Recently I’ve been toying with the idea that in the realm of prayer, there are two vast and ill-defined regions: the occasional prayer and the non-occasional. Allow me to explain (and I certainly hope that my explanation offers some small measure of consolation to those who suffer from what they perceive to be an ineffective prayer life).
In the 18th century composers would often produce works to celebrate or mark a particularly important event in the personal life of a patron, or a local high-ranking person, or the national life of the artist’s homeland. One such piece is known to us now as the “Occasional Oratorio” of George Friedrich Handel, and C. P. E. Bach wrote a composition called the “Occasional Cantata”. These works were tied to a specific occurrence (much as many Te Deums have been throughout the centuries), and, of course, varied in quality according to the inspiration provided by the event in question.
What I am beginning to suspect, or at least to speculate upon, is the proposal that in the Christian sphere (which encompasses all of reality) there are prayers offered up by believers that relate to or involve a specific occasion or need. We all know what these include: prayers for healing, for escape from a dangerous situation, for success in a particular test or challenge, and so forth. My very, very tentative contention is this: these kinds of prayers are more likely to be granted in a noticeable way than prayers that are “non-occasional”. And what are non-occasional prayers?
These are the petitions for more long-term, nebulous, difficult-to-envision things. If, for example, I pray for the sanctification of my daughter, I am not likely to see any results for an extended period of time. This does not mean that God is not working on making her more and more Christlike in the meanwhile; it simply means that I am not noting on a daily basis the advances she is making in this purifying process. I cannot expect myself to see these improvements — the progress is incremental and (viewed from the perspective of a day or a week or even a month) slight. That is how God works. Physical healings may be abrupt and sudden (I suppose such things still happen — I would never deny the Father the freedom to work such miracles), but spiritual advancement is a much more snail-like procedure.
Now if the person I am praying for is myself — if I am desperately praying for my own sanctification — then I am going to be frustrated with the lethargic and slow-moving nature of God’s answer. It’s going to be frustrating and even — on occasion — infuriating (when I notice how revolting I still am!). This is both a good and a poor reaction: good because the Holy Spirit, too, wants me to be perfected as Christ is perfect; poor because my impatience undermines the trust and faith I should have in God’s perfect timing.
There have been innumerable times when I have rejoiced in how God answered an “occasional” prayer of mine. But every other day I am grieved and brought close to despair over God’s tardiness in answering my “non-occasional” prayers — prayers that, to my mind, are even more crucial than the healing of a sciatic knee joint. This is both dispiriting and encouraging: dispiriting because the prayer for the healing of my relationship with my son seems to go unanswered, and encouraging because apparently I won’t give up on demanding an answer from God — just like the persistent widow in Christ’s parable, who seems to be the heroine of that particular little story.
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