As I read through Luke’s gospel, I try to see in myself how one thought leads to another. I don’t know that this was Luke’s process, for he begins his work by stating his intention to set out an orderly account “of the things that have been fulfilled among us, just as they were handed on to us by those who from the beginning were eyewitnesses and servants of the word.”
We see the story of Jesus and his community unfolding and expanding, how Jesus appears as the fulcrum of a new age, long anticipated by prophets and expressed in the teaching and activity of Jesus and, importantly for us, those whom he inspires and empowers.
We’ve been following this narrative and particularly appreciating fresh insights and applications through the teaching of our own New Testament scholar, Steve Young, who drew our attention last week to the focus on the one thing chosen by Mary, and available also to Martha (and us!) if she could lay distraction aside. The text, typically and maddeningly, doesn’t say what the one thing is. I circle back through Luke to sharpen my perception of that one thing, and it seems to have something to do with joining Jesus in word and action in implementing the reign of the kingdom made visible in giving sight to the blind, relief to the captive, and proclaiming the good news of jubilee. See Luke 4:16-21.
And now Luke introduces us to Jesus’ teaching about prayer.
I was in my mid-thirties when I began to understand a level of prayer that went beyond simply “saying prayers” or composing prayers for church services. It was during my tenure as part of an innovative team approach, where I was responsible for outreach ministries at four of our Canberra churches. I had creative license to take the church into the marketplace.
Apart from managing a kaleidoscope of activities including public school ministries, refugee resettlement, pioneering thematic bible study courses in the secular adult education system, part-time university chaplaincy, and planning joint church development, it was my task to represent our churches whenever the government and parliament called for religious input.
Receptions on the embassy circuit, meetings with politicians, organising the first parliamentary prayer breakfast and joining dialogue with the Dalai Lama on his first Australian visit were the order of the day.
This circuit of much activity eventually left me feeling dry and heading towards burnout. My inner prayer practice was almost non-existent. It looked good on the outside, but just an echo chamber within.
Then I came upon Eremos, a foundation established by Bruce Wilson, author of Can God Survive in Australia. Bruce had just moved to Canberra to take up his post as a bishop in the Anglican diocese there. He invited me on a retreat, and I discovered something quite alien to my head-focused habits – the age-old contemplative practices that joined the head to the heart, the prayers of silence that enables one to listen deeply to the divine. I was introduced to the practices of Lectio Divina (“sacred reading”), and meditation.
Contemplation became a part of my regular practice, balancing my activity and renewing and equipping my spirit for more focused ministry.
I thank Steve for presenting a view of the Mary and Martha story that is at variance with popular renditions. I have been reflecting on the challenge of dialoguing with the Martha within me, active, distracted and unfocused and the Mary within, focused on Jesus, seeking to orient herself to grow into the presence and disciple action of the jubilee that Jesus proclaims. Focus for holy action, I think this is the one thing.
And now we have the disciples asking Jesus to teach them to pray. We are given the Lord’s Prayer. Notice the orientation to the familial relationship with God “Our Father (our provider, our protector).”
Notice the call to focus on the kingdom that implies its already here inviting us to practice it, and the kind of practice that invites confidence in the daily provision of what we need, our hospitable and gracious stance towards others.
Notice the call to maintain focus and resist the chaos and oppression of evil.
This is not simply a prayer for reciting in formal liturgy. Over the years, I have sometimes been taken to task. “Back in the day, we used to recite the Lord’s Prayer every Sunday. Why don’t we do that anymore?” I was usually tempted to respond, “We will when we are prepared to act on it!”
Note recent debates about the appropriateness of the long standing tradition of using the Lord’s Prayer to open each day’s session of parliament in both lower and upper houses.
Critics argue that the practice is outdated in a multicultural and secular society. Proposals have been made to replace it with a multi-faith moment or a period of reflection.
The Victorian Labor government previously considered removing the prayer but backed down after public petitions and interfaith support. Over 11,000 signatures and a joint statement from Christian, Jewish, Hindu, and Muslim leaders helped preserve the tradition.
Each group underscored that the Lord’s Prayer, while Christian in origin, expresses values that are shared across faiths and relevant to the ethical conduct of public officials. Their unified voice helped shift the debate from religious exclusivity to spiritual inclusivity.
For Luke however, this is a pattern of prayer given for the focused disciple of Jesus. It is to be prayed by the heart that is both troubled and intentional about engagement with the realm of God at large through the ministry of Jesus.
We followers are oriented to his manner and his ways and his relationship with God.
Are we troubled – yes.
When I pray “Give us this day our daily bread” – I am distracted by the children of Gaza whose plea for daily bread not only goes unheeded but is cruelly denied them.
How can I respond from afar except to join what little influence I have to those pleading with our representatives to press for the abandonment of using starvation as a weapon of war?
“Save us in the time of trial,” “Deliver us from evil”
Robust discipleship will have us praying this often, and from a stance of forgiveness.
Remember Maxwell Smart and the cone of silence that descended whenever he wanted to talk in confidence with his boss? To pray in the pattern of the prayer that Jesus teaches his followers is to enter the cone of grace.
It turns us to a stance that is bold and humble at the same time.
What follows is Jesus’ parable of the friend knocking on the door at midnight, rightly expecting a ready and hospitable response. He is indeed bold – asking not for just one loaf of bread, but three! Just how hungry is his visitor? His insistence wins compliance to his request, despite the inconvenience to the householder who has to disturb his whole family, and probably even light the fire and organise the baking of the flat bread to comply. The implication is that this is how much more we might pray, with bold expectation that we will be heard and answered, because what father, provider, protector will withhold what is needed from his child?
The applied lesson is to ask, seek and knock, not only with expectancy, but expectation of receiving, finding and transforming, and even more, the Holy Spirit! Alignment and infusion with the mission of Jesus!
I can’t say whether these teachings on prayer were deliberately set to follow the story of Martha and Mary, and before that, the Good Samaritan, and the scholars I’ve read seem divided.
One thing I can observe, though, is that the kind of praying we see in Luke 11 isn’t the listening kind we associate with the popular depiction of Mary.
It seems more like the kind of prayer we associate with Martha – asking, petition, expectation that my request will be immediately answered, even if it’s a poor request. But this is a focused Martha, the one we find at the tomb of Lazarus and who understands resurrection life. The one who asks with kingdom focus.
This goes a long way to meeting our protest of why our prayers aren’t answered.
The error is not in the asking; the error is in the distraction.
I ask and receive nothing.
I seek and I find nothing.
I knock, and the door stays closed.
What am I missing?
Perhaps it’s the one thing that Mary and, eventually, in John’s gospel, Martha chooses.
To ask is to come from a Jubilee position of openness, not complaint.
To seek is to come from a Jubilee recognition of knowing what to look for, for the signs are all around us and, indeed, within us.
To knock is to see the door open wide enough to summon us to walk through, leaving behind the baggage that prevents us and willing to grasp and be transformed by the Jubilee that beckons.
To pray like this is costly and can take us into wild and uncomfortable places. Such is the road that Jesus not only calls us to follow, but travels with us.
And to be open to the company of those we meet along the way.
Shared with the Church of Christ Wembley Downs, 27 July 2025
Wondering Pilgrim 