit-led lady, Sylvia, whom he met during the Kairos prison ministry, John discovered his calling took him a different direction to a different city. Ultimately, they moved away from Redmond and he left our small group—falling, thanks to the Lord, into an even-more wonderful group. I still miss John's out-of-this-world faith stories.

Don't let anyone ever say that prayer doesn't work—it truly DOES! Every time I forgot to pray, every time I closed myself to the Voice of God, I suffered. My emotional balance crashed, things seemed bleaker, and nothing in my life functioned.

When my group gathered me in their arms—and reminded me to pray (to breathe the breath of God that's free for the taking)—everything got better, quickly. Oh, yes—God spoke (and still speaks) to me in a wee, small, thundering voice. Even when I let the other voices overwhelm His, God waited (and still waits) patiently for me to start listening again.

And the time I heard God's voice most clearly was sitting in group with Dave and Frank, watching the face of Jesus overlay their own. The unspoken … message was clear—pray, unceasingly, without fail, expecting nothing but receiving life. Thank the Lord for prayer— and for my group.