Why Pray

Why do we need to bother to pray? Does it really matter? Does it make a difference? These questions trouble many sincere believers, quietly undermining their commitment to this spiritual discipline. Some dismiss prayer as mere religious routine. Others argue it cannot possibly change anything — God is sovereign, after all; He already knows what He intends to do.

But consider a story from the Old Testament that speaks directly to this tension.

After their dramatic deliverance from Egypt, the children of Israel were making their way toward Canaan — “a land flowing with milk and honey” — when they were confronted by the Amalekites at a place called Rephidim. As Joshua marshalled the army in the valley below, Moses did something unexpected: he climbed the hill above the battlefield. Aaron and Hur followed, perhaps not yet fully understanding what the old man had in mind.

At the summit, Moses raised his hands toward heaven, the rod of God held aloft. It was as vivid a picture of intercession as you will find in all of Scripture. What followed was remarkable: when Moses’ hands were raised, Israel gained ground; when fatigue forced them down, the battle turned in Amalek’s favour. Aaron and Hur must have had a lightbulb moment. They found a stone, sat Moses on it, and took their place on either side — holding his arms steady until the sun went down. Joshua and the army, strengthened by that unseen partnership, routed the Amalekites completely (Exodus 17).

The lesson is impossible to miss. There was a direct connection between what was happening on the hill and what was happening in the valley. God has ordained that we partner with Him in bringing His will to pass on earth — and we do that primarily in the place of prayer. The Psalmist puts it plainly: “The heavens, even the heavens, are the Lord’s; but the earth He has given to the children of men” (Psalm 115:16). The thought that by kneeling beside my bed and praying about it I can partner with God in shaping events in my life, my family, my community, my city, my nation and the nations is one I must confess I often find a difficult concept to grasp. That I can pray about events in the Middle East and in some way shape them is, quite frankly, staggering. The prophet Ezekiel drives home this point of God inviting us to partner with Him:

“So I sought for a man among them who would make a wall, and stand in the gap before Me on behalf of the land, that I should not destroy it; but I found no one.”

Ezekiel 22:30 (NKJV)

The pathos of that verse stops me every time. God searched — and found no one. The gap went unfilled. The invitation went unanswered. It is a sobering reminder that our prayers are not optional extras; they are a response to a divine call.

But there is another dimension of prayer that is easy to overlook: prayer changes us. It is often the case that prayer changes the person praying before it changes the situation being prayed about. How many times have we set about praying for or about something and found that before we have received the answer we sought, our perspective, priorities, desires and even our character has been transformed? The greatest gift of prayer may not be getting answers from God — but getting closer to Him.

We also pray because Jesus prayed — and as His followers, we seek to imitate Him. When you pause to consider His prayer life, it is both a challenge and an encouragement. If the Son of God found it necessary to make prayer central to His life, you and I have no excuse. He continued all night in prayer before choosing His disciples (Luke 6:12). He withdrew to the mountain to pray after feeding the five thousand (Matthew 14:23). In Gethsemane, He prayed so fervently that He suffered hematohidrosis — a rare condition in which intense anguish causes the sweat to become tinged with blood (Luke 22:44). He had a habit of rising well before dawn and slipping away to a solitary place (Mark 1:35).

His teaching on prayer was equally deliberate. In the Sermon on the Mount — His foundational address on how followers of God are to live — He instructed His disciples in both the practice and the substance of prayer (Matthew 6:5–15). In the parable of the persistent widow, He pressed home the importance of perseverance: “Men ought always to pray and not to faint” (Luke 18:1). And when He found the temple courts turned into a marketplace, His indignation was telling: “My house shall be called a house of prayer” (Matthew 21:13).

I have also found this to be true in my own experience: when life grows busy and my prayer life quietly suffers, so does my relationship with God. If communication is the bedrock of any relationship, then prayer is how we talk with God — and listen for Him. A relationship without communication is no relationship at all. And God wants more than communication; He wants communion. It is simply not possible to grow close to God while neglecting the place of prayer. Many see prayer as primarily an opportunity to inform Him — but that is not how God sees it. To God, prayer is primarily an opportunity to relate with children He loves.

When I think about it more deeply, I believe we were made for this. Our first parents, Adam and Eve, were created for unbroken communion with God — and so are we. Philip Yancey, in his book on prayer, quotes Thomas Merton: prayer, Merton wrote, is an expression of who we are — our universal cry. The 19th-century revivalist E.M. Bounds put it with characteristic forcefulness: in every circumstance of life, prayer is the most natural outpouring of the soul — whether in sorrow or joy, defeat or victory, weakness or strength — the heart turns instinctively toward God, as a child runs to her mother’s arms.

I know this in my own bones. There have been seasons when busyness crowded out prayer, and I found myself running on empty — going through the motions of ministry while spiritually gasping for air. It was only when I returned to the place of prayer that I remembered what it felt like to breathe again. Prayer, I have come to believe, is not a religious duty to be endured. It is oxygen for the Christian soul. As the Scottish poet James Montgomery wrote: “Prayer is the Christian’s vital breath, the Christian’s native air.”

Try This

If you have read this far and found yourself nodding — perhaps even feeling a quiet nudge — here is a simple way to respond.

This week, set aside just ten minutes each day for prayer. Not a grand commitment, not a complete overhaul of your routine — just ten minutes. Find a quiet place, close the door, and begin simply: thank God for three things, bring Him one concern that is weighing on you, and ask Him to show you one person to pray for today. That is it.

You may find, as many have, that ten minutes becomes fifteen — and then more. But do not worry about that yet. The point is simply to show up. Aaron and Hur did not arrive at Rephidim with a strategy; they just stayed close to Moses and did what the moment required. God can work with that kind of faithful availability.

If it helps, keep a small notebook beside you and jot down what you prayed. Over days and weeks, you will begin to notice something: answers, yes — but also a gradual shift in your own heart. Your worries will feel less crushing. Your perspective will slowly reorient. You will find yourself, almost without realising it, growing closer to the God who has been waiting to hear from you all along.

Start today. The gap needs filling — and you are the one God is looking for.